Somewhere near Barysau, 23rd November 1812

This month at my local wargaming club we were fighting a small Napoleonic skirmish set in Russia, late 1812, during Napoleon's retreat from Moscow.

We were playing it as a three player game with the French (an officer and seven men, all line infantry), Russian Cossacks (eight models armed randomly with a selection of swords, pistols, muskets and a blunderbuss) and my force the British 5/60th rifles (six riflemen and Captain William Frederickson, "Sweet William" of Sharpe fame).

I had been planning to kick of my Napolonic skirmish collection (which I'm building up at the moment) with Sharpe, the 42nd highlanders and the 54th french linge. However at the last reenactment I did with the 42nd highlanders, I found a small packet of twenty riflemen amongst piles of ECW pikemen in a reenactor's stall, all metal and all for £8. So I just had to get them.

Captain Frederickson has to be my favourite character in Sharpe, so this also seemed a perfect way to kick of my Napoleonic skirmish collection.

 

The story behind today's game -

23rd November 1812, the day preceding the warmest day for the entire grand armee during the Russian winter. The sun has risen on the Russian wastes near Barysau and the snows have begun to melt away. A small band of French troops, having been separated from the Grand armee in a blizzard, are scouring the damp, but still bitterly cold, landscape for any sign of food or supplies to fill their starving bellies.

However unbeknownst to these poor Frenchmen they are not the only men scouring these desolate lands for rations. Not far away a small band of cossacks, who have been tracking the Grand Armee for some way now, have run out of food and have had to kill and eat their horses to stay alive.

You can be sure that both these groups will have no problem in sniffing out supplies, if indeed their are any in Russia, but when they meet the board is set for a blood bath...

 

Captain William Frederickson and a small section of the 5/60th royal American rifles (as yet Frederickson is not acquainted with Sharpe), having been tracking and sniping at the Grand Armee since the beginning of November - on secret orders from the British Government - are now on their last rounds of ammunition and last rations of food. Frederickson understands well, from his childhood growing up in the Westphalian hills, that this spurt of high(er) temperature will not last long and that, if they are not to starve, he and his men must gather food and ammunition now. 

He too is nearing the same spot that has attracted the French and Cossacks. But if it comes to a fight over supplies, Frederickson does not care whether it is Frog or Ruski that his shots fell so long as his men have the provisions they need to live!

 

We used the following rules:

 

Each force had a roster sheet for their force (see below) with each model numbered on the base so it could be quickly identified with the correct stats on the chart. Each figure starts the game with four wounds and 2D6 randomly generated round of ammunition (which are crossed off as they are used)

As my men had rifles (and thus a longer range) we decided that i would be one model down compared to my foes.

 

 

From top to bottom the men are:

1. Captain William Frederickson, rifle, 8 rounds and sabre (A Westphalian from Sharpe Novels)
2. Rifleman Antoni Contachowitz, rifle and 10 rounds (A real Polish member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in Cracow)
3. Rifleman Edward Cuddon, rifle and 4 rounds (A real member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in London Middlesex)
4. Rifleman Patrick Dunlea, rifle and 8 rounds (A real Irish member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in Cork)
5. Rifleman Frederick Rath, rifle and 4 rounds (A real Hanoverian member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in Einbeck 1791)
6. Rifleman Charles William Plant, rifle and 5 rounds (A real member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in London Middlesex)
7. Rifleman William Moss, rifle and 7 rounds (A real member of the 60th rifles who served in the Napoleonic war, born in Stafford 1788)

As you can see, all the members of my force (apart from Captain William Frederickson) were real people who fought in the 60th royal American rifles during the Napoleonic wars (courtesy of find my past and the national archives)

Captain Frederickson and his half dozen riflemen dashed across the open ground to shelter behind a low dry stone wall, which had once made up part of a livestock pen before the flight of the Russian peasants with the Tsar's scorched earth policy.
Frederickson looked down the line of sheltering Green jackets. Their breath could be seen rising in clouds of mist in the bitterly cold air. The riflemen pulled their scarves tighter around their necks and rubbed their woollen coated hands together, looking down the wall towards their Captain. Frederickson looked back at his band and nodded.

The men leaped to their feet, vaulting over the walls of the ruined enclosure and running towards a dirt track which ran between the nearby abandoned farm house and the ruined church (A relic of the Mongol invasion which had also swept through Russia as Napoleon had done not too many months earlier) in the distance. Lying on the far side of the road, at the bottom of the chapel walls, lay an abandoned waggon, seemingly full of powder, ammunition and food supplies. It was this that the 60th rifles were heading for now, but Frederickson was on the alert and took comfort in knowing his and his men's rifles were loaded and ready; it seemed just too good to be true that the French and Cossacks flooding through the lands had left this waggon un-noticed. Sweet William smelled a trap.

The riflemen had split into two wings, each heading down either side of the abandoned pen, closing in upon the waggon. Riflemen Moss, Plant, Rath and Contachowitz scuttled down the side of the empty barn, sheltering in the shadows cast by the rotting thatch covering the wooden roof frame.
On the other side of the walled pen, Captain Frederickson and Riflemen Cuddon and Dunlea sprinted across the relative openness on the other side of the enclosure, their backs bent over and their rifles out and cocked.

Moss and Contachowitz darted across the open dirt track, diving into the shade cast by two great trees. Polish emigre, Antoni Contachowitz, crawled forwards to the tree closest to the waggon. He slowly raised himself on one knee, scanning the horizon down the barrel of his rifle and straightening his shako. In the tree cover on the horizon he could see shapes moving but could not make out whether they were caused by animals or men. Beside him Rifleman William Moss slid his back up the same tree, his rifle in hand and his fingers resting on the cocking hammer.
Across the dirt track, Frederick Rath crawled along the side of the overgrown stone wall on his belly, rifle loaded and in hand. The Hanoverian peered around the wall and down the frozen dirt road to where the shapes spotted by Contachowitz began growing in size, coming nearer towards the riflemen.

In the undergrowth the other side of the laden cart, Captain Frederickson crouched against the trunk of a tree, letting the wet branches envelope him as he swung his baker rifle from his back and into his hands. As he began to pull back the hammer to half cock, he caught sight of Rifleman Patrick Dunlea clambering up the raised ground to his right, the rifleman's pack (one of the only two still in his men's possession) protruded from his low lying green coated back whilst his mop of brown hair blew in the wind from his Shakoless head.
Covering him was rifleman Edward Cuddon. His rifle darted hither and dither as he looked across the area surrounding the waggon for movements from frogs or cossacks.

