Malta's Guns

by Sam Barone

  Antonio thanked the man. “We’ll take a better look in the morning. Now I want to move the guns out.” That process took several hours, working in the dark. Antonio kept one of the 18-pounders inside the wall. He would train the men on that one for a whole day, and move it out the following night. With the four guns in place, Antonio ordered the men to get some sleep.

  “I’ll go back to Ruvo’s house and get some blankets,” Martin said. “We may be sleeping here for a few days. And I’ll bring back something to eat.”

  July 10th

  When dawn broke, Antonio was on the Senglea wall with Chevalier de Guiral. Grand Harbor revealed itself empty of boats. Glancing down to his right, Antonio picked out his battery of guns, well concealed by the rubble of rocks the masons had spread in front of and on top of the battery. It would take a keen-eyed Turk to notice the difference from yesterday. Even the mouths of the guns had been concealed, covered by sacks dirtied with rock dust. The covers also would keep the cannons clean until needed.

  “You’ve done well, Antonio,” de Guiral said. “I know the guns are there, but I can barely see them even from here.”

  As he spoke, the first of the Turks’ guns began to fire, heralding a new day in the siege of Malta. Most of the Turkish gunners aimed their weapons at the walls of Birgu and the fort of St. Michael. Of course, many of the cannon balls fell into the heart of Birgu, but that did not concern the Chevalier.

  “Then if there is nothing more that you need of me, I will return to the battery, Chevalier.”

  By the time Antonio reached the sally port, the day’s training had already begun. Sergeant Ortiz had started with the first crew, putting every man through his paces and pretending to swab, load, and fire the gun. They were kept at it, until they were perfect. Then the next crew took their place, and repeated the training. Antonio watched carefully but could find no fault in Sergeant Ortiz’s instructions.

  Even so, Antonio still had work to do. That required another visit to the armory, where he managed to get some additional equipment – quoins to control the elevation of the guns, priming irons to clear the touch hole, and extra botefeux, the wooden sticks that held the burning slow match. Most important, he appropriated five gunner’s quadrants, the L-shaped instrument that would set the angle of elevation and thereby give an accurate range.

  He would attach the quadrants to the breech of the guns himself. The aiming devices tended to shake loose after a few shots, but that was all Antonio expected. Once the attackers reached the base of the wall, fine accuracy wouldn’t be needed.

  Back at the sally port, Antonio inspected all the supplies. Everything had to be handy, even items like buckets to hold water for the sponges, two fire pots that would light the slow matches, extra rope, grease for the axles, even rags for the crews to wipe their hands. He did not intend to allow anything to slow down the rapid-fire pace for the guns.

  By midday, everything was ready. Tonight he would move the fifth gun out to the battery, along with all the miscellaneous supplies. The men would also move outside the walls, and from now on would take their food and rest alongside their weapons.

  Martin suggested that swords and axes be given to all the men, in case the Janissaries missed their target and landed below St. Angelo.

  Antonio smiled at that. A handful of boys and men wouldn’t last long against Janissaries, but he knew it would help reassure the men. When Martin arrived with the extra weapons. Will brought his crossbow and two quivers of bolts.

  The next morning, in the half light of dawn, Antonio used the gunner’s quadrant to aim the cannons, and affix the quoins so that each weapon had the exact elevation he wanted. Each gun would cover a specific area for its primary target. Notches were cut in the gun platforms, next to the right rear wheel, to line up the weapons.

  Secondary targets were also aimed, and notches cut for those also. Finally, a third set of cuts would aim each gun at a section of the wall. The aiming notches would insure that the gun captains wouldn’t waste time trying to sight the weapons. All they had to do was to shift the gun carriage to the proper spot, and the gun would be correctly aimed.

  The rest of the day, July 11, passed quietly. Huddled behind their block wall, the men were forced to keep low. In spite of that, they continued their training, pretending to load and fire their weapons, going through the motions again and again.

  The next day, July 12, told Antonio that the Turks were preparing for an assault. By now they had relocated all guns used against St. Elmo, and restocked kegs of powder and cannon balls. The bombardment of both forts and their villages began in earnest right after dawn. By midday, more cannonballs had struck the Knights’ defenses than in the previous two days.

  As the shelling increased, Martin asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Are they coming today?”

  “If they attack the same way as at St. Elmo, they will keep up the bombardment for two or three days, to knock down as much of the walls as possible before the attack. They know the damaged walls can’t be repaired fast enough to keep up with the barrage. And they hope a few days of intensive shelling will weaken the defenders’ resolve.” Antonio shook his head. “So they likely won’t attack today, nor tomorrow. But a general assault is coming.”

