Fusiliers Read Free

men more anxious to be employed on so laudable a work.’
    This bitterness had arisen by the spring of 1775, because the armyhad been exposed to months of abuse and scorn. It took the form of seditious handbills, spitting or insults in the streets and the formation of militia or ‘minutemen’ companies in dozens of villages. On previous trips through the countryside, British soldiers observed these citizen soldiers armed, drilling and making ready to fight. Even six months earlier, in the autumn of 1774, Brigadier Percy had written to his father, ‘This country is now in as open a state of rebellion as Scotland was in the year ’45.’
    While many soldiers favoured a Scottish solution to American disobedience – scourging the rebellion with fire and bayonet – such views did not hold sway in the higher command. By April 1775, however, even the moderates felt something had to be done. The smouldering tension around Boston had come to a head, as British generals ordered the seizure of rebel cannon in Concord.
    Percy led his troops into the New England countryside with colours flying and bands playing. Whatever doubts or disagreement might lurk within the hearts of his officers, Percy wanted the brigade to make an imposing sight for the Americans. They knew they were being watched through shuttered windows or quiet orchards as they marched, so they pressed on proudly to the tune of ‘Yankee Doodle’, a favourite with the redcoats, complete with its lyrics ridiculing the colonists.
    Some of the Fusiliers, the grenadier and light companies, had gone to Concord with special battalions of the army’s picked troops. The main body of the regiment marched out to support them behind its two standards: the King’s Colour, a union flag, snapping and dancing in the spring breeze, and the Colonel’s Colour, with a union in one corner, but royal blue in its other three fourths and the Prince of Wales’ feathers in the centre. The Fusiliers’ allegiance was symbolised by these two flags – to their monarch naturally, and to the army in which their place was precisely fixed by the number, colour and badges on the Colonel’s Colour.
    The men following those flags understood that they were being asked to uphold the fine reputation that the 23rd had garnered during its first eighty-five years of service. Captain Lieutenant Thomas Mecan marched with the colonel’s or senior company. An Irishman (these days his name would be usually written McCann), he was, like Mackenzie, a veteran of the Seven Years War that produced epic battles in Europe where the 23rd had burnished its reputation thirteen years earlier. Although the Irish Mecan was, at thirty-six years old,somewhat younger than the Scots Mackenzie (forty-four at this time), both men had endured long years in their lowly ranks, lacking the money to buy their way up the promotion ladder. They had aged in the service, but many of their rank and file were callow.
    Robert Mason, beating out the signals of command on his drum, was just nineteen years old. If he had not been in action before, at least he had lived his entire life within the Fusiliers. He was ‘a child of the regiment’, having been born to a father within it and a mother who followed it. Most of Mason’s short life indeed had been spent in uniform, for he had been just nine years old when taken on as a drummer boy.
    Corporal Jeffrey Grimes eyed the ranks of his company, looking for the man who stepped out of place or might fail in his duty. Grimes had been in the regiment for less than five years but had been promoted just after the regiment arrived in America. His new rank had brought him higher pay and the right to wear the knotted woollen cord on his right shoulder that denoted a corporal’s status. He was a keen soldier who kept his nose clean, and might look forward to further promotion – if he survived.
    Not long after 1 p.m., fifteen or so miles into their march, a man driving a horse and chaise had