The Ship of the Line

Once again, I am flogging an unpopular horse: not only am I about to launch forth (yes, pun intended) about matters nautical, but also about tactics and doctrine in late Seventeenth Century naval affairs. As someone once said to me ‘Can’t you just put the toys on the table?’

Maybe, but painting has stalled a bit at the moment. Don’t be too hard on me, I have managed over 500 little men since October or thereabout. While that is small fry compared to some who knock out 3000 figures a year, or even 80 Red Indians in an afternoon, it is good going by my standards. I have got a bit bogged down with the last two regiments of ECW foot, however.

I have also been reading, and I would like to quote part of a paper that I found (don’t worry, I will give the reference afterwards. I teach far too much research ethics (and these days, research integrity) to want to stand accused of plagiarism).

To illustrate this point, imagine a typical late-seventeenth-century engagement fought ashore. To the usual complications of battle, add the following: restrict the movement of units from either army within 35 [degrees] of the direction of the wind; only allow units, be they infantry, cavalry, or artillery, to discharge their fire weapons to the flanks, but not to their front or rear; forbid the movement of mounted staff officers between the commander-in-chief and his subordinates; and then fight the battle during a prolonged earthquake, forcing soldiers to operate their weapons as the ground heaves to and fro, with hard-pressed artillerymen timing their shots to coincide with the roll of the ground beneath their feet. This was the face of battle at sea!

Palmer, M. A. J. (1997). The 'Military Revolution' Afloat: The Era of the Anglo-Dutch Wars and the Transition to Modern Warfare. War in History, 4(2), 123-149, p. 124.

This is Dr Palmer’s description, obviously enough, of a late Seventeenth Century naval battle. Perhaps the first thing to do is to wonder at how, exactly, two navies managed to clash at sea, even more so than we might wonder at land battles.

Still, Palmer’s paper sits in the tradition of military revolutions, although I am not sure that it has been particularly picked up upon in more recent historiography. There have been, of course, over naval military revolutions suggested, perhaps the most influential has been the evolution of the race-built galleon in the English navy of the late Sixteenth Century (and hence the defeat of the Spanish Armada). Nevertheless, Palmer has identified, it seems to me, a particular point in history when things did change, albeit not completely and, perhaps, not a decisively as we might like to think.

The moment occurred in March 1653 when the Generals-at-Sea of the English fleet issues fighting instructions. Up to that point ships had a general requirement to stay near and support the admiral of the squadron they had been assigned to, but not much more than that. This led to rather messy, indecisive engagements where ships could be heavily damaged (particularly the squadron flagship) if the others in the squadron were not in support, either deliberately or by accident.

The general group tactics had, Palmer observes, another impact, in that only the ships at the outer edges of the group had a clear field of fire. The rest of the squadron had to wait its turn or possibly could never bring its guns to bear without the risk of hitting a friendly ship. This was reasonably inefficient, of course, but then the tactics were suited to boarding, where an enemy ship could be overwhelmed by a gaggle of vessels, boarded and captured. Failing that, it could simply be pounded to bits by fire from all directions.

The Generals-at-Sea, as the British Admirals were known (I am not sure if they count as English or British at this point – the Commonwealth had conquered Scotland, after all), were, Palmer notes, practical men and used to battles, if not sea battles. They noted this and clearly were pondering how to win sea battles more effectively. The Breakthrough seems to have come at the Battle of Portland in February 1653. The notable point for the purpose here, Palmer argues, is the initial assault by Tromp on 20-24 English men-of-war from the rather disordered fleet. The Dutch were upwind (to windward) of the English and need not have fought, but the English squadron was a bit isolated and Tromp had 80 warships.

You might have expected an easy Dutch win, but this was not the case. The English ships seem to have formed a line and subjected the Dutch to fierce gunfire, according to one account of five or six ships at a time. It seems likely that the defensive fire of the English ships forced the Dutch to give way and hence they did not manage to isolate and board anyone, from somewhere around 9 AM to 4 in the afternoon, when the rest of the English fleet appeared.

