John Blackshoe Sends: Serendipity History – Lissa

Seeschlacht bei Lissa
Carl Frederik Sørensen (PD)

A Little Known Naval Battle and a Book Report

First a quiz:

Everyone has heard of Venice. Is it-

(a) a historic city in Italy? 

(b) the homeport for the Austrian Navy’s Mediterranean fleet?

If you chose (a) you would be right today, but wrong any time between 1815 and 1866 when it was controlled by Austria. Just a reminder that many national boundaries scribbled on the map of Europe have continuously moved over the last millennia.

Recently, Sarge enlightened us about the biggest battle we had never heard of - Solferino where Europeans slaughtered each other in large numbers over something or other in 1859. He topped that with “Another big battle you’ve (probably) never heard of” followed by fine fictional tales of the snowy massacre between Brits of the White or Red Rose persuasions, way back in 1461. This reminded me of a naval battle in 1866 which I had never heard of.

Most Americans knowledge of 19th century naval matters is limited to the “duel of the ironclads” between USS Monitor and the Confederate Merrimack/CSS Virginia March 9, 1862. The Confederates began installing an armored casemate and a massive bow ram on the salvaged hulk of a wooden frigate USS Merrimack, burned when the Yankees left the Norfolk Navy Yard. They mounted 10 heavy guns, making it a serious threat, albeit woefully underpowered and hard to maneuver from the tons of added armor. While the Rebs were busy in Norfolk Swedish born John Ericsson designed a revolutionary “cheesebox on a raft” with a revolving two gun turret, which was built in 101 days, completed just before the Merrimack. The Rebs won the first day’s battle when they sank two USN frigates and drove another aground. But the Monitor showed up right after that and drove the Merrimack away when they tried a second day, and land actions prevented further forays. So, armor and rams were proven to be good, along with turrets, but casemates worked too. 

My horizons were broadened when a guy in Australia asked on an ammunition collector forum about a small cast iron object about 1” x 1 ½”. Photos showed the base is engraved with what looks like “EIRSA, 20 Jun, 1866.” There is a raised boss on one side, threaded for a screw perhaps as a drawer pull or corkscrew or some souvenir purpose???

 

Source- email to author

It looked like some sort of “studded projectile” popular circa 1860-1890 as a method for artillery projectiles to get a good grip on rifling when fired from breech or muzzle loading guns. The studs were made to match the diameter and twist of rifling grooves in the gun. Like this Swiss 8.4cm projectile from 1869.

Source- Authors collection and photo

A few hours later, an Italian ex-pat now living in Australia, added:

“Type Font of the Inscription and Language is Germanic. “JUNI” IS German for June.

So an Austrian projectile from the 1866 War of Prussia and Italy against Bavaria and Austro-Hungary.

Battles of Custoza ( Land) and Lissa ( Sea).

Italian Poor Leadership led to saying " Ships and Men of Iron, Leaders with Wooden Heads."

 

The Prussian Victory at Koenigsgratz over the combined Austro-Hungarian-Bavarian forces gave Italy a Default Victory in the War, and regaining Italian areas under Austro-Hungarian domination.”

Shortly later a collector from Argentina confirmed the inscription, and my ignorance, so I checked “Lissa” on Wikipedia and decided this was a good excuse to get another book.

The Battle of Lissa 1866: How the Industrial Revolution Changed the Face of Naval Warfare, by Quintin Barry, published by Helion in the UK, 2022. 234 pages 7” x 9.75” hardbound. Available from on-line sellers on ABEbooks.com for about $40.00.

Source- Author’s photo.

I was amazed (and delighted) that the first 150 pages or so were NOT about the 1866 Battle of Lissa, but rather about the five great naval revolutions of the 19th century, which pretty much overlapped each other, and were sort of international arms races to keep abreast of their potential adversaries’ changing naval capabilities. These included first, steam power and the ability to move in any direction, independent of the wind. Second area was the large bore shell guns which were devastating to the “wooden walls” of existing ships. Third was the screw propeller, a quantum leap in speed and maneuverability over the cumbersome and space-hogging side wheel steamers. Fourth was rifled artillery, capable of greater accuracy and longer ranges, and when coupled with breech loading made ships more powerful than one with a similar number of muzzle loaders. Mount them in turrets with wide fields of fire and they were more of a threat than a larger broadside with limited lateral flexibility. Finally was the impact of armor, in an endless “spy vs spy” race between armor defense (metallurgy, placement and thickness) and the threat of rapidly improving naval guns, projectiles and explosives.

