Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  “At that range, hard stones will be almost as effective,” Antonio said. “Then if we are agreed, the Chevalier and I will go to select the cannons. Once that is done, I will begin preparing the battery.”

  “You are agreed in this, Sir Géraud?”

  “Yes, Sir Oliver. Antonio has fully explained his plan to me. But I would like to suggest that Antonio be placed in charge of the battery. I, of course, will be on the wall.”

  Sir Oliver nodded. “Unless, Antonio, you think Sergeant Ruvo will be unable to manage the magazine?”

  “I am sure he can. But I would like my companions to help me. They are both experienced fighters.”

  Sir Oliver waved his hand. “Yes, take whomever you need. And God bless you both.”

  Antonio and the Chevalier visited Birgu’s southern wall. The fort’s gunners had been firing back at the Turkish weapons for days, and those crews had plenty of experience with their weapons. Antonio wanted cannons that would shoot straight. After interviewing almost every gun captain, Antonio selected five cannons: three 18-pounders, and two 24-pounders.

  To his surprise, he saw his father’s imprint on one of the guns, and took that as a sign of good luck. His father had been one of the first in England to standardize the size of the cannons he offered for sale, starting with 6-pounders, then 12, then 18, and so on. A mathematical formula guided the increased width of the bore to hold that incremental weight of iron, and seemed to provide the most effective and accurate weapons.

  “We need guns that will shoot true,” Antonio told the Chevalier. “We will only have the boats in sight for less than two minutes and need to make every shot count.”

  With the weapons selected, the real work began. A work gang of 50 Maltese laborers from Senglea arrived to begin the back-breaking work of moving the guns off the walls, trundling them through the village of Birgu, and into St. Angelo. That would take the rest of the day and most of the night, so Antonio moved on to the next task, meeting with St. Angelo’s carpenters and stone masons.

  The sun had set before he returned to the sally port. To his surprise, he found a squad of 10 soldiers waiting for him, assigned to guard the gate should the Turks somehow suddenly appear. A dour Spanish sergeant told Antonio that he had direct orders from Sir Oliver to slam the gate shut and seal it at the first sign of trouble. Anyone left outside the wall would be on his own.

  Antonio didn’t worry about that. He guided the carpenters through the gate, and showed them exactly what he wanted – gun platforms – one for three guns, and the second for the other two. The platforms had to be perfectly level, and strong enough to handle the weight of the guns. The wood workers had questions, of course, but the master carpenter had plenty of experience with cannons and gun platforms, and Antonio soon turned his attention to the labor gang.

  He wanted a low rock wall facing the open water of Dockyard Creek, as much for concealment as for any defensive purpose. They, too, soon had all they needed to know. He impressed on both crews the need to work quietly. They must not alert the Turks to any unusual activity outside the walls. With darkness now covering the site, both crews started on their work, while Antonio headed for the magazine.

  He found Martin and Will there, bare-chested and sweating like all the others, and gave Ruvo the news. He frowned at hearing that Martin and Will would be working with Antonio for a few days. Antonio gave Ruvo a list of what he needed – powder, shot, spare parts for the guns, grease for the axles, and 200 feet of rope. Ruvo had everything there except the rope, but he dispatched one of his Maltese to find some on the beached galleys and deliver it to the sally port.

  Antonio returned there and found that work was already underway. The carpenters had begun construction of the gun platforms inside the fort, to keep the noise of hammering and sawing within the walls. Since that kind of activity was ongoing everywhere, the Turks, even if they heard the construction, would probably dismiss it.

  By the time Antonio returned to Ruvo’s house, everyone was already asleep, and he slipped inside, dropped onto his blankets, and fell asleep. The occasional booming of a Turkish cannon – as with St. Elmo, the besiegers attempted to deny the defenders a good night’s sleep – bothered him not at all.

  Chapter 45

  July 9

  He slept straight through the night, awakening only when Martin shook his shoulder a little before dawn. Though the last one to rise, Antonio led the way out the door and through the darkness, guiding his companions all the way to the sally port. The sun had cleared enough of the horizon, and a quick glance showed him that the crews had accomplished much. The carpenters had completed construction of the gun platforms. Some additional work would be needed outside the gate, but the head carpenter assured him those tasks would be completed well before noon.

  The masons had assembled a stack of rough-cut stone blocks, each about two feet long, one foot high, and a foot thick. Antonio answered some questions, and together with the head mason, described exactly what he wanted – an irregular-looking wall that would blend in with the natural rock formation outside the wall.

  “That’s easily done, Antonio,” the head mason declared. “We’ll just stack the blocks in a jagged line, then add some round stones and boulders in front of the wall. That way, the actual blocks will be well concealed, and from a distance, the battery will look like a jumble of rocks.”

