TEARS OF THE FOOT GUARDS

ALLEGRO - STAVE IV

S T A V E

IV

General William Howe, 'Billy', MP, PC, Commander-in-Chief of the American Expeditionary Force, turned his dark full face to the heights outside his headquarters' window. The ridge above was a sea of British canvas, fresh white tents like the caps on waves – beautiful, neat, in symmetry with the Age. A good camp, a clean camp, with scents of fresh-cut pine and cedar, very pleasant ground, a rarity in America where the inland is a tangle of woods and streams.

The tentage had arrived from England, the Victualers too, so necessary to the men's health. The men's health – the trump card in battle. An army cannot march and fight and live off the land especially in a hostile country. England is the pumping heart, without her the army would perish. In America, nothing's to be had: no food, no clothing, no preformed cartridges. Rebels depend on English goods. What they'd not stored up, they pinch – British guns fire at the King's troops, stolen British cannon forced the evacuation from Boston. If a King's man is shot dead, the rebel throws down his old fowler and picks up Brown Bess. America yields nothing and takes what it can. No one knew this better than Billy Howe.

Fifty thousand troops in America. Staggering on paper, but not when spread across the colonies. Even with his share of twenty-two thousand on the ships and on Staten Island, they were too few. Kill one rebel and he can be replaced in a week by twenty from New Hampshire or Virginia. Kill a King's man and his replacement is three thousand miles across the sea. Logistics – the true enemy. The army without supply lines would be in shambles after three days. If

Washington is smart, he'd never stand and fight . . .

But he's not smart and that is my ally.

On the ridge the silhouettes of troops moving about the tents.

Rest them for the chase. Keep them happy in their rum – happy British soldiers come to show what they're made of. He was proud of them. And why not? He was one of them, damn the fashion.

He turned to his desk and there the correspondence from Henry Clinton, his second in command. Evermore battle plans. And now with the arrival of one thousand Foot Guards and eight thousand German troops, the army was at strength.

He's got the bit, Howe thought, a luxury Clinton could afford without the weight of senior command.

Howe could beat the Rebels every day, but one check to his force would spell disaster. Breeds Hill taught him that – green troops from the ships without exercise or training, straight into Action. How long since they live-fired? Or stormed a position? The June heat. That all were not killed . . .

"A fucking mess." The Blood – painting the grass, painting Howe's gaiters, turning brown – Recruits and Pensioners . . . "A disorganized, fucking mess."

He recalled the breastworks crowning Breed's Hill. Bunker's Hill beyond and out of sight. That was what he knew, what the intelligence had provided. A three-pronged attack: General Pigot on the left to flank the redoubt, the Light Infantry along the Mystic to get behind it, and Howe up the center with the grenadiers. Don't stop and fire. Push on with the bayonet.

Glowing shot streaked across the harbour from batteries on Copp's Hill as did cannonade from his Majesty's frigates. Charlestown smelting ablaze, black smoke belching. Pound them. And on the Charlestown shore – Howe before the grenadiers with their canteens, haversacks and blanket rolls, two ranks deep, but in that old close order Howe disliked. At least these were veterans of Lexington and Concord.

"Gentlemen," he had addressed them. "I am happy in having the honour of commanding so fine a body of men. I do not doubt but that you will behave like Englishmen, and as becomes good soldiers. If the enemy will not come from their entrenchment, we must drive them out, otherwise Boston will be set afire by them. I shall not desire anyone of you to step farther than I would go at your head . . . Gentlemen, we have no resources if we lose Boston but to go on board our ships, which will be disagreeable to us all."