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the things they carried 149
Two pair of good shoes are indispensably necessary for a Soldier,
as he must otherwise be obliged (if depending on one pair) after
a wet day’s march, to give them a hasty drying by the fire which
not only cracks the leather, but is the certain method of shrinking
them in such a manner, as to give the greatest pain and trouble to
the wearer: the best shoes will always be found the cheapest [in
the long run], and it will be necessary to strengthen the heels, with
some small nails: the toes should be round and flat: the straps full
large enough to fill the buckle.
72
The Hide Department was created by Congress to be responsible for
procuring leather for the soldiers’ shoes. It was both corrupt and inept.
Washington knew how important shoes were to the fighting potential
of his army, and bitterly complained to the Board of Trade against
the department’s cheating “by putting in small scraps and parings of
Leather and giving the Shoes the appearance of strength and substance,
while the Soals were worth nothing and would not last more than a day
or two’s march.”
As America struggled to clothe its soldiers, the diversity of uniforms at
times made identification difficult. In the early phase of the war the choice
of uniform colors was left to the discretion of regimental commanders,
not always with satisfactory results. The colonel of one cavalry regiment
chose an almost exact replica of his British counterpart, the Queen’s
Dragoons, and Washington literally had to cover up the potential
confusion by having the Americans hide their scarlet uniforms under
“frocks” (hunting smocks).
73
The distinctiveness of uniform could bring
with it its own liabilities. British officers’ marks of distinction, particularly
epaulettes, invited unwelcome attention from patriot marksmen. The
American captain John Chester, on his way to the battle of Bunker’s Hill,
also knew the perils of uniform as identification. On 22 July he wrote to
a friend, “We soon marched, with our frocks and trowsers on over our
clothes (for our company is in uniform wholly blue, turned up with red),
for we were loath to expose ourselves by our dress.”
74
At the beginning of the war, when regular uniforms for patriot
troops were in particularly short supply, occasionally the only means
patriot battles 150
of identification was a simple piece of paper or cockade attached to the
hat. Just before Montgomery and Arnold’s attack on Quebec in 1775
the surgeon Isaac Senter recorded, “To discriminate our troops from
the enemy in action, they were ordered each officer and soldier to make
fast a piece of white paper across their caps from the front to the acmé of
them.”
75
Misidentification could be disastrous. The Loyalist lieutenant
colonel John Simcoe described how he bagged a patriot militia unit
who “were deceived by the dress of the Rangers [Queen’s Rangers] and
came to Lt. Col. Simcoe, who immediately reprimanded them for not
coming sooner, held conversation with them and sent them prisoners
to General Arnold.”
76
The British lieutenant William Digby recorded
a close call at Freeman’s Farm in 1777: “On its turning dusk we were
near firing on a body of our Germans, mistaking their dark clothing
for that of the enemy.”
77
Confusion over uniform could be lethal, as
the Loyalist cavalry commander Colonel John Pyle discovered on 18
February 1781 when his detachment came upon a cavalry unit on the
same road. It was, in fact, a patriot force led by Henry “Light Horse”
Lee. Pyle mistook Lee for the British cavalry leader Banastre Tarleton,
since both Lee and Tarleton’s men wore short green coats. Playing
the part, Lee invited Pyle to draw up his men by the side of the road
so that he could pass. Pyle complied, and when the patriot force was
level with the misguided Loyalists, it wheeled on them, slashing and
shooting them from their saddles: “There was no fight; it was simply a
massacre.”
78
The anecdote is a striking illustration of mistaken identity,
but it may be simply Loyalist propaganda.
Uniforms brought other much more common but equally fatal
perils. They were unhealthy in a number of ways. Given the general
absence of cleaning facilities, many communicable diseases were spread
by infected clothing. Scabies—“the itch” to soldiers of the time—headed
the list. The scabies mites caused vesicles on the skin which, when
scratched, became infected with staphylococcus. Infection reached
epidemic proportions in the patriot army at Valley Forge. Rejecting the
“official” treatment of sulfur in hog’s lard, some soldiers, half demented
by the itch, tried their own remedies. One covered his body in mercury
ointment and died of poisoning. Another drank one and a half pints
the things they carried 151
of rum and also died.
79
Stripping the dead was common, and a dead
officer’s kit was usually auctioned off, all of which only served to spread
disease.