The implication of the number of ships firing at the Dutch vessels, Palmer notes, is that they had clear fields of fire. Thus, they were deployed in line. This was not the first time linear tactics had been employed. The Dutch had done so in a defensive action at Dunkirk in 1639, although their attack on the Spanish fleet at the Downs a bit later that year was in the ‘pell-mell’ style.

So, this was hardly an innovation (indeed, I seem to recall the English fleet attacking the Armada had done so in lines) but the point is what happened next. The doctrine of the English fleet became to sail in line (hence ‘ship of the line’) and they won the rest of the battles in the war. In order to control a line of ships, rather than a closer group, new doctrines had to be developed, which eventually became the flag signalling system of the Eighteenth Century.

Now, you cannot really say that naval wargaming is not interest and does not have much potential, can you?

The Devil’s Book

One of the puzzles for the student, amateur or professional, of the outbreak of the English Civil War is how people chose sides. At least, I have this puzzle; it is possible that others do. On the other hand, I cannot for the life of me work out how people choose sides today except on pragmatic grounds. I suppose I line up with W. C. Fields, who is reputed to have said that he never voted for anyone, he always voted against.

Anyway, I have been reading an interesting book:

Dougall, A. (2011). The Devil's Book: Charles I, the Book of Sports and Puritanism in Tudor and Early Stuart England. Exeter: Exeter University Press.

You might well wonder what this has to do with wargaming, and the link is, of course, though choosing sides. The story is a complex one, and adds to, although it does not solve, our understanding of the political and religious stakes in the 1630s, that is, the context in which people, mostly the minor gentry, chose sides.

If you have read anything much about the outbreak of the civil wars you have probably heard of the Book of Sports, or King’s Book. This was a document (actually it is not very long, and is reproduced in Dougall’s tome) first issued by James I in 1618, regulating what could be done on a Sunday aside from divine worship. James, being a rather sensible and peaceable (perhaps lazy) monarch, did not enforce the declaration, which was first discussed on his return from Scotland in 1617, and was first a local, Lancashire, set of rules.

As Dougall points out, there was a twofold process at work in regulating Sunday entertainments (assuming that attendance at church s not an entertainment, of course). Firstly, justices of the peace and other local and county officials were concerned that some of the entertainments could lead to public order problems. It is pretty much the same as today, of course: people drink a bit too much and get involved in punch ups. There were also accusations that such activities as dancing, maypole dancing and Morris dancing lead to sexual offences and illegitimate children, although as Dougall observes, there is no demographic evidence for this.

The other aspect of the process was the rise of Puritanism. This was a development from the Reformation of the mid-Sixteenth Century and the settlement of the Elizabethan church. There were those who thought that the Church of England had not gone far enough in reforming itself, and these people gradually emerged as Puritans. As part of this an argument developed over attitudes to the Sabbath, that is whether everything which was not to do with the divine was banned on a Sunday or whether some things were allowed, provided they did not interfere with church services.

 On the whole, Puritans were on the side of only permitting activities to do with the divine. Bishops were more open to other activities provided they did not stop people going to church. The minor gentry were in favour of controls on what was allowed on public order ground, as the minor gentry, of course, made up the Justices of the Peace and other officials.

It all got a bit complicated, of course. Theologically, the debate was around the application of the Fourth Commandment (‘Remember the Sabbath day, and keep it holy. For six days you shall labour and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord you God; you shall not do any work…’ (Exodus 20:8-11 NRSV)). Whether this rule from the Old Testament law applied, or perhaps rather, how it applied, mattered. Read literally, it meant that nothing except business to do with the Lord was permitted, and that is how the Puritans who wrote on the subject presented it. Others reckoned that the incarnation of Jesus had set aside the Old Testament law and thus the church, which had after all moved the sabbath day from Saturday to Sunday, could decide what was and was not permitted.

The common people, that is, most people, enjoyed their traditional activities, most of which included drinking, dancing, and other things such as bear baiting, bull baiting and cock fighting. Some JPs worried that banning all other activities would simply land up with people drinking more, and hence fighting and fornicating. Neither of those activities can be done while dancing, at least. Dougall also notes that animal cruelty was not really an issue at the time.