Barry does a great job presenting this in an understandable time line, providing necessary context of national issues for the various nations. He includes their economic position, their industrial capacity, their military leaders, and the Royal or other ruler’s desires/diktats. I had previously heard of a few of the ships discussed, but had no idea of the context or historical significance, nor the evolutionary steps before or after them. Surprisingly, much of the interest in armor predated our Civil War and the Monitor-Merrimack duel. 

As with most new weapons, military forces often try to shoehorn them into their old tactics, before adapting tactics to new capabilities. While fumbling with changing tactics, new logistics challenges would also appear. Societal change led to manning issues, and as always training and leadership’s strength or weakness played a part, especially with conscripts vs. careerists.

By 1866, the stage for Lissa was set, with the actors being the Kingdom of Italy, which was a fractious alliance filled with mistrust of others, personal ambitions, and competing naval officers who each thought they should be or actually were in charge of getting a fleet ready and getting into combat. Austria, with its Mediterranean fleet home ported in Venice was blessed with focused, visionary, and effective naval leadership, even if their ships were a step or so behind the newer Italian vessels. Training and repeatedly engaging in drills was a high priority, making them ready to fight today with what they had. (Not a bad lesson for any navy at any time.) Ashore, way on the other side of Austria, the Prussians (Germany was not yet unified) coveted some Austrian real estate and engaged in a war with Austria, while the Austrians were engaged in a war with Italy, so naturally the Italians, enemy of my enemy, became Prussia’s ally.

Lissa is a small island in the Adriatic, closer to the Croatian coast than the Italian, but a useful spot for controlling the upper Adriatic, so both antagonists wanted to control it. The British had controlled it during the Napoleonic wars, but in 1866 it was garrisoned by Austria. The Italians planned to land there and were about to do so when the Austrian fleet showed up to spoil the party. The Austrians knew the Italian plans from Italian newspaper reports. [Loose lips sink ships…] After this war, control of Lissa bounced around and eventually ended up with Croatia, and later Italy, then Yugoslavia where Tito’s partisans followed by the Yugoslavian military used the island as a military base, until they left in 1989. The Croatians call the island and town “Vis” and it is pretty touristy now.

Anyway, The Italians had the larger and more modern fleet, manned largely by conscripts, but with Keystone Cop level of ineptness. Austrian ships were largely manned with folks from the coastal Adriatic area, not landlubbers from Vienna, led by Adm. Tegetthoff who was admired by the crews, and he drilled them hard. Tegetthof charged into the Italian line and commenced a melee, and ended up ramming three Italian ships, sinking two, and several others were disabled or destroyed by gunfire. At one point the Italians had a great opportunity to sink the Austrian flagship, but their poorly trained crews omitted the command to load a shell, and only loaded powder before firing a broadside, which thus had zero effect. Previously, the Italian commander had shifted his flag to a different ship, without telling the somewhat insubordinate commanders of his two other divisions, so they did little to help. Incredibly, the Admiral claimed a great victory on returning to the Italian port, but missing several of his ships, that was quickly revealed to be a poor sea story.

The victorious Austrian fleet had won the naval battle, which likely prompted the celebratory souvenir above which sparked my inquiries into Lissa. However, the Prussian army defeated the Austrian army on the other side of their country, so their Italian ally ended up getting Venice back. 

For the rest of the world’s navies, this was the first fleet action involving multiple armored steamships, and a major lesson was that ramming really can sink ships, so rams were fashionable on warship designs for the next 50 years or so. The fact that a seriously outnumbered fleet could prevail with better training, leadership and tactics was also valuable.

I won’t try to describe the details or tactics of the Battle of Lissa, which is well done in the book. 

Naval historian Drachinifel does a good job in a 13:40 video.

So, Quintin Barry’s book is an excellent study of the impact of technology on naval warfare in the mid-19th century, which culminated in the Battle of Lissa. There is much to be learned from the broad range of topic he covers. 

This book is part of a series, “From Musket to Maxim 1815-1914,” with 40+ titles so far. This is a niche publishing operation, but at a very respectable level. It looks like the authors are all serious and capable scholars doing primary research, and are passionate and immersed in their topics. Remotely similar to the Osprey series on military topics, except with much less emphasis on pictures and much larger in size (estimated 150 pages plus) so they get into real details, and have a well defined date range. These are serious books for serious people, with extensive bibliographies and fully footnoted and indexed. The publisher’s site (in the UK) with hard copy versions is here. 

Amazon also has them available as Kindle books, for those who can tolerate pixel books instead of real books you hold in your hand like God intended, here.