Looking cautiously around them for signs of opposition, Contachowitz and Moss dashed right up to the isolated waggon. They slumped down on either side of the wooden cart, congratulating each other on their success, Contachowitz in his thick Polish accent, whilst aiming around them into the shadowy recesses around them in case of possible ambush.

In the heavily wooded area surrounding the high ground; Frederickson and Cuddon crept carefully along, pressed up in the cover from the wooded ridge, their baker rifles at half cock with slings blowing in the breeze. Looking out between the branches of the trees, Captain Frederickson could quiet clearly make out the shapes of three Cossacks trotting from out of the tree line and into the ruins of the stone church. To his right he also believed he could make out the shapes of more cossacks wandering through the densely wooded hummocks of hard earth.
He looked poignantly at Irish Rifleman Dunlea. Dunlea shook his shaggy hair, swung his rifle onto his shoulder and ran to the lone tree protruding from the tree line, all the while keeping low down and carefully avoiding dry twigs and dead leaves. But the cossacks continued their into the ruins, appearing not to see the green jacket. As he reached the tree he dropped to one knee and aimed his rifle towards the shapes approaching the three riflemen from the woods.

Moss got to his feet fed up with scanning the horizon for an unseen foe. No frogs were watching them and they needed to get to work moving the cart, so as to build their fire before night fell. He leaned over the cart and called out to the Pole who was still diligently wandering his gun over the terrain in front of him. Contachowitz swore at Moss, but as the Staffordshire rifleman turned round to see where Riflemen Rath and Plant had got to, the sound of a pistol rang out through the silent frozen landscape.
Moss felt the pistol ball scythe its way through his dirty red epaulet, sweeping its way through the flesh in his shoulder, clipping the bone, and bursting out through the front of his green uniform. He let his rifle drop as he fell to the floor, but managed to catch himself before his chest touched the ground. The pain sheered through his whole being and it was a while before he realised the blood dripping onto the frosted ground was falling from his own shoulder.

Meanwhile at the tree line; Patrick Dunlea caught a glimpse of movement in between the trees and turned to see a dismounted Cossack brandishing a huge curved sword and running straight at him. Dunlea pulled the trigger with his baker rifle pointing vaguely in the direction of the Ruski, but the shot only ricocheted from off the thick trunk of a tree close to the Cossack. Dunlea cursed his foolishness at not aiming for his target before he fired and began the long process of reloading his rifled musket.

Back at the cart; the wounded Moss raised himself from the floor, rested the rifle on his injured arm, aimed it in the direction of the smoke and fired. The French firer dodged and the small lead ball bounced harmlessly off a wall of the ruined church, the Frog leaped to his feet and began shouting and gesturing at the other greatcoated men. Moss saw from the man's greatcoat and the braid covering his Shako that he was an Officer of the line and no doubt these were his starving men, streaming from the forest, who had been cut off from the main French army.
As Moss pulled himself up the side of the waggon, rifle over shoulder, the lead Frenchman charged towards him with bayonet fixed, but the Frog halted half a dozen feet from the cart with a confused look on his face and Contachowitz's rifle pointing straight at him.

Captain Frederickson sprinted across the clearing from the shelter of the ridge, diving into the undergrowth where Riflemen Plant and Rath were priming their baker rifles, having just fired on the Frenchmen with little result. He quickly got a grip of the situation around the waggon, despite the smoke blowing through the air, and made ready his rifle.

Frederickson aimed and fired on the Frenchman nearest Moss, but either the Frog shrugged off the rifle wound or it failed to wound him at all. Frederickson ripped out his false teeth and stuffed them into his Cartridge pouch, spitting in the crystallised dirt on the ground.
Back over by the tree line more Cossacks were charging out from the woods towards where Dunlea and Cuddon had their positions. The two riflemen, after dispatching a rather hasty volley on the Ruskis, hastily reloaded their baker rifles with two taps of the stocks against the hard earth. However the bearded savages were now almost on top of the green jackets with their swords and pistols drawn and ready.

The confused Frenchman, brushed into action by Captain Frederickson's pot shot, now raised his musket, aiming it straight at Rifleman Moss' back. Moss and Contachowitz were at that moment hurriedly rummaging through the supplies in the waggon and had both retrieved a heavy barrel (they had not waited to see whether they contained powder or food) when suddenly a crashing shot heralded that the Frenchman had pulled the trigger of his gun. The Polish Rifleman hit the ground, dropping his barrel as he fell to his hands and knees. He peered under the cart, looking for the Frog who had just fired. But as he stared he saw Rifleman Moss lying motionless in the muddy ruts, which had been caused by the cart as it was dragged across the thawing by who ever had abandoned it, with blood seeping through the back of his green uniform.
Contachowitz staggered back up, on to his feet, swore at the Frenchman and fired. The Greatcoated Frenchman staggered backwards, wounded, and Contachowitz picked up his baker rifle and wooden barrel.

Captain Frederickson and Hanoverian rifleman Frederick Rath, leaped out from their cover in the trees and began to run towards the motionless body of William Moss.
Frederickson skipped over a tree root, sabre drawn, and screamed at the Frenchman who stood petrified, musket smoking. At Frederickson's side, leaping like a faithful gun dog, Rath held his rifle high like a great quarter staff and he too yelled his war cry. But as the two neared the cart, a volley from the rest of the approaching Frenchmen sent earth flying around them, the musket balls missing them by inches and spraying earth into the air. Fredrickson had not realised quite how many Frenchmen there were emerging from the trees when he set out with Rath to help secure the cart and so, terrified by the volley that had so nearly done for them, the pair redirected their charge. They ran right out of range of the Frenchmen's muskets, coming to sit down sharply beside Rifleman Cuddon.

However even as Frederickson leaned over to him, he heard the blast of a pistol and saw Cuddon roll down from his knees and onto his bottom before keeling over backwards to land with a thud on the hard earth, his face up to the cold white sky. He was shaking and blood was dribbling from the corner of his mouth, Frederickson could see where the small pistol ball had penetrated his chest. Sweet William was on his knees looking into the face of the Staffordshireman he had come to know so well over the course of the mission. Frederickson looked up from Cuddon's now still and lifeless body. As he blinked away his tears he could see a great moustached Cossack shoving his unloaded pistol into his belt and drawing a great sabre. The Westphalian officer raised his baker rifle shakily to point straight at the Cossack and fired before falling back onto the frozen bank of the raised ground. The Cossack roared with rage and Frederickson realised with dismay that his shot had failed to kill the great Ruski.

