Graham's Birthday Bash

Yesterday afternoon saw a large 1690s game with loads of nationalities in 25mm, to celebrate a birthday with a zero in it. Graham hosted and, together with Bill, provided the set-up and the figures. I ended up running a load of Highlanders determined to hit some Brits, the excuse being Jacobitism. Graham's homebrew rules, based on some extension of Gordon's ideas for English Civil WEar, I think...

Billy ran the clans on our extreme right, next to my lot, who were next in towards the centre. It was a large game.

Here are mine.

Mike ran some regular regiments to my left - I think they might have been French or something, since my lads couldn't understand a word. None of which mattered, since all they wanted to do was run ahead and hit someone.

Our left had all the guys on horses, some of which were very pretty indeed.

As were the opposing cavalry.

How my clansmen looked to me: two 'brigades' each of three 'regiments'. The French insisted on using this new-fangled terminology, since they just couldn't get the hang of our cultural specificity.

A somewhat closer shot of my guys, with what is waiting for them: British line lined up behind a nice safe stream. Typical. The guys closest to the woods are elite troops. They even have a cannon!

We surge forwards, crest the hill, and then promptly lose men to another gun, a big one sited on a hill to our right across the valley. Still, that's what Billy's troops are for. Mu job is to engage the cowering redcoats behind that stream while Billy takes the rightmost hill and rolls up the flank. Right.

Advancing clansmen. Mike has kindly brought along one them gun things to the left of my guys.

Rhe rules encourage aggression, and my lot have plenty of that - basically, morale favours those pressing forwards. Musketry, however, doesn't...

Still we press on. A nice target presents itself in the woods to my left.

The rest of the guys are getting closer to those knee-trembling weaklings behind their burn.

My left 'brigade' is temporarily halted by the opposition's firepower.

Meanwhile, at our far left, Gordon fights Sandy as the pretty boys and theit hossies get stuck in.

There are quite a few of them, and they signifiy nothing much...

...since they basically batter right through each other and then are too exhausted to do much more. Apparently this is typical of the period.

Meanwhile, my highlanders recover and then scare off the lily-livered guards. It turns out that although I don't have as many muskets as the opposition, my guys who do are real sharpshooters. Translation: I got lucky, inflicted mor e than I should have, and the Guards rolled rubbish morale, being so surprised that they recoiled from their stream. Oh, how we taunted them.

Getting closer with my rightmost lot. Where's that flanking force?

One of my left clans is forced to run away by all that nasty shooting. The gentleman at the front is unperturbed - that's whay there's a second wave.

Similar results at my right. "Oi! Where's that flanking attack?"

My leftmost guys scare off the opposition in the woods, but then their spooked elites decide to advance to the stream again...

...with inevitable results. I really should buy some smoking boots for casualty markers.

I used to have a line.

Ah, there's the flanking force, led onwards by the dread finger of Billy. His more numerous clans gave the enemy's flank horse units a hard time.

A last hurrah as my clans acre off another of those regiments of Brits and get stuck into their pals.

Both sides were exhausted and declared a draw. Mike, who had all the Frenchies in our centre, gave and received terrible punishment. Blood everywhere, and apparently that satisfies honour or something...