  Antonio decided that would work very well. Since the only position from which the Turks could catch a glimpse of the battery was almost a half mile away, the blocks would hide the guns, and the stones would blend in with the rock formation rising from the harbor.

  But he decided to take no chances. With the sun up, the workers crawled out on their bellies, cursing as they moved the heavy blocks and stones. The carpenters did the same, sliding the wood platforms along the ground, then lying on their stomachs as they shoved the planks in place and started bracing and leveling.

  Nevertheless, well before midday, most of the work had been completed. By then the first two guns had arrived. Antonio left the battery and returned to St. Angelo’s magazine. Ruvo was there, sweating in the heat, though in truth the magazine was a bit cooler than the interior of the fort. Still, not a hint of a breeze ever penetrated this far below ground. For the hundredth time, Antonio wished he could design a magazine himself. Fresh air would be a godsend both for the workers and the gunpowder.

  “Ah, Antonio! What brings you here?” Ruvo wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled.

  “I need to make some powder charges, Sergeant Ruvo. I’d like to measure them myself, and select from the highest quality gunpowder that we have. Then I’ll need to match the charges to the guns.”

  Ruvo nodded. “Take whatever you need, Antonio. Sir Oliver sent word that we were to provide you with anything you want.”

  “I’ve already sent Martin and Will to the armory, to get the cannonballs and grapeshot.”

  Two hours later, Antonio had created his powder charges, using the exact same material for the bags, and measuring the purest gunpowder the Knights possessed. He actually used a balance beam to weigh the charges, something rarely done, but required if you wanted the cannon to put two shots in exactly the same target. He made up the priming powder as well, making sure all the mixtures were as pure and accurate as possible, so they would burn faster and evenly.

  By the time Antonio returned to the sally port, Martin and Will had arrived. Another Maltese work crew carried the 15 iron cannonballs, the roundest and smoothest Martin could find, along with 10 canvas bags holding the grapeshot. Six of the bags contained nine iron balls each the size of a lemon and tightly bound together with thick cords.

  The other four, for the two 24-pounders, contained 12 iron balls similarly bound. When fired, the bags and cords would disintegrate, and the iron projectiles would spread out rapidly. At 200 yards, the iron balls would cover an area at least 20 feet wide, and at that distance each ball was perfectly capable of passing through both sides of a galley, and any number
of crewmen caught in between.

  While Antonio examined the missiles, Chevalier de Guiral trotted down the ramparts and sought out Antonio.

  “Good morning, Antonio,” de Guiral managed to get that bit of politeness out before launching into his questions. “Why aren’t the guns being moved into the battery? And where are the gun crews?”

  There were a few more questions before Antonio could get a word in. “Chevalier, it seems unlikely that the Turks will attack today. So it will be safer to move the guns outside after dark. It would be best to take no chances on their spotting the battery. We’ll work through the night, and by morning the battery will be ready. Chances are the Turks will not begin their assault until they have tried to damage Senglea’s other walls with a few hours of cannon fire. That will give us plenty of time to train the crews and load the guns.”

  The Chevalier managed to hold his impatience in check. “Very well. Then if you have some time, I would like you to inspect the dispositions of Senglea’s harbor guns.”

  “Yes, Chevalier, an excellent suggestion. I’ll come with you at once.”

  Antonio told Martin he was in charge. Mollified, de Guiral led the way back to Senglea. Antonio spent almost two hours examining the guns, but the Chevalier had done a good job of repositioning. Four cannons would have a fair angle of fire, and two or three more might get in a shot. Senglea’s harbor wall was as ready as it could be. Antonio wished de Guiral the best of fortune and returned to St. Angelo.

  Martin had managed to complete most of the preparations. “We’ll be ready to move the guns out as soon as it gets dark. What about the gun crews?”

  “My next task,” Antonio agreed. “The best gun crews will be needed on the walls. But I’m sure Sir Oliver can find some Maltese who can work the guns. I want you and Will to each take charge of a gun. I’ll show you what to do in the morning.”

  “I’ve worked a cannon once before, in Ireland, for a few hours. But never tried to aim one.”

  “Don’t worry, it won’t be as difficult as you think, not at this range. Reloading will be the problem. We’ll have to be quick if we want a second or third shot.”

  Antonio had to wait at the command table for the Grand Master and Sir Oliver to return from another of their never-ending inspections. Those checks on the defenses were as much for morale as for anything that they might find lacking. But seeing the Grand Master risk his life on the walls made all the defenders more willing to fight.

  Sir Oliver sighed when he heard Antonio’s request. “You’ll need some gun captains who can understand English or Italian, and speak Maltese. Four men plus a captain for each gun, you say? Why so many?”