But before Frederickson could flee another Cossack with a musket in hand was upon him, leaping from behind where the high ground had obscured him to Frederickson's left. Frederickson drew his delicate curved cavalry sabre and lashed out at the warrior in one fluid move, but the cossack blocked this attack with the wood of his ancient musket. He then brought the musket up, wielding it like a great axe about to chop straight down on Frederickson's head. However Frederickson, with his agile weapon, hit first. He slashed out at the Cossack's belt and felt it cut cleanly through the Russian's thick coat before entering his great belly and coming cleanly out above his cartridge pouch. The Cossack's musket slipped from his hands as he stared, shocked, at the perpetually smug look on Frederickson's face. Then he keeled over backwards and lay motionless, disemboweled by Frederickson's sabre.

During the seconds that had followed Moss' death (in which Cudon had been shot dead and Frederickson had killed the Cossack); the nearby French had been quick to take his barrel for their own and strip his body of his own personal equipment, whilst Contachowitz and the other riflemen were otherwise occupied.

At the same time as his men were setting about the morbid task; the French officer, who had first wounded Moss and had since reloaded, drew his sword and rushed Contachowitz as the Polish Rifleman was shouldering his barrel.
The Frenchman skidded to a halt as the Rifleman turned to face him, and suddenly lunged out as he had been taught by his fencing tutor in Florence. But he struck out as only a man crazed by hunger, cold and the despair if defeat can do, in a cruel and savage mockery of fencing technique. Contachowitz threw down the barrel, knocking the sword from the officer's hand.

But before Contachowitz could follow up on the officer with his rifle butt; another Frog, in a huge shako and greatcoat, was charging towards him with his bayonet fixed and levelled. Contachowitz knocked aside the bayonet with a hefty parry from his rifle stock before bringing it crashing down on the Frenchie, sending him sprawling to the ground on all fours. Contachowitz swung his empty baker rifle onto his shoulder by its sling before grabbing hold of the iron bands around the barrel on the floor and swinging it up into the face of the French officer, who had been preparing for a second lunge.

Meanwhile Rifleman Charles Plant had been observing the movements of the other Frenchmen from the safety of his concealed position in the shade of two trees. He had seen the bands of greatcoated men hurrying towards the waggon, bayonets fixed, and had fired at a pair of them.
His shot missed, ricocheting from the stone walls of what had been the entrance to the now ruined church. Plant quickly wafted away the smoke that might give away his position, even though he was sure the French had much better things (ie their stomachs) on their minds, before starting the laborious task of reloading a baker rifle.

Having beaten off the two Frenchmen, Antoni Contachowitz leaped over the waggon's shaft and sprinted as fast as he could towards the shelter of the nearest tree. He looked back over his shoulder.

In that quick turn of his head, Contachowitz took full stock of the scene behind him: The enraged French officer was gesturing violently at him with his sword and shouting something at his soldiers. The fellow whom Contachowitz had clubbed to the floor was now standing upright and aiming straight down his musket at the Polish green jacket. Bang! Contachowitz lay prostrate on the cold earth as pain shot through his right side. The Frenchman's lead ball had struck him in the side, just above his pelvis, and was no embedded there in Contachowitz's torso.

Whilst the waggon was turning into a battlefield; Captain Frederickson dashed away from where Rath and Dunlea were holding off the emerging Cossacks. He crouched down as he ran, sabre still drawn and shouted at rifleman Plant to cover him. But before they could react the French had let off a volley at the officer presenting them with such a good target.
As Frederickson neared the trees, he heard the crash of the volley and was suddenly thrown to the floor. He dragged himself along the floor by his right hand, which was still carrying the bloodied sabre. He finally reached the tree and pulled himself up to a sitting position with his back resting against the bark covered trunk.

Rifleman Plant kneeled beside his officer and looked him over. Frederickson had had a big chunk ripped out from his left hand by one of the shots whilst another musket ball had contacted his right ear and blood now poured from it. He forced himself to his feet just in time to see rifleman Contachowitz leap into the safety of the trees where Plant and the wounded Frederickson sheltered, as musket balls whizzed past him. The Pole was placed down a great wooden barrel and proceeded to sit upon it and begin reloading his rifle.
"Excellent work Contachowitz" Frederickson managed to say through his clenched gums (his teeth still being in his cartridge pouch), nodding to the rifleman.

As the three of them watched on; Hanoverian rifleman Frederick Rath bounded away from his previous position, as yet more Cossacks burst from the forests, making for another tree only a short distance from where most of the riflemen now hid. He took too great running leaps before diving forwards, sliding along the icy ground on his chest, and coming to rest amongst the roots of the lone tree. His rifle fully cocked, loaded and ready to fire.

But all of a sudden the Cossack who had hacked down rifleman Cudon, the blood still fresh on his great cutlass, appeared to the Hanoverian's left. The Russian was belting straight past Rath, carried forwards at some pace by his powerful legs, and heading straight for the cart surrounded by rummaging Frenchmen. As the Cossack appeared not to have noticed him, Rath decided to wait and watch before he picked a target to fire on.

As Rath looked on he could see one of the Frenchmen still rummaging through rifleman Moss' equipment, clearly oblivious of the huge man charging straight for him. However the Cossack now seemed to be trying to slow and Rath realised that the Russian couldn't stop himself. He grabbed out for the side of the waggon and missed. However before he crashed into the Frenchman, the Frog looked up and on seeing the immense Cossack lashed out at him with the Englishman's limp body. The Cossack was winded by the blow giving the Frenchman time to grab his musket, but before the he could strike the Cossack with his bayonet, the warrior was smashing and hacking at him with his sword.

Plant watched on as the Cossack and French Infantryman battled on. Both were tough men, though the Russian had the advantage over his opponent in size and strength, and neither appeared to be able to pin his opponent down. The Frenchman blocked with his musket, using it like a quarter staff, whilst all the time trying to get a hit on the Cossack with the bayonet at the end. The Cossack on the other hand was simply trying to bash the living daylights out of the foreigner, smashing at his musket with his sword in one hand and attempting to land a blow on his shakoed head with the pistol butt in his other.

Hearing the commotion on the other side of the waggon, the French officer leaped up onto its shaft to get a better view of the brawl. However his golden shako braid attracted Rath's eye as it glinted in the winter sun, presenting him with just the target he had been waiting for. Rath pulled the trigger.

Smoke filled the Hanoverian's face, but through it he caught a glimpse of the glinting braid disappearing behind the cart followed immediately by the thud of the falling officer. He had taken a hit to the ribs.