Anyone interested in the changes in warships in the 19th century must check out the fantastic material at the Mariner’s Museum in Newport News, VA. Visit in person if possible, or at least poke around their exceptional web site. The USS Monitor material is great, and they have a full size replica outside. But there is MUCH more in the museum!

The Mariners Museum in Newport News, VA has the original turret from USS Monitor, along with many Merrimack items and is well worth a day long visit. At $1 per person don’t miss it! The conservation work on the Monitor is amazing, and they have made a full size replica outdoors.

Only a handful of early iron warships survive. Here are the two that I know of:

HMS Warrior at Portsmouth.
Source

HMS Warrior at Portsmouth is the world’s first iron hulled, armored warship with steam engine and screw propulsion. This was BEFORE the Monitor or Merrimack. When obsolete she was stripped and used as an oil storage hulk, but 

Here is a great 25 minute tour of the fully restored ship.

Monitor Huascar in Chile.
U.S. Naval Institute

The Monitor Huascar in Talcahuano, Chile. She was built in England in 1865 for Peru, and used in the War of the Pacific 1879-1883 where she was captured by Chile. She is beautifully restored and open for visiting, in case you happen to get to Chile. 

Here is a good 19 minute video visit to Huascar. WARNING - audio is in Spanish. Pause the video, then turn on subtitles by clicking on the “CC” block at the bottom, then click on the “settings gear wheel” symbol and select English. Resume the video, and mute the speaker. 

USS Olympia in Philadelphia
Source

The oldest U.S. Navy iron warship was built in San Francisco in 1893, and is (barely) preserved today as a museum ship in Philadelphia. That would be the USS Olympia, Dewey’s flagship at Manila Bay in 1898. She was pretty much the final form of early iron warships, with iron hull and armor, steam powered with screw propulsion. As was fashionable, her main battery of 8” guns were mounted in centerline turrets, while the secondary battery were 5 inch guns mounted for broadside firing. Her main guns were replaced during WW1, and those were replaced with dummy turrets to make her appear more like the original form.

She is in steadily deteriorating condition, needing a drydocking, but the group responsible can barely keep her open, although they have done some waterline plating repairs. Drachinifel has two videos on Olympia, but the audio quality seriously degrades them. So, if you want more on this great old historic ship, you will have to visit in person.

I hope you enjoyed this venture into the Navies of the 1860s-1890s.¹

¹ I did! (OAFS)

Foreshadowing ...

Source

Every year, on the 6th of May, new recruits to the Vatican's Swiss Guards are sworn in.

Why the 6th of May, you might ask?

Well, in 1527 Rome was sacked. Not the first time, but it occurred during one of the many wars which occur in Europe over the centuries. (Note, both Ukraine and Russia - some of it anyway - are in Europe, so European War part 753, or so.)

During that particular sacking of Rome, there were 189 Swiss Guardsmen in service to the Pope. They died, to a man. On the 6th of May, 1527.

The uniforms those men wore are the same as those worn today.

I'm doing more research but it sounds like a Vignette might come out of this. As a bit of background, here's a rerun from 2017.

Tourists might mock the Swiss Guards at the Vatican ...

I don't, tough soldiers they are, don't let that uniform kid you, these men know how to fight and die.

They've proven that throughout history.

More to come ...

(Source)

The Lion lies in his lair in the perpendicular face of a low cliff — for he is carved from the living rock of the cliff. His size is colossal, his attitude is noble. His head is bowed, the broken spear is sticking in his shoulder, his protecting paw rests upon the lilies of France. Vines hang down the cliff and wave in the wind, and a clear stream trickles from above and empties into a pond at the base, and in the smooth surface of the pond the lion is mirrored, among the water-lilies.

Around about are green trees and grass. The place is a sheltered, reposeful woodland nook, remote from noise and stir and confusion — and all this is fitting, for lions do die in such places, and not on granite pedestals in public squares fenced with fancy iron railings. The Lion of Lucerne would be impressive anywhere, but nowhere so impressive as where he is.

    — Mark Twain, A Tramp Abroad, 1880

After yesterday's somewhat fanciful post concerning the history of France leading up to the storming of the Bastille I wanted to do a more serious historical post. At first I thought that a post on the French Foreign Legion (La Légion Étrangère) might be appropriate. But the subject of the Legion reminded me that other nations have had (or still have) their own version of a foreign legion.

For instance Spain has its own Legión Española (Spanish Legion) which has varied over time from admitting foreigners, to only admitting Spaniards, then admitting Spanish speakers, now, from what I understand, recruits (male and female) from Spanish-speaking areas of South America are admitted, but Spaniards are preferred. I shall post about them someday. A fascinating, and effective, military force.