Charles I, as we know, was not quite a subtle as his father, and reissued the Book after some problems were reported in Somerset relating to public order. Some JPs wanted to ban all activities aside from divine worship, not all of them for Puritan reasons. But people generally and the King in particular were averse to banning common entertainments and reissued the Book of Sports and enforced it, or at least tried to. As Dougall notes, enforcement was patchy, even where Puritan clergy who opposed it refused to read it. There are some amusing anecdotes as to how some clergy avoided reading it in church as they were supposed to, including one who got a church warden to read it while standing behind him with his fingers in his ears.

Controversy raged, of course. Dougall’s main point is that it was the Puritans who were innovating here, not that they were returning to a medieval view of Sundays. Thus, he suggests, an individual’s attitude to the Book of Spots is as good a guide as any as to which side they lined up on in 1642. As he notes, there were exceptions. Some who opposed to Book of Sports became Royalists, some who did not fought for Parliament. As with so many things, a sweeping generalisation is precisely that. But perhaps the Book of Sports indicated where gentry sympathies lay.

An interesting book on the background to the English Civil War. Perhaps we can start our campaigns in the future with a game of football and the local magistrate trying to break it up, with disastrous results…

Tudor and Stuart Seafarers

This year, so far, seems to be the years of less popular wargames. I suppose it is a reaction to all this populist politics going on around the world at the moment. Alternatively, it could be something along the lines of ‘when the going gets tough, the less tough play fantasy games’.

Be that as it may, I have been reading again, after the pleas of the Estimable Mrs P to read something normal and easy another maritime work.

Davey, J. (Ed.) (2018). Tudor & Stuart Seafarers: The Emergence of a Maritime Nation, 1485 - 1707. London: Adlard Coles.

This tome was produced by the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich to celebrate the opening of their new gallery devoted to the same topic. And very interesting it is too.

I suppose the book is a little bit more of a coffee table book than those I normally read. It is extensively illustrated, mostly from the NMM’s own collections, by paintings and objects related to the chapters. As is often the case with coffee table books, the chapters themselves are interesting being contributed by experts in their field and giving brief overviews of what, I imagine, is the current state of play in the topics.

You get a fairly wide range of subjects, as you would expect from such a work, and a fair bit is related to military activities. After all, as it is pointed out in one of the chapters, the naval dockyards were the biggest industrial complexes of the Tudor and Stuart reigns, and soaked up a large quantity of national income, particularly at times of crisis and war.

At the start of the period the English were pretty well coastal sailors. Henry VII did not go to sea much after landing in Wales, and Henry VIII, even though he did start a navy, was more interested in recovering France than in the intercontinental travels of the Spanish and Portuguese. The first chapter, by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto discusses English responses to the explorations, and the expeditions of Cabot and other, mostly from Bristol. Geography was against them, however, and the North-West passage did not exist.

The turn to the sea occurred after mid-century, with the likes of Frobisher, Hawkins and Drake. This was partly a response to the Spanish empire and its riches, and also to the defence of the Protestant cause, which was threatened by the might of Spain. This takes us to the breakdown of relations between Elizabeth and Phillip II and the Spanish Armada. The take on the Armada is interesting, as in the historiography of the period, British naval superiority was deemed to have started then, and in the iconography it certainly did (the last chapter is on art and the maritime world, and a very fine chapter it is too).

It could hardly be said that English or British naval superiority was established by the end of the Sixteenth Century, however. Navies need constant investment, and the Tudor polity had a great deal of difficulty raising money, and was also under strategic pressure. The navy ensured superiority of mobility and logistics in Ireland and France, and communications with the Low Countries and the Dutch.

After the end of the Spanish (etc) wars, the navy might have been relatively neglected, although James I appointed his son, Prince Henry as Lord High Admiral and Prince Royal was launched, as a prestige status symbol. There are chapters on navigation, which remarks on how the requirements of finding your way at sea improved the status of mathematics at universities, building naval ships (by J. D. Davies) and early (and disastrous) attempts at colonizing North America.