 

Seeing the Froggy officer fall from the cart shaft, his greatcoat torn and blood stained, Captain Frederickson dashed from the safety of his position determined to finish off the opposing officer. Frederickson's left hand hung limp and useless while his right ear rang and blood covered his face. With his toothless lear, his nerve damaged face, his missing left eye and his blood stained skin "sweet William" looked like a daemon fresh from hell. With his sabre extended ahead of him, Frederickson ran straight past the main body of Frenchmen. Not a shot was fired. He leaped round the fighting Cossack and Frenchman and was almost upon the officer, who still lay wounded on the floor, when another Greatcoated infantryman appeared in front of him. He jumped down from the cart with a barrel under each arm, seeming not to notice the wild Westphalian from Dante's inferno. Frederickson slashed at the Frenchman with his curved blade and, too late, the infantryman turned to see him. The sabre made contact with the Frenchman's neck. And then it was out and the man crumpled to the floor, the barrels slipping from under his arms as the blood gushed from his neck.

Back over by the riflemen's only barrel; Rifleman Contachowitz finished ramming the shot down His rifle barrel. He tossed the rifle up, caught it and cocked it, then he aimed down it for one of the Frenchmen. He pulled the cold steel trigger and the ball shot through the air, spinning as it spat out of the barrel.  The Frenchman let go of his musket, falling to the ground and clutching at his foot in pain. Contachowitz's shot had gone low and torn through the infantryman's boot and into his foot. But he would live, worse luck!

Meanwhile, over by the cart; Captain Frederickson, his sabre still wet from where it had torn out the Frenchie's throat, hefted up one of the big barrels that his dead enemy had been carrying as he jumped from the top of the cart to his doom.
The French Officer stared at the British officer, terrified and pointing both his sword and loaded pistol straight at him. Frederickson raised his sabre and leaped forwards to strike down the Frog!

However his enemy was quicker and darted to Frederickson's left, his back up against the ruined church wall. Frederickson followed through his slash so that it came down upon the French officer. But again he was quicker and parried Frederickson's savage blow, causing a dent in the fine blades of both weapons. The infantry officer lunged back at Frederickson with the hilt of his sword, knocking the rifleman's blade aside and smacking him a blow across the face. With the rifleman dazed, the French officer took his opportunity to flee. He grabbed a couple of barrels that were lying around, having been dropped previously that evening, and made good his escape, scrambling round the corner and away past his men into the forest.

Frederickson looked wildly around him. The French officer had fled from him and now he was surrounded by Cossacks and Frenchmen, terribly wounded and with a stone wall to his back and a wooden cart to his front. There seemed little left to do but to get back to the other Rifles with this barrel and harrow the French right back to the grand armee.
But then he looked up. He saw the Cossack standing on the remnants of the church's second floor, his musket pointing straight at him. He heard the click of the hammer being cocked followed by the bang of the weapon firing. Felt the ball hit him in the chest. And as he crumpled over his barrel he knew that this was not how it should end, in the frozen Russian forests. But it did.

Frederick Rath heard the shot, he saw his Captain fall to the ground limp and motionless. He knew the shot had been fired by a Russian and even as he saw the Cossack closest to him's sword hew its French opponent in half he knew what he had to do. Rifleman Rath, born and bred in Hanover, charged the great Cossack the no man so far had been able to fell. Still guffawing horribly over the corpse of his latest victim, the Cossack did not notice the Hanoverian rifleman behind him nor did he hear him as Rath brought down the stock of his rifle on top of the huge warrior.

At the same time Rifleman Plant was advancing from tree to tree, closing in with Rath on the Cossacks rummaging through the cart. Finally, in the last tree before reaching the cart, Plant made ready his baker rifle before taking aim and firing on the nearest Cossack. But the shot thudded harmlessly into the cart's wooden shaft. Plant cursed and began reloading for a second attempt

Rifleman Dunlea retired from his position, falling back to where Contachowitz guarded their single barrel of supplies. But as the Irish rifleman ran across the open ground, his rifle trained on the Frenchmen and the Cossacks surrounding the waggon. However he had not spotted the Cossack emerging from the woods behind him. The Cossack raised his musket and fired, felling the green jacket in a single shot through the thigh.

Rath's rifle butt came down on the back of the immense Cossack's shoulders and he went flying, landing flat a back on the floor, outraged and screaming for the rifleman's blood. Hearing the shouts of his comrade, another Cossack armed with a blunderbuss emerged round the corner of the waggon. He levelled his weapon and fired it off at Contachowitz, but the Pole dived down behind his barrel as the shrapnel sprayed through the trees. As soon as he heard the thud of shot in the wood of the barrel he leaped back to his feet and fired his rifle off at the Cossack. The rifleman's bullet missed the Russian by inches, ricocheting off the cart's back wheel. However it did the trick and the terrified warrior fled for his life back inside the ruined church.

The large Cossack, who seemed more than thick skinned enough to survive the horrors of battle unscathed, was now on his feet and duelling Rifleman Rath. The Cossack smashed a blow down at the Rath's head, but the Hanoverian dodged and swung his rifle like a cricket bat at the Cossack's legs. He caught the Russian behind the knee and he fell to his knees on impulse, however he was up in no time and battering at Rath with all his weapons, arms, hands and body.

Rifleman Plant was now reloaded with his last round of ammunition and again aiming at the redcoated Cossack who seemed to be in command of the venture. The shot served to dis-cap the Ruski, his fur trimmed hat flying up into the air, a perfectly circular hole punched through it. The Cossack was un harmed by the shot but in a  terrible fright, and he too bolted for the safety of the church ruins.

Contachowitz levelled his rifle towards the redcoated Cossack scrambling for the ruins. He fired but the Cossack was moving too fast, and his shot impacted the solid stone wall instead. By the waggon rifleman Rath threw off the Cossack with his rifle, and ran over too Captain Frederickson. He lifted the Westphalian onto his shoulder and ran, blowing his Captain's tin whistle to signal the retreat.
More Cossacks were flooding into the ruined church and the three remaining green jackets knew it was futile to stay any longer. They had one barrel, possibly enough food to last them until they had another opportunity to scavenge more.

The last of the Frenchmen could just be seen disappearing into the forests in the distance. They had hauled off nearly ten barrels and smoke could be seen rising in the distance where the infantrymen were burning a deserted barn to keep them warm as night fell.

The battle had been a tragic defeat for the British, even with the advantage of the baker rifles. Frederickson had been knocked down wound by wound until he was slain. The other three dead had been killed outright by perfectly aimed shots. Of all four green jackets killed (immobilised) three had been slain by the Russian Cossacks who made the pretence of being Britain's allies, whilst only one green jacket had been killed by the well trained French line infantry. Both the French and Cossacks had only lost two men in the entire engagement, the majority of the French force escaping off the table with their ill gotten plunder.