One interesting tidbit is that the Spanish Legion has a very fast marching pace, as compared to the French Foreign Legion's slow marching pace. Normal marching pace is roughly 120-steps per minute, the French Foreign Legion's pace is very slow at 88-steps per minute whereas the Spanish Legion moves right along at 180-paces per minute. (Which in the U.S. Army is called double time and which in the Air Force is called "are you kidding me?") You can see for yourself in this video -

I think that would wear me out in pretty short order, those guys can sustain that pace! Truth be told though, the Italian Bersaglieri would run them into the ground...

Not sure who would get the nod in a fight though, but I digress.

So I was researching foreign units in the service of other countries. One might say mercenaries, which can be individuals fighting in the pay of a foreign nation, or entire units rented out to other countries (think the "Hessians" of our own Revolution). The Swiss have a long tradition of hiring out entire units to other countries, like these fellows (though not exactly a Swiss unit, they are Swiss in the pay of a foreign nation, and yes, the Vatican is a nation) -

Papal Guard
(Source)

Now this post does tie back into the French Revolution. An episode of which is commemorated by the monument in that opening photo, the Lion of Lucerne.

From the early 17th century, a regiment of Swiss Guards had served as part of the Royal Household of France. On 6 October 1789, King Louis XVI had been forced to move with his family from the Palace of Versailles to the Tuileries Palace in Paris. In June 1791 he tried to flee to Montmédy near the frontier, where troops under royalist officers were concentrated. In the 1792 10th of August Insurrection, revolutionaries stormed the palace. Fighting broke out spontaneously after the Royal Family had been escorted from the Tuileries to take refuge with the Legislative Assembly. The Swiss Guards ran low on ammunition and were overwhelmed by superior numbers. A note written by the King half an hour after firing had commenced has survived, ordering the Swiss to retire and return to their barracks. Delivered in the middle of the fighting, this was only acted on after their position had become untenable.

Of the Swiss Guards defending the Tuileries, more than six hundred were killed during the fighting or massacred after surrender. An estimated two hundred more died in prison of their wounds or were killed during the September Massacres that followed. Apart from about a hundred Swiss who escaped from the Tuileries, the only survivors of the regiment were a 300 strong detachment which, with the King's authorization, had been sent to Normandy to escort grain convoys a few days before August 10. The Swiss officers were mostly amongst those massacred, although Major Karl Josef von Bachmann — in command at the Tuileries —was formally tried and guillotined in September, still wearing his red uniform coat. Two surviving Swiss officers achieved senior rank under Napoleon. (Source)

La Prise des Tuileries (10 août 1792) - Henri-Paul Motte
(Source)

The Swiss are wearing red uniforms in that painting, traditional for them in that era.

The Swiss have produced tough soldiers for centuries now. The Swiss pikemen in the late Middle Ages were known for their ferocity and discipline in battle. You can read a very colorful account of them (language alert, very salty) here. Tough bastards those Swiss, even today.

When Switzerland is mentioned, many of us think of the beautiful mountains and lakes, Swiss Army knives, clocks, bankers, and chocolate. I remember a time when Swiss soldiers made Europe tremble. That monument in Lucerne tells me all I need to know about the Swiss...

The heroic but futile stand of the Swiss is commemorated by Bertel Thorvaldsen's Lion Monument in Lucerne, dedicated in 1821, which shows a dying lion collapsed upon broken symbols of the French monarchy. An inscription on the monument lists the twenty-six Swiss officers who died on 10 August and 2–3 September 1792, and records that approximately 760 Swiss Guardsmen were killed on those days. (Source)

Prise du palais des Tuileries - Jacques Duplessis-Bertaux
(Source)

Leonidas' Spartans would have recognized Louis XVI's Swiss Guards as kindred souls.

Faithful unto Death.

Trust, But Verify ...

November
OAS Photo

So as fate would have it, I awakened in the wee hours of Tuesday. Rolling over and checking my timepiece, I saw that it was barely 0415. Too damned early to get up.

As I rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep, a small part of my brain (I like to call it the "pain in my ass" part of my brain) whispered, "Don't you have a doctor's appointment today? At like 1500, meaning you'll have to leave work early then make the time up later."

I lay there, I thought about it. If I got in before 0700, I would only have to make up maybe an hour, no problem really. But what the heck, I'm tired. I want to sleep.

The PITA part of my brain just gave me a smug look and whispered, "Oh well, I'm sure you know best."