The estimable Dr. Benjamin Rush had forthright views on
uniforms and health. He did not like linen, and he did not approve of
Washington’s enthusiasm for the linen hunting shirt.
It is a well-known fact that the perspiration of the body, by
attaching itself to linen and afterwards by mixing with rain, is
disposed to forming miasmata which produces fevers. Upon
this account I could wish the rifle shirt was banished from our
army. Besides accumulating putrid miasmata, it conceals filth
and prevents a due regard being paid to cleanliness. The Roman
soldiers wore flannel shirts next to their skins.
80
The British uniform looked the part but was hardly functional.
Heavy cloth, coarse canvas, cumbersome leather shoulder and waist
belts, tight “rolers” at the throat, restrictive spatterdashes, and leggings
were hell to fight in during hot weather. For example, fifty-nine British
and German soldiers died of heatstroke at the battle of Monmouth on 28
June 1778. On a march from Bedford to Flushing in August of the same
year, nine soldiers died and sixty-three more were felled by sunstroke.
81
Medical opinion at the time only aggravated the soldiers’ suffering:
“They were told never to expose their chest to the air, because this
would result in pulmonic and bowel disease. A soldier was prohibited
from drinking water when he perspired. If he did and felt bad, he was
given whiskey.”
82
The whole issue of the weight of the British soldier’s kit is, for some,
another illustration of the crassness of British military management.
How could British officers have loaded their men like mules, while light-
footed Americans cut them to shreds? Christopher Ward’s influential
The War of the Revolution (1952) described redcoats going into battle at
Bunker’s Hill carrying “an estimated weight of a hundred pounds for
each man.” Twenty years after Ward’s book, another popular history
has the same troops going up Bunker’s Hill with “a load reckoned at
patriot battles 152
120 pounds.”
83
Not to be outdone, a more recent history makes the
absurd claim that the redcoats had to hump “about the same weight as
if they carried a good sized deer [that would be 200–300 pounds!] on
their backs.”
84
British commanders, like their American counterparts,
were certainly capable of “absurdities” (as military hierarchies before
and since have been), but a moment’s consideration should give pause.
First, contemporary accounts give a fairly clear indication of the weight
of a soldier’s gear. Captain Alexander Baillie of the 60th Foot, who was
stationed in America in 1762, carefully weighed the equipment of one
of the grenadiers of his regiment.
Lbs Qtrs
Regimental coat 5 2
Waist coat 2 1
Pair of breeches 1 2
Hat with cockade 1 0
Shirt 1 0
Knee buckles 0 3
Firelock with sling 11 0
Shoe buckles, stockings, garters 1 2
Waist belt and buckle 0 2
Hangar, sword knot, scabbard 2 3
Bayonet and scabbard 2 1
Cartridge pouch and belt 3 0
24 cartridges 2 0
Oil bottle 0 1
2 flints and steel 0 1
Haversack and strap 0 3
6 days’ provisions 10 1
Full canteen 3 1
Total 47 26
[53
½ lbs]
85
Second, British soldiers of the day (or American, for that matter) could
hardly have physically managed 100–125 pounds even in noncombat
conditions, and certainly not in battle. A modern, superbly fit, special
-
the things they carried 153
forces soldier can routinely hump 125 pounds carried in a scientifically
designed pack. The eighteenth-century soldier, by contrast, was usually
in relatively poor physical condition and had only a knapsack (of
goatskin with the hair left on, or of painted canvas) in which to carry
his gear. It simply did not have the capacity to carry the enormous loads
some historians have suggested.
86
Even if he dropped his knapsack prior to battle (which was the
usual drill), there was still a good deal of equipment about his person:
“Cross-belts compressed the chest and, if the knapsack-straps were
connected by a breast-strap, could seriously impair breathing. Unless
the cross-belts were connected at the back the cartridge-box and bayonet
could become entangled and the soldier thrown off-balance.”
87
7
The Big Guns
ARTILLERY
A
rtillery had an almost parasitic relationship with the musket.
Because muskets were individually so inefficient, they had to
be massed in compensation, and it was this density of men that
gave eighteenth-century artillery its raison d’être. Lacking accuracy
itself, it was a beast of omnivorous and indiscriminate appetite, guzzling,
like some Cyclops, the herds of men conveniently marching in dense
formation toward its greedy muzzle.
The guns of the War of Independence were, like muskets, all
smoothbore and, like muskets, lacked efficient aiming mechanisms.