  The normal crew for guns this size was five to six men. Onboard the Pinnace, Captain Stukeley had allowed only three men per cannon. Shipboard conditions meant that more men would just get in the way, even if that meant the guns could not be worked as fast as theoretically possible. On St. Angelo’s walls, the usual crew was three or four, depending on the size of the gun.

  “Sir Oliver, the battery will probably be able to get off only two, possibly three, shots before the Turkish galleys reach the rocks. We will have to reload the cannon as quickly as possible to fire that second shot. And Martin and Will and I will act as gun captains.”

  “Most of your crews will be boys or young men, Antonio. If we are being attacked, the walls will need all the experienced men we have.”

  “Then I would like to have them assigned as soon as possible, Sir Oliver.”

  “I’ll send them to you. Let us hope that they are never needed.”

  By nightfall Antonio had every component required, including the men, to establish the battery. Even before the sun set, he’d begun training the crews. Each gun would have five men. The gun captains would be responsible for aiming the weapon. The swabber would be responsible for ramming the powder and shot, and then, reversing his swab, soaking the hot barrel after firing to make sure no sparks lingered that might set off the next charge prematurely. The swab itself, a canvas bag on one end, and a thick sponge on the other, was 12 feet long, and required a strong man to wield it.

  Another man would shove the powder cartridge, a serge bag containing Antonio’s exact mixture, into the barrel. That gunner would then attend the vent hole on the right side of the cannon, making sure it was primed. Either he or the gun captain would actually touch the slow match to the vent hole, firing the weapon.

  Then another gunner would load the 18 or 24 pound cannon ball into the barrel. All of the gun crew would throw themselves onto the weapon after discharge and reloading, to roll it back into firing position. That step, Antonio knew, would be critical, as he wanted all five guns to fire from exactly the same position each time. The faster each gun could be rolled forward, the faster the second and subsequent shots could be fired.

  At most, Antonio expected to fire three cannonballs at the galleys. Two was more realistic, as the galleys would be moving as fast as possible, especially if they were under fire. They would crash themselves onto the rocks, heedless of any risk of damage to the vessels.

  He also expected that the Janissaries would disembark as quickly as possible and race to the walls. For that situation, Antonio intended for the grapeshot to sweep the base of the fortification and stop the attackers from raising their ladders. He had 10 grapeshot loads from the magazine, all that could be spared.

  But Sir Oliver had delivered 20 bags of hard stones, mostly granite, that would work almost as effectively as the grape shot. When dumped down the barrel, they would scatter more on firing, though some would disintegrate from the initial blast. At least 20 to 30 stones would survive and wreak havoc on the Turks. While the stone missiles would not penetrate flesh and bone the way the iron balls of the grapeshot would, any Turk struck by one would be out of the fight.

  By torchlight, Antonio began training his men. He explained the situation, made sure each man understood his assignment, and stressed the need for every man to perform his duties as quickly as possible. Sir Oliver had provided three experienced gun captains. Antonio and Martin would each command a gun, and Will would be one of Martin’s crew.

  One of the gun captains, a Spaniard sergeant named Pedro Ortiz, who had lost an eye in the Turks first attack on Birgu, spoke both Italian and Maltese. He acted as translator. Antonio by now had learned enough of the local language to communicate, but it was helpful to have another gun captain fluent in Maltese.

  Aside from the gun captains, most of the crews were young, some little more than boys. Almost all had sustained some injury or wound, but Antonio had expected nothing else, since every able-bodied man, wounded or sick, had to take part in the defense of Malta. Fortunately, he saw no wounds that would incapacitate the men or slow them down. All of them would be healthy enough to work the guns for five or ten rounds.

  While Sergeant Ortiz translated, Antonio stressed how important it was that the guns be cleaned, loaded, and fired accurately.

  “We won’t load the guns until we hear the trumpet signal from Senglea. Chevalier de Guiral has two men on constant lookout, watching the opposite side of the harbor. So we’ll be able to take our time loading the first cannonballs into the guns. When the galleys appear in our sights, we’ll fire the guns, aiming for the waterline or just below. The range should be at most 170 yards. Probably less. I will adjust the elevation of each gun. A single shot from our guns should sink any galley within minutes, and I doubt if the Janissaries aboard will be able to reach the shore. Most important, until we’re needed, you will all remain here, just inside the sally port. We’ll train here, eat here, and sleep here. All of us.”

  Meanwhile, the carpenters had slipped through the sally port and begun installing the gun platforms. At the same time, the masons were dragging the blocks of stone that would act as concealment and protection for the gun crews. Certainly the Turks, if prevented from scaling the wall, would turn their arquebusiers on the battery as soon as possible. Without the protection of the stone wall, the
battery crews would all be dead after a few volleys.

  Before Antonio finished, the masons and carpenters returned. The master carpenter approached Antonio. “The platforms are in place, Antonio, just as you wanted. I checked the levels myself. If you need anything else, we can return.”