0500, well before sunup, I said, "The heck with it, I'll get up now. I'll still get in wicked¹ early."

So up I got, to the shower I went, and some time later arrived at my place of employment. The sun was almost up (it came up at 0653 according to my sources) so I went in and got to it.

At 1345 I departed work for a 1500 medical appointment. I arrived at the appointed time (which of course was 15 minutes early) and checked in.

The nice lady at reception asked my name, my address, and kept glancing from the computer to me, as if the world was somehow off its axis.

"Uh, your appointment is Wednesday."

In my mind I'm thinking, "And today is Wednesday, is it not?"

But no, it most certainly was not.

Yes, I had arrived at my 1500 appointment early ...

Twenty-four hours early.

I could have sworn on Monday that the nice lady who scheduled the appointment had said, "We have a couple of times tomorrow," at least that's what I think I heard, "and some on Thursday."

Thinking more about getting it over with, rather than actually paying attention, I said "Let's shoot for tomorrow." (Really, I swear that's what I said.)

Maybe the lady said she had times on Tuesday and Thursday, maybe I just heard it that way. We'll perhaps never know.

I did check the appointment data I'd sent to my cell phone after the fact. Yup, clearly said the 20th of November, not the 19th.

So today, WEDNESDAY, I get to try again.

Source

Like Buck was wont to say, "It's always sumthin' ..."

¹ A very New England adjective, means "very." So "wicked early" = "very early." Trust me on this one. I was born in New England, I speak the lingo. Well, most of it anyway, I don't say "chowdah," I say "chowder." At least I think I do ...

History is My Thing

History
Mosaic by Frederick Dielman. Located in House Members Room,
Library of Congress Thomas Jefferson Building, Washington, D.C.
Source

The figure of History, in the mosaic's center, holds a pen and book. On both sides of her, there are tablets mounted in a marble wall with benches on either side of the tablets. The tablets contain the names of great historians. One tablet contains the names of the ancient historians Herodotus and Thucydides in brighter gold, followed by Polybius, Livy, Tacitus, Bæda, Comines. The other tablet contains the name of the modern historians Hume and Gibbon in brighter gold, along with Niebuhr, Guizot, Ranke, and the Americans Bancroft and Motley. At the foot of one of the tablets is a laurel wreath symbolizing peace, and at the foot of the second tablet is an oak wreath symbolizing war. A palm branch designating success rests against the wreaths and tablets.

The female figure on one side of History is Mythology. As the symbol of the theories of the universe, she holds a globe of the earth in her left hand. The Greeks' female sphinx to her right represents the eternally insoluble Riddle of the World. Tradition, the aged woman seated on the other side of History, represents medieval legend and folk tales. She is shown in the midst of relating her old wives' tales to the young boy seated before her. The distaff in her lap, the youth with a harp in his hand (a reference to the wandering minstrel of the Middle Ages), and the shield are reminders of a past age. The mosaic includes ancient buildings from the three nations of antiquity with highly developed histories: an Egyptian pyramid, a Greek temple, and a Roman amphitheater.

Along with the mosaic panel representing Law above the north fireplace, this mosaic was prepared in Venice, Italy and sent to the Jefferson Building to be put into place. Both mosaics were made of pieces, or tesserae, which were fitted together to provide subtle gradations in color. (Ibid)

While it is tempting to continue on immediately with the series I began with the Battle of Towton, it requires more research before I can continue. The Wars of the Roses were long and ever-so-complicated. Spanning thirty years (1455 to 1487, Towton falling near the beginning in 1461), the next big battle after Towton wasn't until 1471. Oh sure, there were lots of other things going on in that span of time, but here's the thing, I haven't done enough research to write on that time period. Without the research, the writing would be hollow.

For what it's worth, I think we'll catch up with Graham of Masongill in the future, he didn't die of his wounds, but they did leave him horribly scarred. The two commoners, Rufus and Thomas, will also return, I'm just not sure when. There is much on my plate at the moment.

Anyhoo ...

Why do I write so much about historical events (some admittedly fictitious but set in a framework of what actually was going on at the time)?

I don't recall when exactly I was bitten by the history bug, but I do know that it was early in elementary school. I knew something of history in 1st Grade because when asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I answered "fighter pilot." At some point I had seen a picture book of World War I aircraft and the pilots that made them famous. It stuck in my mind.

So I fell in love with history, specifically military history, at a very young age. Though I never became a fighter pilot (weak eyes) my love of history never faded.

But why military history?