After the Armada chapter, most wargamers with a naval interest would probably turn to the chapter on the Anglo-Dutch Wars, but the chapter on the British Civil Wars (by Elaine Murphy) is most interesting. She points out that while the Royal Navy was almost totally Parliamentary at the start of the First Civil War, the Royalists gained a navy through capturing ports, particularly Bristol, and, more significantly, the Irish Confederacy also raised a navy, leading to a three way naval struggle in the Irish Sea and Channel between naval vessels and privateers. She also observes that the last royalist strongholds in Ireland, England and Scotland fell to naval offensives (in Ireland not until 1653).

The Anglo-Dutch Wars get a chapter, of course, along with a good collection of pictures as naval painting was taking off at the time. Rebecca Ridal gives a good summary of the actions and campaigns, while noting that the wars were largely unnecessary and whoever won was not really sure what, if anything, had been won. It was also a bit embarrassing for the restored Charles II as it was noted that the Commonwealth regime had won its Dutch War while the monarchy had, to put things at their most polite, drawn its wars.

There is a chapter on life at sea, which observes that while seafaring was dangerous, it was also quite well paid, as long as you did not rely on the government paying you as a sailor. There is another chapter on Stuart pirates, which notes that the ‘Golden Age’ of piracy in the early Eighteenth Century was preceded by lots of activity which shaded from privateering to outright piracy and all stations between. Finally, as noted, there is a chapter on art and the maritime world which discusses how the iconography of the sea and battle changed, starting (more or less) with the Armada portrait of Elizabeth I, through to the images of the battles of the Anglo-Dutch Wars which we all know.

Overall, this is a very good, very nicely produced and well-illustrated book. It is chock full of understanding of the naval world of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries and should give any wargamer who picks it up and reads it (or just looks at the pictures) plenty of ideas and enthusiasm to get their feet wet, or at least dibble their toes in the world of naval wargaming.

 

The Siege of Corbie

 ‘What is going on here?’

‘Sorry, sire. The wheel came off the gun.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘Rutting, sire.’

‘Can’t Don Sancho sort it out? He is an engineer; they’re supposed to be good at that sort of thing.’

‘I’m afraid Don Sancho is not with us, sire.’

‘What do you mean? He set off with us. Where is he now?’

‘Um. He said he had some unfinished business to attend to back in the last village sire. Something about laying his marshal’s baton in a convenient place.’

‘What?’ Don Pedro sighed. ‘He was getting a bit friendly with the bar maid in the alehouse last night, that was all.’

‘Perhaps we are back to the rutting, sire.’

‘Let us not go there, captain, if you don’t mind. This is a family-oriented blog, after all. Anyway, get the gun off the road and we’ll carry on. Not much else can go wrong, can it?’

There was a distant rumble.

‘What was that?’ There was a cloud of dust in the distance.

‘It would seem, sire, that part of the walls of the town have collapsed.’

‘Oh. So, it is not just me that is having a bad day, then?’

*

I confess that when I first read about the year of Corbie and the putative Anglo-French treaty that was mooted around the same time, my first impulse was to drag out of storage my old 28 mm Redoubt musketeer figures and to Flashing Blades role play the moving of the signed treaty from Paris to London in the teeth of opposition by Spanish agents, French factions, and English pro-Hapsburg courtiers. It still might happen, I did run across the figures last week and did seriously consider having a look.

Flashing Blades, incidentally, is my all-time favourite role-playing game. I think I have mentioned it before on the blog, but a long time ago. It is, of course, set in the Seventeenth Century France that should have been, not the one that was, and was the only game which reduced the players to uncontrollable giggles. I fondly remember the swordfights on the roof of a galloping carriage and also the ultimate role-playing game question and answer:

‘Why is there a harpsichord at the top of the stairs?’

‘So you can push it down on people chasing you, of course.’

Anyway, on with the wargame campaign and to the siege of Corbie, which was the aim of Don Pedro and his merry men. The game was of the approach and siege of the town. Fortunately, Wikipaedia turned up a diagram of Corbie in the early 1630s.

As you can see, it is pretty well done out with a trace italienne, which was my first question. The second question was how to represent it on the table, and the third was how to besiege it.

After due consideration, Don Pedro decided to approach from the bottom right of the picture above, where there was a blank bit of wall with a gate to the south and only a ravelin and a bastion sticking out.

