Diary of a Civil War Musketeer

Chapter Three

Is it me, or is everyone getting fed up? I mean, no wonder as we're marching around the place like we're homeless but no-one is enjoying themselves any more! It doesn't help that the Earl (who was pretty decent) has been replaced by this person called - if I'm correct - Sir Ralph Hopton. Sounds posh, doesn't he? I think he'll be a scatterbrain who wants all the glory at any cost. Everyone here is probably thinking about hanging him whilst he sleeps; that isn't going to happen at the moment but probably will in the near future. He certainly won't live up to the standards to all the rumours spread around in the tent. Here are my favourite quotes from the people in my tent:

Charles (Nickname - Mummy's Boy as he snivels about "how life with his family is better" all the time): Beat fifty Roundhead soldiers single-handedly with only a dagger and his bare hands as weapons

Thomas (Nickname - Nine Tails as he's very quick to lash out): Can shoot five moving soldiers down every minute

Henry (Nickname: God's Gift as he thinks he is): Became commander aged sixteen.

Lord Eythin (Nickname - Idiot, like all commanders): Not worth tuppence

For once, I actually agree with Idiot because this Hopton man is too big for his boots and, like Henry, thinks he's God's Gift. Only he doesn't just believe he's God's Gift, but also God's Messiah! Each time we are ordered to do something, he keeps on saying "by following me, you are following God's will."

IDIOT!

I cannot believe him at all!

Wow, I'm going to waste so many lines in my diary if I continue to do this!

 Turns out he beat five heavily-injured Roundheads with a lance, can hardly shoot a musket, became a commander aged forty-six and is not worth tuppence. God, how idiotic is he! I found out about the five Roundheads from another commander. He likes us musketeers so he told us about it.

It had been the battle of Edgehill - a major battle. He had survived the massacre that was really a "draw" when these five Roundheads with bloody bodies and rags which were "clothes." Anyone, enemy or friend would have given them help. But not old Scatterbrain, no. Instead he kicks them in that region and then stands all over them to crush him. Then one Roundhead who had survived all that tried to get up. Anyone who had been that tough on them would have been so surprised that they would have let them go. But not old Scatterbrain, no. Instead he pulls his dagger out of his bejeweled sheath and slips it in right between the ribs. Dis. Gust. Ing

Then when we had our target practise, we had these dummies which we had to shoot at from a hundred paces. Many did it easily, then there were some near misses, then some hits were deflected off the target. But not with old Scatterbrain, no. Instead of hitting it easily, he hit someone else's musket which was on the ground, causing it to be bumped back into our direction... and landed on Mummy's Boy's foot! Now I've seen what has happened to this camp, I think he is really lucky that he got sick leave!

I would consider leaving, but what's the point in that? I enjoy the fighting and want to serve the king. I don't want to be ruled in a crummy republic ruled by warty Cromwell or Pygmy Pym. Ugh! Only the Puritans would want that. And I am certainly not one of them! I mean, have you seen all the drab clothes they wear! But if you saw them on my dad, you would be sure to run away from fright - he looks like a warlock in those clothes! That was why he was almost burned for being one - until someone came and clubbed him over the head with his manacle chains.  He now lives with us, well lived because he ran away when we had to flee from that village. Wow, he was annoying. But that's not the point! Sorry about that. But you get the idea of that.

Time for the curfew to kick in. I'm glad of it because we walk so much that when we relax and go to sleep, it's heaven on earth. Until you feel yesterday's work back on your legs.