Another topic which caught my interest in elementary school was World War II. Our little school library had a series of books regarding that war, mostly from the American perspective, simply written, with lots of pictures.

Having three uncles (technically one was a great-uncle) who had fought in World War II made a personal connection for me. And no, none of them ever talked about the war. That fact came in handy later in life when I learned that those who would talk about it, weren't there.

At any rate, from there I "graduated" to the Napoleonic Wars. Again, it was a book, this time I think it was in junior high, on the Battle of Waterloo (which launched a lifelong fascination with that battle).

Military history has lots of drama, lots of very big personalities, lots of action. I suppose that's what attracted me as a young lad. It's only later, growing up, that I learned the cost of all that.

War is mud, blood, piss, shit, horrible pain, and the loss of life on a scale which beggars the imagination. It's filthy and perhaps the furthest thing from glory there is. Yet ...

It is also heroism, sacrifice, the willingness to die so that others might live. There must be some sort of glory in war, otherwise why do we keep doing it?

Robert E. Lee said ...

It is well that war is so terrible, otherwise we should grow too fond of it.

There's a fellow who knew a thing or two about war.

So there we have it, why I do this. There will be more historical fiction coming down the pike, just not right away. Some of the things I write take a lot out of me, so it takes a few days to want to do it again.

But I will.

It's who I am.

Locks, wine, beer and schnitzel

 Well Campers, we’re one week into our big adventure. At the time of writing this post, I am sitting on the upper deck in the lounge, watching barges go through a lock on the Main River. (No Beans it’s not the main river in Germany rather it is the Main River, pronounced “Mine” River.) According to our cruise director, we’ll go through 63 locks on this trip. But, it’s kinda fun to watch and figure out how the whole system works.

Spent a lot of time exploring towns that were old even before Columbus’s journey. We visited a few that were built in the first half of the previous millinium.

 Man, did I feel young again, at least for a while. 

No, this castle wasn't that old, but it was built in the 1500's so...old!

 Got on the Boat in Nurnberg, which was where the Nazi Leaders were tried, convicted and executed.  No sympathy.  Don't start a war if you can't win it.  Also, don't murder several million people just because you don't like their beliefs. 

Our next stop was Bomberg.  Another walking tour, another castle, another church. Much like Nurnberg, this town was pretty much destroyed in a night fire bombing raid by the RAF.

 

This is a picture of a diorama of the town after the raid in April of 45.  The only building that was mostly intact is the Church which is in the top center.  It suffered some roof damage, but nothing like the rest of the town.

 

War sucks! Don't start one if you can't win.  

 

After that bit of depressing history, we decided on lunch.

 With beer, of course!

Next stop was a winery.  First on the agenda was a tour of the cellars.  Quite old, the family had been in business for at least 500 years.

 

 

The bottle of wine in the middle was made and bottled in 1529.  It's been valued at 1.2 million Euro's.  According to the winemaker, it's not drinkable.  However, their Riesling current release is quite nice.

Back on the boat, it's time for our first wine seminar. Mrs J had set up our friends at Texas Hills Vineyard to put it on. Unfortunately, Gary had passed away in the interim. His wife, Kathy, stepped up in his place and, although nervous, did a fantastic job.

Had most of the 65 passengers on the boat attend the tasting. Started with a nice Chardonnay (I'm not a fan of Chardonnay, but this one was quite good) then a couple of outstanding Reds.  This was followed by a nice dinner where their wines were served again.  As good as they were by themselves, they were better with the dinner.

Shortly thereafter, we called it a night.

One last thing for this week.  I think I've found the perfect retirement job for Sarge.  NCOIC of the Castle Guard at the Royal Palace in Prague Czech Republic. 

 

More to follow.  Too much happening on the boat to sit in my room and tell stories.  Those are for RTB.  Gotta run, I hear Beer, and/or Wine calling my name!

Peace out y'all!

Night of Horrors

Screen Capture

Graham of Masongill grimaced as he tried to eat the thin soup before him. His mouth ached from the arrow he had taken earlier in the day. But his belly rumbled and he needed to build his strength back up.

The pursuit had ended not long after sunset, it seemed that the Yorkists were content to encamp on the field of their victory, among the bodies of the slain and those not quite dead. From where he sat he could occasionally glimpse their campfires. The snow had stopped and the night was growing ever colder.

He wondered what the morrow might bring.

"I have sinned, Father." Thomas muttered to the priest standing over him.

"You slew the enemies of your liege lord, young Thomas. There is no sin in that."

Thomas looked up at the man, "The Bible says - thou shalt not kill. I have killed this day, Father, and I reveled in it."