Although gunners thought of themselves as a cut above other branches
of the army because their business carried with it the aura of “science,”
it was as much a craft, even an art. The gunner’s “eye” and “feel” for
his weapon mattered more than the complicated mathematical tables of
barrel elevation, shot weights, and powder charges. The field gunner
had recourse to three ammunition types. The first and most popular
was simple round or solid shot: iron balls of different weights. Artillery
firing round shot was graded by the weight of the ball rather than the
caliber or diameter of the muzzle. The second was canister or case shot:
tin cans filled with musket balls or any old pieces of iron junk. (The
Prussian captain Johann Heinrichs described American case shot loaded
the big guns 155
with bits of “old burst shells, broken shovels, pickaxes, hatchets, flat-
irons, pistol barrels, broken locks etc etc.”)
1
The case disintegrated as
it emerged from the muzzle to spread its projectiles in a spray pattern,
shotgun fashion. The third was spherical shell: hollow cast-iron globes
filled with gunpowder and fitted with a fuse which, if cleverly adjusted,
could be configured to explode just over the heads of advancing infantry.
(In 1804, it would evolve into the famous shrapnel shell.)
Solid shot accounted for about 70 percent of the ammunition
carried by the artillery and was used for medium-range fire. Ranges and
lethality varied according to the size of ball and powder charge. William
Müller, an officer in the King’s German Legion, made extensive tests
of artillery accuracy which he published in The Elements of the Science
of War (1811). Müller’s tests, although from a slightly later date than
the War of Independence, would have been applicable to the earlier
time frame. As with all such tests, there is some dislocation from the
realities of the battlefield, but they are nevertheless useful as a range
finder of lethality. For example, the 6-pounder (the workhorse of field
artillery) firing at a cloth target six feet high by thirty feet wide (roughly
representing a company of infantry) scored 100 percent hits at 520 yards
and 31 percent hits at 950 yards. At 1,200 yards, however, it scored only
17 percent hits. Müller’s test does not quite tell the whole story because
gunners firing a round shot tried to get two or even more bites at the
cherry through ricochet: the effect of a cannonball bouncing before
coming to rest. A 6-pounder might have a range of about 1,200 yards,
but the ball had several phases of lethality over that distance. At zero
degrees elevation (parallel with the ground) the first bounce (“graze”)
would have been at about 400 yards; it would then travel for another
400 yards at shoulder height before making its second graze, and then
on for a further 100 yards at about three feet from the ground before
rolling to a halt. The knack was to pitch the ball just in front of the
enemy’s first rank and have it skip and rise through the subsequent
ranks. If the ground was hard and stony, each graze would kick up
splinters, which, in their turn, became secondary projectiles. Even in its
last phase, a rolling ball could be deceptively harmful. There are many
instances of men being badly wounded, even killed, by trying to “catch”
patriot battles 156
what seemed to be spent cannonballs, innocently rolling toward them.
John Trumbull was with the American army besieging Boston when
rewards were given for salvaged British cannonballs, but
it produced also a very unfortunate result; for when the soldiers
saw a ball, after having struck and rebounded from the ground
several times (en ricochet), roll sluggishly along, they would run
and place a foot before it, to stop it, not aware that a heavy ball
long retains sufficient impetus to overcome such an obstacle. The
consequence was that several brave lads lost their feet, which were
crushed by the weight of the rolling shot.
2
Private Edward Elley of Virginia described another incident, at the
siege of Yorktown: “The works of the battery were thrown up by the
militia soldiers, and whilst they were cutting brush a cannonball came
bounding along on the ground, and a youngster put his heel against it
and was thrown into lockjaw and expired in a short time.”
3
The most destructive potential for solid shot was when it was fired
“in enfilade”: into the side of a rank of men. Müller estimated that one
ball, fired in enfilade at effective range, would kill three men and wound
four or five, but greater numbers were often recorded. The weight of the
ball was an important factor in determining lethality because although
the muzzle velocity of most field guns was about equal at approximately
900 feet per second, the heavier the ball, the more velocity it retained
over longer distances. For example, at a 1,000-yard range, an eighteen-
pound ball traveled at 840 feet per second, compared with 450 feet per
second for a six-pound ball.
