Nor was General Maitland singular. From Dumbarton Castle Lord Glencairn wrote to the Board, "We not only want in a manner everything, but we have not so much as a boat. And, besides, the Garrison wants near four months' pay." From Carlisle the Governor wrote that there were only four barrels of powder in the garrison, a deficiency of every species of stores, and only four gunners, "three of which are superannuated." Most of the gun-carriages were unserviceable, and the platforms wanted repairing. There was haste and panic at Portsmouth, as empty stores and unarmed ships warned the Board what work there was before them. And from Chester, Mr. Asheton, the zealous governor just appointed, reported, "The guns are all here, but not the carriages, so that the stores, &c., would be of service—not prejudice—to an enemy." The only men there who were capable of doing any work were forty _invalids_; and he therefore begged for assistance in men and stores, "in order" he wrote, "that I may be capable of doing my country service by maintaining the rights of our gracious Sovereign King George against all Popish Pretenders whatsoever." As the guns of the Tower blazed out their welcome to the King, the smoke must have clouded over such an accumulation of testimony in the Ordnance offices hard by, proving that there may be an economy which is no economy at all, as might almost have penetrated the intelligence of a Board. This period in the history of the Ordnance is unsurpassed, even by the many blundering times which, in the course of these volumes, we shall have to examine, down to that day in the year of grace 1855 when, "from the first Cabinet at which Lord Palmerston ever sat as Premier, the Secretary at War brought home half a sheet of paper, containing a memorandum that the Ordnance—one of the oldest Constitutional departments of the Monarchy ... was to be abolished."[1]