The result is above. I know it does not look much like the above, but we do need some artistic licence with these sorts of thing (my artistic licence does have an endorsement, admittedly). The Wikipaedia article on the siege (in French) suggested that the town was undermanned, around 1500 defenders against 10000 Spanish.

A good number of moves in, the situation was like this:

Don Pedro’s army is on the table and the gap in the line of march was caused by the collapse of the siege gun carriage, as noted in the introduction. To the right you can see the repaired damage to the wall of Corbie. This was all controlled by my card-driven siege rules, even though the formal siege had not opened. This threw up events, such as mining operations, which were discarded, and also events which had to be incorporated in the narrative, such as the loss of the gun, the loss of an engineer and the collapse of the walls. It all adds to the fun.

A few moves later and the French redoubt on the left blew up, through, presumably, a carelessly handled magazine, and then the forward-facing gun on the bastion was disabled. The whole idea of letting these cards stand was that the French were not expecting the invasion and the defences of Corbie would have been somewhat neglected.

At this point the French morale collapsed. Damage to the forward defences and the loss of two-thirds of their firepower was never going to encourage the heavily outnumbered defenders anyway, and this was compounded by some bad dice rolling. So far, so historical.

Siege wargames, like naval wargames, are a bit of a wargame primadonna. We all know they happened but mostly we do not play them, given, presumably, that they are boring. As recent rule sets of World War One have perhaps suggested, in fact what we need are decent, fast playing rules and a suitable level of abstract thinking as to what is going on on the table. Gun carriages did collapse, as did town walls with no good reason (except neglect). I am not saying that my rules are any good, but they are fast play and entertaining, and the action kept me occupied for a couple of mornings.

The troops are mainly Irregular except the Spanish cavalry and the red-coated Spanish infantry at the rear of Don Pedro’s column. These are Baccus, and the infantry are newly painted. This was their first sojourn onto the table. The defensive guns are by Langton, as are the crews, and the buildings are an eclectic mix of Irregular, Baccus and Leven. The walls too are a mix of Baccus and Irregular.

*

‘Another victory, sire.’

‘Yes. Now we will just have annoyed the French king a bit more than we had before.’

‘Maybe he will just see sense and re-open the road to Italy.’

‘I may be an optimist, captain, but I do live in the real world.’

Self-Inflicted Wounds

There is no doubt about it: if you want to kill off the readership of your blog (not literally, of course) the answer is to write about naval wargaming. The first post of this year about plans for the future got over forty views, although I do not know how many of those were Russian botnets or Indian exam answer mills. The second post, which was about a naval wargame in the Alexander’s Anabasis campaign got just over half that. It had a picture of a table with a blue cloth. It clearly puts people off.

I have mentioned before that this is very odd, particularly among Anglo-American wargamers, given the legacy of naval history both have. Most wargamers, it seems, like to keep their feet firmly on the ground. In spite of a few books in the heyday of wargame publishing, there seems to be relatively little uptake of naval wargaming, certainly as anything particularly mainstream.

Perhaps this is because naval wargaming is perceived as being complicated. Certainly I have seen some awfully complex naval wargame rules, some of which required a computer to play. These were mainly related to World War I, World War Two and fictitious (mercifully) recent Cold War actions, and I suppose the full gamut of modern naval fighting is very complicated, particularly with electronic countermeasures and so on. Incidentally I once nearly accepted a job part of which was to develop methods of hiding modern naval vessels. I often wonder what would have happened if I had; World War three possibly.

Still, my interest, wargame wise, is of course early modern and ancient wargaming and, as I think wargames should cover the whole of military activity, I am not going to stop writing about naval matters. As I threatened in the New Year post I have been pondering the Anglo-Dutch wars recently, and have even started to take some action in that direction. I have not quite decided what is going to happen, but it seems that something is in the air.

Anyway, with that in mind I have been reading:

Barry, Q. (2018). From Solebay to the Texel: The Third Anglo-Dutch War, 1672 - 1674. Warwick: Helion.

 

This work is part of Helion’s ‘Century of the Soldier’ series, which is extensive and, so far as I can tell, a bit patchy in quality, although on the whole useful and good. This is no exception – it is a good book.