(For each barrel captured a playing card was awarded to the force that captured it. The number symbolising how many days the supplies would last.)

Riflemen Antoni Contachowitz (of Poland), Frederick Rath (of Hanover) and Charles William Plant (of London) escaped into the woods with but one barrel and the stricken bodies of Captain Frederickson (of Westphalia) and Rifleman Patrick Dunlea (of Ireland). Dunlea died during the night, bleeding to death from his thigh wound despite the efforts of his comrades to stench the flow. Captain Frederickson recovered and, that December, was reposted to the Peninsula where he commanded the 60th rifles in the attack on Adrados. The one rescued barrel turned out to contain six days worth of food supplies, which lasted the three and their wounded officer until they were picked up by a battalion of Russian line infantry. 

The French found enough supplies in their barrels to last them till the 17th of December when they met up with Napoleon and the French Vanguard. They were some of the few men to escape Russia and after returning to France they were promoted to the guard.

The Cossacks discovered in the remaining barrels, which had been left in the waggon, enough food to last them eighteen days. They continued to harrow the French rearguard, but history does not record their story any more than this.

 

I have kicked off my Napoleonic skirmish collection with a platoon (undersized Company) of 5/60th riflemen and a band of dismounted Polish Guard Lancers armed with carbines. So expect to see these rules used in the future 

 

 

The Siege of Gloucester 1643

 Gloucester had been under siege since the 10th of August 1643. For many days now the Parliamentarian troops garrisoning the city had been putting up a valiant defence as the Royalist forces of King Charles I and Prince Rupert of the Rhine attempted to breach the walls of their town. But now Lieutenant Colonel Edward Massie had received news of the Earl of Essex's relief force departing from London, some 15,000 men were being sent to relieve Massie's garrison of 1,500. However, despite this news, Colonel Massie knew that the food supplies of the city were running dangerously low and if he didn't resupply soon the civilian population of Gloucester would conduct a coup and hand the city over to Prince Rupert and the king.

A fresh supply of food was essential if the garrison was to hold out till Essex's arrival.

 

Godfrey Goodman Bishop of Gloucester, who had recently had his Episcopal palace pillaged by parliamentarians, stood looking across the river Severn at the city he was Bishop for. He had opposed the king's crone, archbishop Laud, but now he stood beside one of the king's cannons, surrounded by Rupert's Blew coats, all of whom had declared for the king. When he had been released from the tower he had immediately fled to Oxford, to the king's side. After Charles' alliance with the Irish he knew that, as a closet Catholic, he would be accepted into the Royalist cause.

Now he stood looking upon the city that had shown him so little respect, and prayed for its destruction.

 

The Gloucestershire clubmen had turned out at dawn and were now lining the defence works of their city. Captain Richard Bannaster had departed the previous evening and soon he would come riding over the Severn bridge and up the road to the city gates. He would bring with him the dearly needed supplies and  the clubmen's stomachs leaped at the thought of fresh food. In the city centre Lord Stamford's regiment and the Garrison regiment were both turned out in case the Royalists attempted to stop Captain Bannaster's return with the supplies.

 

In the tower of St Mary De Crypt church, which overlooked the road leading over the Severn to the city gates, the reverend Lambert Johnson stood beside the Giles Reeves, the City gunsmith and also the best marksman. In the Reverend Johnson's hand was clasped his bible, for Reverend Johnson was a strict puritan, and beside him Reeves held a musket and shotte.

Johnson prayed for Captain Bannaster's swift return, for his safety and the safety of his supplies. And lastly he prayed for the Earl of Essex and his men, and for the lead ball's enclosed in Reeves' cartridge pouch.

 

Down one of the back streets of Gloucester a drunken soldier staggered of Mrs Boyle's pigeon house, an almost empty bottle of liquor clutched in each hand. He had decided to drown his hunger in the all consuming wave of drink, but as the Royalists guns began their bombardment of the city he soon regretted his rash decision.

 

Those of you who have been reading this blog since last year may remember the battle of Kingsbury (if not you can find it labelled under shieldwall). The same group of wargamers had called me back to help re-fight a small engagement outside the fortifications of a besieged parliamentarian city.

During the Queen's jubilee I bought myself four packs plastic royalist cavaliers from warlord games (over the jubilee they had quiet a good offer on, so I bought a reduced version of their buy three got one free deal of royalist cavalry. And just in the nick of time too as after the jubilee they stopped this deal). I also received prince Rupert of the Rhine from my tale of two gamers gaming partner for my Birthday and all this combined together to make quiet a nice little force of royalist cavalry. Today I was using prince Rupert of the Rhine and two squadrons of his horse (24 models).

 

Basically the idea of the game was for the Parliamentarians to cross the bridge over the river with a small herd of sheep and get them inside the city. Simple. However a little further along the river Rupert, leading a royalist cavalry force, would be coming over a ford in an attempt to intercept the Parliamentarians coming up the road. But the Parliamentarians too could react to this by sending out troops form the city's garrison.

 

We were using the rules Victory Without Quarter. It revolves around flipping cards to activate units. Once in every turn (how long it takes to get through the pack of unit cards) there will be a "Turnover" card somewhere in the pack. When this card is drawn the pack has to be reshuffled meaning that the order in which units activate (If they activate) is entirely left to chance. Personally I'm a fan of these kind of rule sets and the game was set for a good battle.

 

As the sun rose over Gloucester Captain Richard Bannaster crossed the bridge over the Severn. Behind him came the green jackets, commanded shot and the best parliamentarian sharpshooters in the west, guiding along the herd of sheep gathered up from the surrounding countryside.

The road ahead was clear of cavaliers, and the only sign of royalist troops were the earthwork fortresses surrounding the city, their cannons conducting a continuous barrage of Gloucester's earthworks.

 

But beyond the redoubts, riding hard across the fordable part of the river Severn, came the Rhinelanders. German emigres who had gone into exile, with Frederick and Rupert in England, and who now took up the king's standard in support of their Prince's uncle.

They came on down the road in column heading for the crossroads. They had been riding hard since midnight, when the alarm had swept through the King's camp that the men of Gloucester were out raiding the lands, and had blown their horses with the speed. However they were approaching the cross roads fast and looked as though they may possibly be able to cut off the parliamentarians before they reached the city gate.

 

Following up the road behind them came Prince Rupert of the Rhine, his toy poodle Boye trotting at his side, and Richard Molyneux, 2nd Viscount Molyneux of Maryborough with Rupert's lifeguard leading in front of them.
The Garrison of the Prince's blew coats cheered "God save Prince Rupert, God save the king!" as their dashing cavalier of a leader galloped past their earthen redoubt.

