The Thistle against the Crown: Chapter 5

The Berwick Militia takes form.

     "Tighten the ranks up!" Dougal shouted at the men, "Shoulder to shoulder. We've done this a dozen times already!" Dougal stepped back from the line of civilians who all stood in two lines, one in front of the other. It was not the tight ranks of the British army that he and Horatio were used to, but it was closer than most militias that the men had seen.

     While the men of the town from the age of sixteen to forty-five, drilled on the town green, the rest of the town gathered around the outside of the green to sit and watch. Most of them were ladies, with their children nearby. The older boys watched with great interest knowing that soon their time to join that line would come. The girls sat with their mothers and mended clothes, or learned to knit. The ladies sat in groups and talked about the happenings around the town, though this day there seemed to only be one topic of conversation among them; the prospect of war.

     Other onlookers watched from the edge of the green. Some were the older men of the town, like George Mitchell, while others were men who were passing through town on their way north into the wilderness, or south towards the coast. Berwick was no stranger to men and families passing through, but it seemed that those who were there that day were much more interested in what was happening on the town square than they were with continuing on to their own business.

     "Right! Let's try it again." Dougal shouted, "Take care to go from line into column by sections of four, by the right wheel!" There was a distinct pause between Dougal's issuing of the preparatory command and the order of execution, which would signal the men to move, "Wheel!"

     The men started moving. Every third man looked to his left, while the two to his left looked towards him. The two straight lines broke into small sections of six, three from the front rank, and three from the back, and started to swing into a long column of three wide. It was very slow, and sloppy, but they had done it without leaving large gaps in their lines, or getting tangled up in each other.

     Dougal nodded and looked over to where Horatio stood, observing. Horatio was pleased, but he knew that they couldn't just do this haphazardly anymore. There was much more at stake if they got tangled up or had missteps in any of their moves.

     "Very good." Horatio said starting to walk around the column, "But we can do better! We must do better." He stopped next to Dougal, "But I think it's time we move onto something else." He turned to Dougal, "Sergeant Major, put them through their paces."

     "As you say, sir." Dougal responded and looked at the column, "Take care to go from column into line, by sections by the left wheel!" He paused again, "Wheel!" Each six-man section that had just moments before turned into the column formation now swung and reformed the line that they had previously been in. It took a moment for them to adjust themselves. Some sections had squeezed too tightly together and didn't allow room for the section next to them, while others had allowed too much space and now had to close the gap.

     "Remember, this is a simulation gentlemen." Horatio shouted from his observation spot on the sidelines.

     "Take care to simulate firing." Dougal shouted. He was pleased to see that the men almost moved all at the same time and brought their weapons down across their bodies, holding them by the balance point around their chests.

     "Half-c**k firelock!" Dougal's order echoed around the buildings that surrounded the town green. Each man pulled the hammer back to the half-c**k position and waited for their next order. Like most militia units throughout the thirteen colonies, the British 1764 manual of arms was the drill manual they preferred to use. The Berwick militia had a better handle on it than many other militia units since Dougal and Horatio had drilled them much like the soldiers of the British Army, but without the ability to discipline them, they lacked the crisp precision of the British troops.

     As Dougal continued to put the militia through the loading and firing Horatio stood off to the side watching them. He saw a few things that they would have to work on fixing once the militia moved out of town and they could begin training as a true military unit. Most of it was getting the movements to become muscle memory. That was the key to being an effective soldier, the instant obedience to orders. It was imperative if they wanted to survive in combat. Things happened quickly on a battlefield, there was all sorts of different sounds coming from everywhere, and they would need to recognize the voices of their officers and non-commissioned officers immediately and respond just as instantaneously. The more Horatio watched, the more he realized that he and Dougal had their work cut out for them to make the men of Berwick an effective military force.

     "Horatio." Mitchell said as he walked up behind Horatio with the aid of his cane.

     "Yes, sir." Horatio replied as he turned around.

     "There's something I wanted to show you. It's inside the barn here."

     Horatio turned and walked with Mitchell through the crowd. He smiled at those he knew and nodded at those he wasn't so familiar with, but curiosity and duty had him in their grip. Mitchell was always a man who surprised people, and he didn't know what the old man had up his sleeve this time.

     "I think you'll be quite pleased with this." Mitchell said, "We've been gathering them for some time to help the militia, but now seems as good a time as any to bring them out and arm your company with." Mitchell nodded at the thirteen-year-old boy standing by the barn door waiting to open it.

     The door was large and heavy, but the well-built young man opened it with relative ease, allowing the bright sunlight of the day to illuminate the large barn. It was full of old wooden barrels and long wooden crates, most of which were covered with pieces of white canvas. No animals inhabited the barn; it looked as though it were used solely for storing whatever it was that was in the barrels and crates.