The first two chapters are background, covering the first and second Anglo-Dutch Wars. Central to these conflicts was the commercial rivalry between the two nations. This is a bit interesting, as it shows that wars are often fought because of ideas. The idea here is mercantilism, the concept that there is a fixed amount of trade in the world and that each nation has to try to capture more from other countries, rather than the (more modern) idea that trade can expand endlessly.

Proximate causes of the first ADW was the refusal of the Dutch to remove Royalists from their land and the passing of the Navigation Act by Parliament in 1651. This was aimed directly at Dutch commerce, stating that imports into England could only be in ships of the nation of origin or English ships. The Dutch re-export trade was therefore threatened.

It is possible that the Anglo-Dutch Wars are rather unpopular in in wargame terms, or even in Anglophone historiography, because they were so nakedly related to money and trade. I suspect as well that Tony Bath’s comments about them in Setting Up a Wargame Campaign might have something to do with it. Without getting up to find the book, as I recall he suggests that the scope is rather cramped and opportunities for strategic manoeuvre limited. He also suggests that the chances of either side carrying out a successful amphibious operation was limited. These things are perhaps true, but not so true as to make the wars unwargamable.

Another factor in the relative unpopularity of the period is the fact that the wars were rather embarrassing to the British naval tradition of victory. Everyone, probably, has heard of the Dutch raid on the Medway, and none of the other actions seem to have been particularly decisive (except in the first war, but that was during the Commonwealth and therefore embarrassing for home political reasons rather than military ones). The British government had not really worked out how to create the infrastructure for naval operations, and the fleet was not wholly appropriate for them. Revictualling was a problem, as was the repair of battle and storm damage. Under Charles II money was a problem as well.

Land action did take place, of course, in the Third Anglo-Dutch War. This one was pushed by Charles II in alliance with the French under Louis XIV. The French invaded on land and contributed a naval squadron, under British overall command. The activities of the latter showed that perhaps Louis was not as committed as he might have been to the naval cause, and Charles had to drop out of the war when he ran out of money. Still, there are four battles described in the book, Solebay, two battles of Schooneveld and The Texel. While naval doctrine had been settled by the British in the first war, and then copied by the French and Dutch, the best description I can give of them is ‘chaotic’. It is one thing to order a fleet into line; it is quite another to keep it there.

This was probably a transitionary time in naval warfare., and therefore is possibly at least as interesting, if not more so, than Nelson and his colleagues. How best to handle a fleet was a bit moot at the time. The correct strategic employment of the ships was another. Barry concludes by observing that in spite of all the blood and treasure expended in home waters by both sides, the most damage was done by a small Dutch squadron in the West Indies and North America.

Still, I doubt if anyone is reading this post now, so I shall finish , but promise to return to unpopular naval matters. After all, whoever blogged for popularity?

Don Pedro’s March

 ‘Sir, your illustrious predecessor would have done no less.’

‘True. But he did have to surrender to the English.’

‘But he fought like a tiger, my lord. It is your duty so to do. The Duke, who commanded your illustrious predecessor, set sail in joyful expectation of a miracle.’

‘And you expect me to take on the might of France with a few musketeers in hope of a similar miracle? There was one, but it was an English miracle!’

‘No sire, you are only to escort the siege train to Corbie, not defeat the whole French nation.’

‘Oh, very well. We will set out directly.’

*

Those of you who remember Don Pedro’s world-weary attitude to orders will recognize his grandson’s point of view. Still, orders are orders, and the Spanish must get their siege guns through to the French town of Corbie. This being a wargame, naturally the French are out to stop them arriving.

The terrain is above. The Spanish enter along the road at front left, while the French arrive on the road at top right. The Spanish siege train needs to exit the road at top left, the French aim is to stop it.

Originally, I planned this as a straight battle in fairly dense terrain between more or less evenly matched sides. The Spanish would deploy just to the right of the road and the French at the foot of the hill to the right. The more I thought about it the less I liked the idea, however, and a sort of encounter battle was the result. Both sides would enter in march order but are aware of the existence of the others.