Thomas shuddered at the memory, at first he had been timid and terrified at the brutality around him. Then that wounded man had mocked him, something inside had snapped. He had cut that man down, then many another as they tried to flee the battlefield. Only the waters of the Beck had stopped his murderous spree.

"King David himself killed Goliath, on the field of battle. How is that so different from your actions this day, my son?"

Thomas shook his head, then bowed to the wisdom of the priest. "I ask forgiveness, Father."

"And you shall have it boy, when Edward sits upon the throne." With that, the priest walked away into the night.

Thomas heard Rufus clear his throat and then spit. "Priests," he said the word with contempt.

"How can you say that, Rufus? Have you no concern for your immortal soul?"

Rufus nodded in the direction the priest had gone, "I do, far more than that man. Did you know that he has lands greater than those of our Lord Norfolk?"

Thomas stood, he felt a confidence that he hadn't experienced before, "Rumors, Rufus. Rumors spread by those jealous of the Church's power."

"That may be boy, but that's a matter well above our station. For now ..."

Rufus stopped as the sergeant stepped into the light from the campfire, "You two, come with me. The killing ain't over yet."

Thirty to forty disarmed men huddled together, not far from the corpse-choked bank of the Cock Beck. From their livery, one could tell that they followed Henry, not Edward.

"Captives, Your Highness?"

"Fools who have surrendered, Warwick. Casting themselves upon my tender mercies. And stop referring to me that way, until the Archbishop himself places the crown upon my head, I am merely the Duke of York. Conduct yourself accordingly." Edward hadn't meant to bark at the man, but he desperately needed sleep. He wasn't himself.

"Certainly, Your Grace. What shall we do with these men?"

"Have them dig a pit, I'm sure you can figure out the rest on your own."

Edward spurred his horse and rode off with his retainers. He would find some place warm to spend the night, he would deal with the retreating Lancastrian army in the morning. What was left of them anyway.

Rufus and Thomas watched as the men dug a deep pit, Rufus wondered at its purpose. Thomas, now more bloody minded, thought he knew what it was for.

"Alright you lot, climb out, line up there, along the edge."

The prisoners looked at each other, some expected what was to come, a few still harbored illusions of survival.

"Your Grace, I am worth more to you alive, than dead, I demand ..."

Warwick's sword flashed in the firelight, the man's throat was opened and he reached up to try and stem the bleeding with his hands. He fell into the pit as he staggered, trying to stay alive.

The sergeant took that as a sign to begin, he bellowed, "Cut 'em down lads, leave no one standing!"

Hammers and axes rose and fell, many of the captives were dead long before the final blow was landed. Thomas' hammer landed time and again on the heads of the men who seemed to have little thought of fighting back. Arms were raised in a defensive posture, only to be shattered.

Rufus waded into the mob with his billhook, stabbing, thrusting, he was moaning low in his throat as he did so. The killing lust was upon him.

In a few short moments it was over. A steaming pile of dead bodies lay on the edge of the pit, some within it. Warwick had watched, a sick feeling in his stomach, the enemy would hear of this and they would remember. What had they done this day? But he swallowed his worries and barked out an order.

"Strip them of anything useful, then throw them in the pit. Cover them up when you're done. It's the devil's work we do this day lads, hide your crimes below the soil. Forget them if you can."

Warwick rode off.

The men all stood silently, looking at the bodies, looking at each other.

Then the sergeant said, "Get to it lads, these buggers ain't going to bury themselves."

The Battle of Towton was at an end.

The Bridge of Bodies

The Bloody Meadow
Source¹

Sir Edric Acaster could barely lift his arms, yet he stood with his mates as another wave of Yorkists plunged down the slope.

"Jesus, Sir Edric, there are more than I can count, will they not let us run in peace?"

"Mind your tongue, Graham. Best not take His name in vain when it seems we stand on the brink of eternity!" Sir Edric managed to bring his shield up in time to parry a billhook being thrust at his face. His war hammer ended the threat when he swung it into the side of his attacker's head.

Blood and shattered bone splashed over Sir Edric as he took a step back, they were nearly up to their knees in the freezing water of the Beck already. Some men were crossing over the dead bodies of their comrades just behind him, but he and his squire, Graham of Masongill, were determined to stand and buy time for the remainder of Henry's army.

Sir Edric's blood ran cold as he saw a group of archers take up position just up the slope as the Yorkist footmen drew back to give the bowmen a clear shot at the men struggling along the banks of the surging river.

"Shield, Graham!"