     Horatio took a step into the barn as Mitchell and the boy waited by the door, "What is all this?" He asked as he took another few steps in and walked over to one of the stacks of crates covered with a piece of white canvas.

     "Consider it a gift from the committee of safety." Mitchell responded with a clever smile.

     Horatio grabbed the canvas and flung it back exposing the contents of the crates. It held four, sixty-five inch long British Brown Bess long land pattern muskets. Horatio was speechless. Next to each one lay the steel bayonet that affixed to the top of it stuck securely in its black, leather scabbard. Each musket had a flint in the dog-head and appeared to be ready to be fired. But what was more astonishing to him was the fact that not one of the muskets looked as though it had ever been used.

     "How did you get all these?" Horatio asked, completely astonished.

     "When the army switched out for the second model, these came onto the market for militia companies and such. Some of the wealthier men in town, and I have been slowly collecting them over the past several years. I believe we have around sixty-seven of them now, and plenty of powder and ball for them. That's what's in the casks." Mitchell responded with a smile, "Since I can't go with you, it's the least I can do."

     Horatio walked over to Mitchell and shook his hand firmly, "You've already done more than anyone could ask of you, sir." He turned back to the barn as he released Mitchell's hand, "Keep these here until we have our roster of who's volunteering. Once that's done we'll start issuing them out and loading up the rest of the stores to travel."

     "You won't be drilling in town?" Mitchell asked, curious of what Horatio's plan was.

     "No." Horatio replied, "Far too much of an invitation for men to desert. No we'll march a few miles before setting up camp and training there. Most of the time we'll train on the march. We don't have time to really sit in one place and drill for weeks, although that's exactly what these men need."

     Mitchell nodded, "Ahh, such a pity you weren't older in '45, we could have used you, lad."

     Horatio smiled, "It's an honor sir, but you had my father and grandfather, much better men than I."

     "We'll see." Mitchell said with a smile, "We'll see."

     With quick steps, Horatio walked back across the dirt road and onto the green where Dougal was still putting the militia through their musketry drill. He stood and watched for a moment, wondering which of these men would sign up, and which would not. He couldn't blame any of them if they chose to stay out of the war, but for the sake of their cause he hoped that many would agree to fight for perhaps the noblest of causes.

     "Sergeant Major!" Horatio shouted.

     "Sir." Dougal said as he turned to face Horatio and came to attention, "Bring the men to attention."

     "Company!" Dougal's voice barked through the air, "Shoulder your Firelocks!" The men brought their weapons up to their shoulders and stood with the weapon nestled against their left shoulder and their right hand straight by their side. Dougal walked to the middle of the formation, just a few paces out from the line, and turned to face the same direction as the men.

     Horatio walked out and looked at the line of around ninety seven men. "You have done well. I am impressed with the progress you've made, and just because some of us are leaving, don't let that stop you from continuing this tradition. Someday, when all this is over, I look forward to coming back here and watching you drill like this again. I look forward to watching you men and seeing how you have improved." Horatio paused for a moment to gather his words, "For those of you who will be coming with us, I urge you to memorize these moves. Turn them into muscle memory, because when we march into battle, it will be imperative that you do! We will be falling out in a moment, and Sergeant Major Cameron and I will be set up under that tree ready to take any man who wishes to fight for the cause of liberty." He turned to the crowd, "This is not a fight that men can win alone. We will be accepting some of the ladies to come with us. Allowing them to stay at the side of their families, and help care for all of us who volunteer. We will be keeping you on roster, though. Do not think that this is an easy choice for you either. You will be expected to work, to help nurse men back to health, to cook, and help mend clothing and uniforms. An army can not survive without the help of its ladies." He smiled at some of the ladies he made eye contact with as he spoke, "So, I know that there are mixed feelings among you." He turned his attention back to the men, "But I ask you, what better cause is there to lay down one's life for than the cause of liberty? The cause of freedom? We really do have a chance to build a new world here, but we can't do it without you." He paused realizing there was nothing left to say, "Sergeant Major! Dismiss the company, with my compliments."

     "Sir." Dougal said taking two steps forward and turning around, "Company will take care to dismiss." He paused waiting to see if any of them anticipated his next command and moved without him telling them to, but he was pleased to see that none did. They stood fast, "Dismissed!" The men took a step back, did an about face and walked off in a crowd. Dougal sighed, hoping that Horatio's words had gotten through to them.

     Horatio walked from the center of the green over to the small wooden table and stool that sat under the large oak tree that he, Sinéad, Dougal and the children had eaten lunch under just a few hours earlier. He pulled a small stack of papers, a quill, and a small bottle of ink from the lap secretary that sat on it. Within a few moments Dougal arrived at his side and sat down on the stool next to him. Neither said anything, all they could do was wait.