After a few moves a drone’s eye view is above. The French have marched their infantry into the centre of the table and are starting to deploy. The French cavalry is blocking the road and threatening the Spanish foot in march column on the road. The foremost Spanish cavalry, after some consideration by the general, charged the French light horse covering the deployment and routed it (you can see it fleeing at the top of the picture). Don Pedro kept control of his men and checked their pursuit, turning them away from the oncoming French. You can see them rallying centre-right.

Meanwhile, Don Pedro himself is rushing back to his infantry to start deploying them. His dragoons have made it into the larger village and their fire is slightly disrupting the French cavalry. This was actually a bit important, as it meant that the French general had to expend more tempo points to get his horse moving.

A lot depended on the next tempo roll, and Don Pedro won it, and got to his infantry in time to order the foremost tercio to deploy. The French cavalry very sensibly refused to charge the newly deployed foot, despite the prolonged urgings of their general. This allowed Don Pedro to deploy more of his infantry against the onrushing French hordes and for his cavalry to complete rallying.

The result for the French was disastrous. Their general was tied up with the cavalry, while the Spanish cavalry were presented with the open flank of the main French infantry march column. The charge went home with the result of three bases immediately routed, plus another swept away (I was merciful, the whole green regiment of French foot could technically have gone). French morale slumped to ‘fall back’, so they did.

Next turn, another base of French musketeers routed to the last of the Spanish cavalry charge, and another base of French shot went under to Spanish musket fire, taking their supporting pike with them (albeit they were still in march column). Another French morale roll came up with ‘rout’, so they did.

The Spanish had won, in fact, they had not lost a single base while the French had lost a light horse, five shot and two pike bases. Some parts of the French force were still able to fight, admittedly, particularly the horse, which had only been under fire from the dragoons and the lead Spanish foot regiment, and the blue foot to the left of the picture. Even if a poor morale roll had not routed them, however, the battle was lost, and Don Pedro could bring his siege train successfully to Corbie.

So, what went wrong for the French? Mainly, their general (me), got tied up with attempting to charge the Spanish foot on the road, for about three turns. The French infantry march columns were left to their own devices and the main one left its flank exposed to Don Pedro’s reforming cavalry. I was very dubious about their initial charge, incidentally, but it put them in a powerful position for later in the game. Those two bases of cuirassiers destroyed half the French army.

The figures above are mainly Irregular, while the Spanish cavalry are Baccus cuirassiers, which I used as they are easy to distinguish on the table. The buildings are Leven and the trees are Irregular as well. The rules were my own Wars of the Counter-Reformation which are available from the link to the right. The armies were sixteen bases a side, four pike, eight shot, three cavalry and a light horse or dragoon base (French and Spanish respectively).

*

‘That seemed to go quite smoothly, sire.’

‘Did it? Battles are never easy or smooth. Grandad won his first battles, remember. But he lost the campaign.’

‘The siege guns can now smash the walls of Corbie, sire.’

‘That is what I was ordered to achieve. But if we do that, the French will respond with more troops and a bigger war. And the English might land an army to help them, and their navy might get in the way of supplies of wine from Spain, and the whole war could burgeon out of hand and be a disaster for the people of Europe.’

‘The war has been going for seventeen years, sire.’

‘More if you count the fighting with the Dutch ‘rebels’, yes. We’ve not achieved much, really, have we?’

 

Corbie 1636

 As you might imagine since the end of the Armada Abbeys campaign recently, I have been vaguely looking for another pseudo-historical set of games which might be played. You may recall that the Armada Abbeys campaign was based around a portion of the Spanish Armada breaking away and landing near Whitby in Yorkshire, and an enjoyable sequence of battles was had from that conceit.

Thinking of something else has proved to be a little difficult, although I have managed to keep up with other wargames as well as a bit of painting. Still, something English Civil War-ish seemed to be the best bet, in part to inspire me to paint the infantry reinforcements that arrived at Christmas.