As the Prince's lifeguard, all personally picked by the king to guard his best general, spurred their horses past the blown steeds of the Rhinelanders and along the hedge flanked road that lead to the cross roads, they came into the sights of Gloucester's master gunner.

Mister Ellis powell looked along the barrel of the great artillery piece that protruded from the town fortifications. A small body of heavily armoured cavalrymen were riding along the road, looking as though they intended to cut off Captain Bannaster and his raiders. Powell had been warned that the royalists might attempt something like this and he knew what he had to do. "Range three hundred yards, commence loading!"

The Lifeguard were riding swiftly along the road when all of a sudden a cannon ball tore into the hedge to their left sending muck and branches flying everywhere and sending the horses into panic. After regaining control of their steeds the cavaliers returned to the roads, their spirits much shaken.

Rupert and Maryborough stopped at the ford to survey the field. From their position Captain Bannaster and his raiders could be seen herding the sheep over the bridge. Behind them, crossing the ford, a unit of commanded shot from Rupert's Blew regiment were marching along in column, muskets and cartridge pouches held high so as not to damped the powder.
 

With Rupert's lifeguard at the crossroads and turning down the road that lead from the bridge to confront Bannaster's column head on, the Rhinelander horse galloped into a field and formed up in two ranks ready to charge the Parlimentarians as they came down the road.
 

But the unsuspecting Royalists were going to have a surprise. Seeing the Royalist horse riding across the fields to block Captain Bannaster's path to the City, Colonel Massie had marshaled his forces in the city centre and was now preparing to send them out into the fields. Riding fast along the streets towards the city gate, barred and guarded by Gloucester clubmen, came Massie's Cuirassiers the most heavily armoured troops available to him and the most elite available to Parliament in the whole of the west. If any one could get the sheep to Gloucester it was these men.
 

The Gloucester gates opened and Rupert got his first whiff of what Massie had to throw at him. As the Cuirassiers galloped out, followed by Pike an Shot from lord Stamford's regiment, the Royalist infantry began to tremble in their boots.

 

As the Parliamentarian horse column cantered along the Gloucester road, they passed by a gap in the hedge to their left. This was what the Rhinelanders had been waiting for and with a shout the protestant German horse charged at full gallop directly into the centre of the Parliamentarian column's flank, engaging and startling the first squadron of Captain Bannaster's yellow pennon horse.

 

 The fighting was swift and sharp with Bannaster's horse falling back from the Rhineladers as the second rank of royalist cavalry burst through the first and into the bloody frey.

The Rhinelanders now took the most risky decision to force their blown horses on and press the attack on the Parliamentarian lead squadron. This left their flank completely open to a charge from the other horsemen whom they had cut off from their command squadron. The Rhinelanders hope was that they would be able to press the enemy cavalry and their own exhausted nags further into the field before the Parliamentarian horse still on the road recovered their wits and charged.

 



True to their hopes the sword arms of the Germans carried them forward into the next field, and as they bore down upon the enemy horsemen the Parliamentarians lost their will to fight and turned tail to flee. But the royalist horse pursued them and cut them down to a man as they ran.

The Rhinelanders were out of harms way but they and their horses were by now completely exhausted from the effort of driving the Parliamentarian cavalry from the road and they would have to spend some to recovering themselves in the field before they would be any good for anything.

 

As the Cuirassiers trotted along the road from the city, passing out of the last fortifications, their leader suddenly reined up his horse and, turning to his companions, shouted "Long live the king, down with Parliament!" pistols were drawn by all members and pointed in everyone's faces. It seemed that the split for king and for parliament in the Gloucester Cuirassiers was rather equally divided. There was allot of shouting and pistol pointing and in the end the unit dispersed, the men riding of in different directions with yells of defection and defiance.

 

Prince Rupert now road up along he road to where the Blew coat column had halted. He formed them up in a firing line against the hedge and prepared them to fire on Bannaster's commanded shot, dressed in yellow coats who were crossing over the fields. 

 

The Prince's lifeguard were now preparing themselves to charge the Parliamentaian green jackets. However they were still shaken up from the cannon shot and seemed unable to rally themselves for the charge. 

 

Captain Bannaster had been quiet thoroughly intercepted by Rupert and MaryBorough. His horse was all stuck on the bridge save for those who's bodies littered the nearby field, his green jackets were surrounded on both sides by Rupert's elite cavalry and his other commanded shot were in the water mill's field facing off against the Blew coats, personally commanded by Rupert and MaryBorough.

The sheep, so needed by Colonel Massie, had been herded into the field beside the bridge for their own safety.

 

 A volley from the green jackets seemed to be the tipping point for the lifeguard's courage, and Rupert's heavy horse now charged through the smoke into the lines of the commanded shot. However the Musketmen put up a good fight against the Royalist elites and held the charging column at bay with their musket stocks.

 

Following the dispersal of the Cuirassiers, Colonel Massie now dispatched Lord Stamford's regiment of foot out from the City and, marching in column with pike and shot, the regiment made its way towards Rupert's rear at the crossroads. 

 

Maryborough now rode up to the Blew coats, balling orders at them to keep up a steady rate of fire on the Parliamentarian commanded shot, and quick about it! With their commander at their backs the Blew coats fired and reloaded at all most double the rate of their opposing commanded shot.

 

Still unseen by Prince Rupert, the Stamford pike and shot made its way into a field and on towards where Rupert himself sat mounted on the road from the Severn ford. If the Prince wasn't careful he could fin himself fighting a battle on two fronts and eventually lose his rear to the Stamford regiment. 

 

The parliamentarian commanded shot now left their position and began marching on the blew coats to get a better and more lethal range on the royalist commanded shot. However as they marched Marayborough kept up their swift rate of fire and the Parliamentarians ended up with spirits shaken and several casualties sustained.

 

The ongoing and hard fort melee with the green jackets and lifeguard was going bloodily for both sides with a good amount of dead and wounded on each side but little sign of either side wanting to fallback.

 

But now, after resting themselves and their horses, the gallant and successful Rhinelanders were back in the frey and, from their position in the corner of the field, charged straight into the rear of the gallant green jackets. The unsuspecting green jackets were hewn down to a man by swords and pistols striking them in the back from the charging Rhinelanders.

 

Captain Bannaster's column, coming up the road to Gloucester, now had Royalist forces on either side of the road preventing it from reaching the crossroads. Rupert was also bringing up his light artillery to Bannaster's left in an attempt to support the blew coats in breaking the last of the Parliamentarian commanded shot.