     They didn't have to wait long as within five minutes the first two volunteers stepped up to the table. One was a large man, with broad shoulders and salt and pepper hair. His face was worn, and grisly from years on the battlefield and in the frontier. His clothes were plain, and his equipment even plainer.

     "Alexander Mackenzie..." Dougal said, "You look braw." He stood and shook the man's hand, "You sure you're up for another war?"

     "Aye." The large man said, "Can't let you two go off without me, now can I?" He smiled at the prospect of being reunited with two of his friends from His Majesty's 42nd Highland Regiment, nicknamed the "Black Watch."

     Horatio quickly filled out Mackenzie's name, age and town before handing him the quill, "Make your mark please." He nodded as the man simply put an "x" next to his name. Most of the men and women in Berwick couldn't read or write, but Horatio still needed them to make a mark of acknowledgement. It was like signing a contract. Once they put their mark on the paper, they were bound by army regulations.

     The next man to step up was a tall slender man. He had a grey beard and clothes that were just as plain as Mackenzie's. The only difference was, where Mackenzie wore leather moccasins, this man wore regular shoes. "Looks like we're getting the group back together again, eh?" He laughed.

     "Collum Argyle... You old devil, how are you?" Horatio said with a smile before writing the man's information down. He was the oldest of the veterans from the 42nd that had settled in Berwick. At thirty-nine years old, he was an old man, but both Horatio and Dougal knew his experience would be invaluable.

     After those two men, several others began to fall into the line to sign up. Young men like Stuart Reid, and older men like George Mackenzie who graced the ranks at forty-two years old signed on, all eager to do their part. Englishmen like Elijah Randall, and French-Canadians like David Lamereaux signed on with the Scottish to show their support of a cause they felt to be equally worthy. Before they knew it, the Berwick Roster already held thirty-five names.

     "You really expect me to fight for you? A bunch of half crazy Scots? Likely get meself killed, so I will." A gruff voice came from behind the stools where Dougal and Horatio sat.

     A smile graced Horatio's face as he turned to see a tall, stocky man standing behind him. The man was dressed in a pair of wool leggings over his buckskin knee-breaches. Leather moccasins graced his feet. He wore a green hunting shirt over the top that hung down to his mid-thigh. Various leather bags and a powder horn were strapped to either side of him, most of which were held in place by a wool woven belt that was tied in the front. His face was covered in red facial hair and his red hair hung loose to nearly his shoulders. His green eyes full of joy, though to some he came across as crazy.

     "Seamus O'Sullivan! I was hoping you'd turn up." Horatio said walking over and hugging a friend that he had met many times while he and Dougal were out hunting.

     "Sure wouldn't I want you to be havin' all the fun now." O'Sullivan said, "So where do I sign up to make sure you damn Scotsmen don't foul this war up?"

     Horatio sat back down and quickly filled out O'Sullivan's information, "Put your mark there." He announced letting his friend take the pen and start scribbling.

     "That'll do. Come over to the house later, we'll knock back a pint and we can fill you in on what's been going on." Horatio said.

     "I'll do that! I might even get started without you." He laughed and walked away leaving Horatio and Dougal there shaking their heads with amusement at their friend.

     Horatio looked up to see a very familiar face staring back at him, "What are you doin', lass?"

     "You said you wanted women, so I'm here. You didn't think you were gonna be leavin' me behind, now, did ye?" Sinéad said firmly.

     "And who's going to be watchin' your bairn while you're off with us?" Horatio asked.

     "I've already talked to Mrs. Makenzie, she said she'd be happy to look after them, and I think Mr. Scott could use the help around the house to keep the place nice until we get back." Sinéad said picking up the quill and writing her own name, age and then signing it. "There... now you can't get rid of me Horatio Cameron, no matter how much you might want to!"

     Horatio sighed, realizing there was no point in arguing with her any longer. It was clear that Sinéad's mind was made up and Horatio had learned long ago from his wife that trying to argue with an Irish woman who's mind was made up was a futile act, "Very well." He looked up at her and cracked a half smile before seeing the line of fifteen women who were lining up behind Sinéad to sign onto the roster as camp followers.

     The sun began to set in the sky and by nightfall Horatio and Dougal were pleased to have almost seventy names on the roster for men-at-arms and another twenty-seven ladies on strength as camp followers. They were both happy with that number, and it was over half of the town's militia. Most of those who did not sign up were either single parents, had a physical ailment that prevented them from joining up, or were too old. However there was nothing to be ashamed of. The company was a good size, but now the greater challenge lay ahead of the two veteran soldiers; they had to turn these farmers, hunters and artisans into soldiers and they would have to do it on the march. That was going to be the hardest task of all.

Author's Note

A bit of a longer chapter, but I think it works well to set the stage for the town of Berwick joining the American Revolution. Of course it won't be an easy road, and it will have its hiccups, but those remain to be seen.