As I may have mentioned, the problem with ECW campaigns is that they seem to fall into two classes. Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no problem with either; I am just not sure they suit my taste (which my regular reader might be aware is hardly mainstream). Either you go with a county, either a historical one (with a Speed map reproduction) or a fictitious one, whereby you can make up all the names and have fun. I seem to recall one out there in the blogosphere where most of the names seem to be taken from BBC Radio Four’s The Archers.  Good fun and quite amusing, but probably not for me. I have done the real county thing and got totally bogged down, as well.

The alternative seems to be the whole war, which again I have seen in the blogosphere, and it could be done. But, again, I have tried this and got totally bogged down. So these sorts of things just do not suit my wargaming ‘style’, whatever that might be.

Conundrum in mind, I received the January 2022 issue of History Today, where the cover page article was ‘Charles I’s affair with France’. “That should interest you”, the Estimable Mrs P remarked. And, as so often, she was right.

It is probably widely known that the overriding aim of Charles I’s foreign policy was the restoration of his nephew Charles I Louis of Palatine to the Electorate lost by his father, Frederick V in 1620 (the Winter King). This too was James I & VI’s foreign policy, and by the mid-1630’s the policy so far, which broadly favoured Spain, had not worked. Charles also had to deal with a court faction which demanded war with the Hapsburgs in favour of Europe’s Protestants, who had been rapidly losing ground since 1618.

The Spanish position in the Low Countries was propped up via the Spanish Road, as series of roads, bridges, and forts from northern Italy to the environs of Luxembourg. In the early 1630s the French had succeeded in cutting this route by annexing Lorraine. This put Charles in a key position – the only way the Spanish could reinforce the Low Countries was along the English Channel, which meant that Charles and his newly minted Ship Money fleet was now a major factor in the escalating war.

Having vaguely, but unsuccessfully courted Spain in the earlier 1630s, Charles now opened negotiations with France, offering to block the ‘English Road’ and Spanish reinforcements in return for the exchange of part of the Lower Palatine for Lorraine. This came to nothing, but Louis XIII and Richelieu were interested in the alliance, because they could ill afford Charles’ navy to be used against them in alliance with Spain. England and France had engaged in a naval arms race in the earlier 1630s and both could deploy powerful navies, but not against an alliance of foes.

In 1636 the French military position was poor. The Spanish had invaded and captured Corbie in Picardy and were threatening Paris. Many, many years ago I remember an article in Miniature Wargames titled ‘The Year of Corbie’. I think the Spanish aim was to invade Picardy, Lorraine and also in the southwest of France, or possibly from Savoy. Coordination of Seventeenth Century strategy being what it was it promised more than it offered. Nevertheless, the memory triggered in idea for a semi-ECW based wargame or, hopefully, campaign.

The French in reality prevaricated, and Charles made a series of placatory and hostile gestures, hoping that the French would agree. The sticking point was that Charles would not agree to send land forces to fight on the Continent. I suspect that this was probably because Charles could not afford it, but I am not sure.

By 1639 the French military position was much better, and Charles’ domestic position was a lot worse. Charles was still interested in the alliance, but the strategic situation was revolutionised by the Battle of the Downs. This was deeply embarrassing for Charles, as the Dutch and Spanish had fought in English waters under the eyes of part of the English fleet (the rest was in Scottish waters after the first Bishop’s War).

The destruction of the Spanish fleet meant that the only way the Low Countries could be reinforced from Spain was via England itself. The Spanish had been reluctant to talk to Charles before because Maximillian of Bavaria, who was propping the Hapsburgs up in Europe, wanted to hang on to the Palatine. The Spanish position was desperate, however. They needed to land troops in the West Country and march them to Dover where they could slip across to Belgium. Charles, of course, needed money.

This rapprochement meant the end of the projected French alliance and the rejection of the anti-Hapsburg, anti-Catholic faction at court. The Leicester – Northumberland circle at Charles’ court could feel rejected, especially as Charles’ domestic policies could and were construed as pro-Catholic, even to the point of Charles and Laud being accused of re-catholicising the country by stealth. When the Short Parliament met, they supported the Pembroke – Pym faction in both Commons and Lords and the rest is history, or civil war, at least.

After that preamble, let me rewind to 1636. The first action to take place seems to have been the Spanish siege of Corbie, which, if I recall correctly, caused panic in Paris when it fell…