However Stamford's regiment was making good pace towards Rupert's rear and looked as though it may yet be upon him before he could rally his forces to form a rearguard to counter it.

 

Prince Rupert now joined Maryborough in commanding his Blew coats, and with their leaders behind them the commanded shot more than tripled their rate of fire. They fired off volley after volley upon the Parliamentarian commanded shot at close rage, but only managing to inflict minor losses.

 

The Rhinelander cavalry now found themselves flank charged, whilst reforming, by the remainder of the very Parliamentarian cavalry unit that they had smashed in half at the very beginning of the engagement. However the Parliamentarians were but half the amount of the German Royalists, but they did have the advantage of a flank charge and fresh horses.

 

Things were not going terribly well for Captain Bannaster. He himself was now trapped on the bridge with a squadron of cavalrymen, whilst in front of him the Rhinelanders were pushing his other remaining half squadron of horse back along the road and towards the river.

The commanded shot in the centre were not having much of an effect on one another causing equal casualties, but the royalist artillery was by now almost within firing range of the parliamentarian musket men.

However on the bright side (of life) the Stamford pike were almost in line with the hedge and would soon be over the road and threatening the royalist's route of escape. 

 

But things only got worse for the raiders, the Rhineland cavalry cutting down the last of the half cavalry squadron that they had run onto the road after being flank charged by them. Bannaster fled into the field to join the yellow coated commanded shot, leaving the last parliamentarian cavalry to the mercy of the big German horsemen. 

 

The Royalist light gun was now in position to fire on Bannaster's commanded shot. But before they had a chance to open fire the Blew coats had released a hurried volley, pressed into rushing the loading by their inspirational leaders.

The Parliamentarian musketmen, despite Bannaster's best efforts, could not withstand this final volley and fled in terror to the shelter of the riverside woods.

 

Whilst Rupert and Maryborough had been pushing the Parliamentarian raiders back to the river Severn, they had also been bringing up the light artillery as well as Sir Richard Molyneux (Maryborough)'s regiment of redcoated commanded shot from the main Royalist encampment. However the Parliamentarian pike were also closing in, it was looking as though Maryborough's foot would soon be facing off against Stamford regiment. 

 

As the artillerymen stood back from loading their light gun to see all the enemy musketmen fleeing for the river, they turned their gun towards them and began to fire of shots into the back of the retreating commanded shot.

 

MaryBorough's redcoats looked as though they might soon be single handed attempting to hold off Stamford's regiment of pike and shot, but riding hard for the ford from Rupert's camp came another Royalist cavalry regiment of Salisburymen still loyal to King and country. They had been riding in Rupert's rearguard and as such, unlike the other of Rupert's horse, their horses were still fresh and capable of running at full gallop.

 

The Rhinelanders on their blown horse, which didn't seemed to have hindered them to much so far, now charged for the Parliamentarian cavalry defending the bridge over the Severn. The commander of the incredibly successful cavalry crashed straight in against the last of Bannaster's units still standing.

 

The arrival of the Salisbury horse and Maryborough red coats, heralded the appearance of Thomas Wentworth 1st earl of Cleveland (and brother of the unfortunate Strafford who parliament had impeached on false grounds).

Prince Rupert departed Maryborough's company to meet up with Cleveland near the ford and help direct the assault on Stamford's regiment.

The Salisbury cavalry split into two half squadrons, one riding up over the hedges on the Parliamentarian pike's right whilst the other, with the pennon, rode off down the road to attempt an attack on the pike's left.

Sir Richard Molyneux's company of foote (Maryborough's redcoats) left their column and formed a firing line, facing in the direction of Stamford's regiment.

 

It was now that Maryborough decided he no longer needed direction from Prince Rupert, he had done well enough on his own so far and would continue to do so. So instead of joining Rupert and Cleveland he continued firing off his volleys of musket and cannon fire into the woods where Bannaster was attempting to rally his commanded shot. 

 

Peering over the entrenchments, Master gunner Ellis Powell caught sight of a small squadron of horse riding up the Gloucester road. They were the very horse that the gunners had fired on just before the two forces had engaged.

The Gloucester town gun had been out of range of the fighting for a good while now, though the crew had been able to see pretty clearly what was unfolding in the fields below them, and this sudden emergence of enemy cavalry within range grabbed their attention.

The city gun fired, but missed the Prince's lifeguard again and again tearing apart part of the hedge nearby, sending the royalists' horses into panic.

 

Rupert and Cleveland's pincer movement was working well and Stamford's foote were almost in their grasp. The Salisbury horse was through the hedge with a half squadron on either side of the parliamentarian Pike and shot, whilst Maryborough's redcoats supported their muskets on top of the hedge ready to fire.

 

Seeing Captain Bannaster in flight for the bridge, the herd of sheep stranded in a nearby field and Stamford's regiment surrounded and outnumbered by the newly arrived Royalist forces, Colonel Massie now decided to dispatch the Gloucester Garrison regiment. They would try to recapture the sheep, but if they proved impossible then they would help Stamford's regiment to perform a fighting retreat back to the Gloucester gates.

 

Deciding to abandon Captain Bannaster with his terrified men in the riverside woods, Maryborough now brought up the Blew coats and light artillery to help Rupert in shifting the Stamford foot, who were by now completely surrounded by horse and commanded shot. 

 

Stamford's regiment stood defiant. They were to attempt to relieve Captain Bannaster and for all they knew he was still fighting strong on the Gloucester road. When they had suddenly been surrounded by fresh royalist horse and musketmen they realised that they had grossly underestimated the numbers of Royalists under Rupert's command on this day. But their orders stood and unless it proved utterly impossible they were still to attempt to relieve Bannaster.

Anyway what could horse do against pikes?

 

Maryborough's commanded shot now vaulted the hedge, levelled their muskets and fired off a volley into the Pikemen with absolutely no effect save a couple of wounded. But nevertheless they had distracted the foot long enough to allow Rupert's lifeguard and Salisbury horse to completely encircle them. Once the Musketmen softened them up a bit it would be time for the cavalry to charge.

 

 The Rhinelanders were managing to slowly (very slowly) push the Parliamentarian horse back across the Severn bridge. No casualties had been sustained on either side, but the Royalists were fighting harder than their opponents and were making at least an inch of ground.

The Sheep herd was now completely cut off from their captors and, utterly stranded, at the mercy of the Royalists.