4
A six- or nine-pound ball of iron traveling at anything up to 900
feet per second could do terrible damage to human flesh. Peter Brown,
a patriot soldier crossing the Neck onto Charlestown Peninsula during
the battle of Bunker’s Hill, described the effect of British gunships firing
in enfilade: “One cannon [ball] cut off 3 men in two [cut them in half] on
the neck of land.” James Duncan of the Pennsylvania Line at Yorktown
recorded that on 3 October 1781 “four men of [his] regiment . . . were
unfortunately killed . . . by one ball.”
5
Even small-caliber guns like the
the big guns 157
three-pound ball from a “grasshopper” (a mobile gun sometimes referred
to as a “galloper”) could pack a punch. For example, at Monmouth in
June 1778 Joseph Plumb Martin described how the British “occupied
a much higher piece of ground than we did and had a small piece of
artillery, which the soldiers called a ‘grasshopper.’ We had no artillery
with us. The first shot they gave us from this piece cut off the thigh
bone of a captain, just above the knee, and the whole heel of a private
in the rear of him.”
6
Even near misses could be fatal. A large ball created potentially
devastating shock waves, with sometimes macabre results, as Joseph
Martin witnessed at Yorktown.
I was sitting on the side of the trench, when some of the New York
troops coming in, one of the sergeants stepped up to the breastwork
to look about him . . . at that instant a shot from the enemy (which
doubtless was aimed at him in particular, as none others were in
sight of them) passed just by his face without touching him at all;
he fell dead into the trench; I put my hand on his forehead and
found his skull was shattered all to pieces, and the blood flowing
from his nose and mouth, but not a particle of skin was broken.
7
A gun crew loading with ball could get off two or three rounds
a minute; the heavier the ball, the slower the process (firing canister
speeded up the rate). A six- or nine-pound gun would normally have
a specialist crew of a minimum of five men (often supplemented by
infantrymen to help move the gun and fetch ammunition). One man
stood to the right of the muzzle with a combination rammer-sponger;
the man to the left of the muzzle was the ammunition loader; a man to
the left of the vent hole at the rear of the barrel carried a slow-burning
match on a forked rod (“linstock”); opposite him stood the “ventsman.”
At the rear stood the gun chief, who aimed the piece and gave the order
to fire.
The loading sequence for the first discharge started with the crew
chief directing aim (“laying” the gun) and moving it on the horizontal
plane by having it manhandled with poles (“handspikes”). The
patriot battles 158
elevation of the barrel was controlled by a screw mechanism at the rear
of the barrel (or perhaps on older pieces by inserting a wooden wedge,
the “quoin”). The loader now slid a cartridge consisting of a flannel
or paper bag of powder and ball into the muzzle, and the rammer
pushed it down the length of the barrel. (On larger pieces, the powder
charge and ball were more often separate.) If the barrel was depressed
below the horizontal, a wad (of straw, hay, a coil of rope, even turf) was
rammed down to prevent the ball from rolling out. The ventsman now
inserted a “pricker” into the vent to puncture the powder bag. He then
inserted a quill or paper tube filled with “quick match” (cotton strands
soaked in saltpeter and alcohol). When the order to fire came and the
men had stood clear, the firer extended his linstock across to the vent
(being careful to keep clear of the wheel when it recoiled) and lit the
quick match.
Before the next shot could be loaded, the gun had to be relaid
because the recoil would have thrown it back several feet. (Not until
1897 would the recoil problem be solved by the hydraulic “antirecoil”
mechanism of the famous French 75.) The rammer reversed his pole
and used the end covered in sheepskin and soaked in water to swab out
the barrel. When the loader inserted the next powder bag, the ventsman
covered the vent with his thumb (protected by a leather “thumb stall”)
to prevent any accidental discharge. If a smoldering piece of the
powder bag or wadding remained, the rammer would use a pole with a
corkscrewlike end (the “wormer”) to extricate so it too wouldn’t create
an accidental discharge. But, of course, in the heat of battle accidents
did happen. At the siege of Charleston in May 1780 Lieutenant John
Peebles of the Royal Highland Regiment (42nd Foot) recorded, “An
artillery man lost an arm and an assistant killed by one of our own guns
hanging fire and going off when they put in the spunge.”
8
Canister or case shot (sometimes referred to as grapeshot, which
was made up of larger three-ounce balls and was primarily a naval
warfare munition) was reserved for relatively close-up work. It made,
said the American artillery sergeant White at the battle of Princeton,
“a terrible squeaking noise” as it flew. Characteristically, each canister
contained 85 balls. Tests carried out in 1810 indicated that 55 of those