He heard his squire gasp as an arrow hit him full in the face. It had been a glancing blow, not a killing wound, but painful enough as the arrow went through his mouth and out of his right cheek.

Tears were streaming from Graham's eyes as he fell to his knees, "Ah God ..."

"Your blasphemy does you no credit, Graham. Hold still!"

Covering them with his own shield, Sir Edric knelt and took the arrow in his fist, he snapped it in two, which caused Graham's eyes to stream even more. As he yanked the shaft from the mouth of his friend, he yelled at him, "Spit lad, or you'll drown in your own blood!"

On his knees, Graham tried to clear the blood from his mouth, he ran his tongue around, he'd lost a couple of teeth as well. Shaking his head, he saw his shield on the ground, surprisingly he still held his axe in his right hand.

"Up Graham, up! If we must die this day, let us die together!"

Rufus was moving to his right, thinking to go up the hill in that direction then perhaps come down on the retreating enemy from there. As he did so, he heard his name being called out. In no immediate danger, he turned.

"Thomas? Where have ye been laddie?"

Thomas looked a sight, blood and vomit stained his tabard, he was carrying an axe, rather than the billhook he had brought with him to the field, and his eyes were lifeless as if he had seen things which no man should have to see.

"Ah Rufus, we're missing the slaughter, come now, let us not hang back."

Thomas strode past Rufus, heading down towards the Beck where the struggle seemed to be winding down.

Rufus followed his friend, wondering what had gotten into the lad.

Thomas just wanted to kill and keep killing. A wounded Lancastrian had mocked the young foot soldier as he had knelt on the field and cried hot tears at the devastation all around him.

The man had been staggering in the direction of the retreat, his left arm dangling uselessly by his side, nearly severed by a sword blow.

"What's the matter, laddie? Never seen a battle before? Go home and back to your mother's teat, you don't belong on this field with the men!"

Thomas had looked at the man in shock. He was moving off, Thomas looked for his billhook, the shaft had been shattered. Seeing an axe he picked it up.

Getting to his feet, he had run after the man, "Turn and fight you bastard, I will show you who is a man!"

The man had turned and said, "Alright boy, I'll fight ..."

His eyes had grown very wide when he beheld the look on Thomas' face and seen the axe in its downwards arc towards his head. He tried, in vain, to parry the axe with the hammer he held in his right hand.

After the man had crumpled to the ground, head split like a melon, Thomas had wrenched the axe from the man's ruined head and continued down the hill. He would show these bastards who was a man.

He saw his friend Rufus, after a brief word, he continued down to the slaughter.

Sir Edric stumbled over a corpse as he and Graham tried to hold off the Yorkists. At least the blood lust of the enemy footmen had blocked the archers from loosing their shafts at them again. Both men had multiple arrows embedded in their shields.

Graham looked a sight, his mouth still oozed blood and the wound on his cheek still bled but the cold was causing that to slow down. A number of Yorkists had turned away from the sight of him, thinking him to be some walking corpse.

His right arm ached and he was beginning to have trouble raising it to strike a blow, he could still parry, but the water was nearly to his hips now. He slipped on a dead man under the water and nearly fell.

He had almost regained his feet when the point of a Yorkist billhook drove into his throat. He fell, his lifeless corpse adding yet another piece to the bloody bridge across the Cock Beck.

The Battle of Towton
John Quartley
Source

Graham saw the man he'd known since childhood fall. His war axe avenged Sir Edric, he swung it into the face of the man who had killed his mentor and friend.

Graham yanked on the axe, another Yorkist was pushing forward through the cluster of struggling men, he was puzzled, why was the axe not coming out. Amazingly, the man he had struck was holding the shaft of the axe with both hands, his mouth moving but no words issuing from his ruined face. But the hate that glittered in his eyes would stay with Graham for the rest of his life.

He barely brought his shield up in time to parry the sword the man to his front was trying to wield in the mob. But the blow was slow and ill-timed, moving forward, Graham drove the edge of his shield up and under the man's chin.

The man gasped as a torrent of blood flowed down from his throat and onto Graham's left hand. His grip on the shield was failing, so Graham let it go. Backing up, he felt not the bottom of the Beck, but the chest of a corpse.

He backed a few more steps, it seemed the Yorkists were content to let him go, their reluctance to cross the bridge of the dead was obvious. Graham didn't care, he was still alive.

He turned and fled into the gathering night, he was quickly lost in the gloom and the falling snow.

His battle was over.

¹ Do check out this source, the lady gives tours of English battlefields, is a reenactor herself, and has a number of great photos!