 

With the city Garrison marching out in their bright red coats, the city gunners were enthused to keep up the firing on Rupert's lifeguard, who were now in a position to successfully rear charge Stamford's foote. This third shot directed at the Royalist heavy cavalry proved much more deadly than the previous two, hitting the horsemen dead on and sending them fleeing for the royalist camp as fast as they could.

 

The German horse continued to inch forwards and finally succeeded in getting the front hooves of their mounts onto the bricks of the bridge. The Parliamentarian cavalry fought for all they were worth and managed to prevent any casualties, but they continued to lose ground to the Rhineland horse. 

 

The arrival of the Cleveland dragoons at the Ford was heralded by the beating of the only royalist Drum on the battlefield. The Mounted infantry spurred forward their horses, their great banner flapping in the wind.

Wentworth had big intentions for these troopers and had made sure to mount them as rearguard on the fastest horses in his possession.  

 

Furious with the sight of the Royalist heavy cavalry fleeing, Maryborough rode in front of the Lifeguard and rallied them to new heights of courage and inspiring them back to full morale.

Stamford's regiment was beginning to fall back towards the Gloucester road. They had taken casualties from the Molyneux commanded shot, but had also caused some on them with return fire. However the Royalist drums and the sight of the Blew coats and light artillery had been enough to assure them that Captain Bannaster was dead, fled or captured by now.

The Garrison regiment was making good pace, but they now knew that their mission was to provide support for Stamford's foote in making a fighting retreat back to Gloucester.

 

As Stamford's regiment continued its fall back, they exposed their flank perfectly for the Lifeguard's to charge. Supported by Richard Molyneux, Rupert's (previously) useless heavy cavalry dived past the pikes and into combat with the men of Stamford's pike and shot.

The Royalist horse took a casualty from a levelled pike as they charged, but once they were in the proceeded to cause chaos in the foote formation.

 

Meanwhile, the sneaky Cleveland dragoons sped at full gallop down the road and into the field opposite the Gloucester gun. It wasn't quite clear where the mounted infantry were going, being so close to the enemy fortifications, but wherever it was they intended mischief!

 

Rupert's Blew Foote commanded shot now vaulted the hedge, sprinted ahead of the loading Maryborough foote and opened up a volley upon Stamford's pike and shot. Several parliamentarian musketmen dropped dead whilst several other took wounds. 

 

Reverend Lambert Johnson surveyed the desolate battlefield. The mounted raiding force under Captain Bannaster had been completely routed with not a steady foot this side of the Severn, and now the Parliamentarian pike and shot were surrounded on every side. Even the Gloucester regiment had the royalist dragoons approaching them on their flank.

Yet, thought the reverend, had not Gideon triumphed against the odds? With god on their side was there not yet still hope that they may triumph over the forces of Satan's servant Rupert?

 

As the Royalist Dragoons approached their flank, the Garrison regiment formed into its pike and shot formation. But now Wentworth was their, behind the hedge, ordering his men to dismount their horses and advance towards the city fortifications. 

 

It was then that the Gloucester Gate swung open and riding out from the depths of his city came Lieutenant Colonel Edward Massie in person. He had finally decided that he must join the battle himself if there was any hope at all of recovering the two remaining regiments to the safety of the city walls. 

 

Inspired by the arrival of their commander, the Garrison regiment now opened fire, with one of its shot wings, upon the dismounted Cleveland dragoons. The shots hit the dismounted royalists, cutting down one or two of them and wounding several others. 

 

All this time the two cavalry squadrons were still engaged in fighting on the bridge with, as yet, no more ground being made for either side. But suddenly the Parliamentarian front horse lost their nerve and darted to the back of the column leaving their spaces to be filled by two more roundheads, but the damage had been done and the royalists had gained slightly more brick's worth of bridge. 

 

With Stamford's regiment having been hewn down by the lifeguard and shot in the back as the fled by Molyneux and Rupert's commanded shot, Maryborough's light artillery piece was now in position to fire on the garrison regiment. However with all the smoke obscuring their targets, the gun crew mistook Rupert's lifeguard for the enemy and fired upon them. Lucky for the heavy cavalry that the shot missed them, but it was a close thing.

 

Thomas Wentworth, personally leading his dismounted dragoons, now moved round to the rear of the Garrison regiment, coming between them and their city's fortifications. 

 

It suddenly became clear to Massie that the Dragoons meant to cut off the last parliamentarians path of retreat back into the city. So he spurred forwards his horse to join his regiment and attempt to lead them back to the city gates before they were stranded. 

 

However right at that moment the Salisbury horse (now fully formed into their squadron) and Rupert's Lifeguard charged Massie and the garrison regiment. The heavy cavalry (seemingly trying to make up for the lack of action at the beginning of the engagement) bashed through the pikes and made contact with the infantry. However the Salisbury horse were halted just yards from the pike and shot as the left wing shot opened fire on it.

 

As he rode along with his men, pushing them on towards the city gates, Thomas Wentworth earl of Cleveland came into the sights of Giles Reeves. He had been watching the battle in fury since Rupert had crossed the ford and now levelled his musket at the pesky Royalist Earl. Reeves was the best parliamentarian shot in the west and this cocky commander had the nerve to wander into his sights.

But as the smoke cleared from around Reeves' head he could see the Earl clearly, waving his handkerchief in a gesture of defiance at the church tower.

 

Cleveland's dragoons now burst upon the city gates. They appeared completely unexpected and the clubmen guarding the gates had no time to even attempt closing the gates before they were covered by the muskets and pistols of the dragoons. With the city emptied of troops save for the clubmen, the Cleveland troopers ran in and secured the gates "for king and country!" 

 

Colonel Edward Massie was utterly defeated. He rode forwards to Prince Rupert of the Rhine and dismounted to hand the Prince his sword in a gesture of his surrender. The Garrison regiment, too, surrendered to the Royalist horsemen. But the loss of their regiment and commander was not all that befell the city of Gloucester. Wentworth and his dragoons had secured the gate and now the horsemen and commanded shot poured into the city to disarm the clubmen and capture the walls.

Gloucester had been taken in a minor battlefield engagement with no forlorn hope, no storming of the breeches and no horrific blood shed... and all because of a small herd of sheep.

 

 ... and talking of sheep, over by the Severn bridge the sheep herd stood grazing in a nearby field with no intention of ending up in a parliamentarian's stomach. Captain Richard Bannaster stood with his commanded shot hiding amongst the trees, in the evening they would swim across the river and attempt to join up with the earl of Essex wherever he may be at this moment in time.

The Parliamentarian horse on the bridge surrendered their weapons to the highly successful Rhineland cavalry and were escorted back to Rupert's camp.