  The hidden battery outside St. Angelo’s walls was now one of the safest places in Malta. Turkish guns were pounding the two villages and forts, but very few enemy cannons were positioned on the far side of Grand Harbor. Since there was no way to mount an assault across the water, the Turks wanted to use their guns to more effect attacking the landward walls of the forts.

  “Then why would they try and mount an assault here?” Will had fought in two sieges in Ireland, but always as the attacker. To sit helpless as enemy cannons pounded the defenses to rubble was a new experience for him.

  “The Turks will rush thousands of men against Birgu and Senglea. A thousand men, even a thousand Janissaries, would only be used as a final stroke, a killing blow that would fall when all the Knights’ attention was on the landward side.”

  “So it’s the 25 of us against a thousand infidels, maybe more. How many men will de Guiral have on Senglea’s wall?”

  “I didn’t ask the Chevalier that question, but I can guess the answer – 40 to 50 men to guard the entire wall. That’s to man a few guns and defend the parapet. And they won’t be the best fighters. Mostly old men, some wounded but able to fight, and women and boys.”

  Martin glanced at Will. “So we’re in a pile of shit.”

  Antonio laughed. “Perhaps. We’ve got five cannons that they don’t know about.”

  “You think these guns can make a difference?”

  “Oh, yes. With luck we can slow down the attack on Senglea, at least long enough for reinforcements to arrive from inside St. Michael.”

  “And if there are no reinforcements? Or if the Janissaries detect us and decide to send a boat over here?” Martin didn’t sound nervous, just curious. “They could land at the point and we couldn’t touch them.”

  “Then we’ll just have to hope the guns above us will stop that.” Antonio shrugged. “Otherwise . . . it will be another St. Elmo.”

  By sundown Antonio estimated the Turkish guns had fired over 5,000 cannon balls at the forts. But the next day, July 13, was worse, with an estimated 6,000 cannon balls pounding the walls of Birgu, Senglea, and St. Michael. None of the battery’s crew complained about their assignment now. This was one of the few places in Malta not being shelled. Death by random chance stalked everyone else defending Malta.

  By midday, Antonio decided that no assault would be coming today, so he asked the guards to open the sally port and entered the fort. He then traveled across the bridge to Senglea, to talk to de Guiral.

  The Chevalier appeared harassed, snapping out commands as he walked the length of the harbor wall, though he lowered his voice somewhat to greet Antonio. “Is the battery still ready?”

  “Yes, Chevalier, men and guns are prepared. Your lookouts remain
alert, I trust?”

  “Yes, but the infidel arquebusiers have taken to sniping at us from across the harbor. It’s a long shot, and no one has been struck yet.” He shrugged. De Guiral was, after all, the one most exposed and the most likely target, wearing his armor and white surplice.

  “Since there is little chance of an attack today, is there anything I can do to help?”

  The offer seemed to catch de Guiral by surprise. “No, nothing I can think of.” But then pride bowed to necessity. “But perhaps you will inspect our preparations. You may notice something I’ve missed.”

  Whatever Sir Oliver had said to the Chevalier had certainly changed his attitude. Still and all, Antonio was glad to accommodate. He checked the guns, the crews, and the ammunition. The six guns he had shifted to cover the approach were still in place. Four were 18-pounders, and two were 24.

  They covered a stretch of water about a 150 yards from the rocky beach. The gunners appeared young, not much older than Antonio’s men, and most had minor wounds, but they seemed alert and willing enough.

  Certainly there was little chance of fear making them abandon their posts. Everyone knew, especially after St. Elmo, what the Turks would do to the defenders. Running, hiding, even surrendering would avail nothing. Mustapha Pasha had already promised to put every man to the torture before killing him.

  Some of the defenders had muskets, but most carried swords. If the enemy reached the top of the wall, things would get bloody.

  “Is this what it was like in St. Elmo?” de Guiral asked. “I mean, the constant shelling . . .”

  Antonio realized that in the Knight’s eyes, Antonio was the veteran fighter. “Yes, Chevalier. The guns are intended not only to destroy the walls and houses within, but to make the defenders give up hope. That happened several times in St. Elmo. The soldiers wanted to die fighting, wanted to attack the Turks when they charged, not defend the walls. But the Grand Master refused to allow them that luxury. They were told they must sacrifice themselves defending St. Elmo, that the fort had to hold out as long as possible. St. Elmo’s resistance gave the Grand Master almost an extra month to prepare for the main onslaught.”

  “Yes, that is what Sir Oliver told me. It must have been very hard.”

  There was no answer to that, Antonio knew. “Chevalier, perhaps there is something else you can do. Ask Sir Oliver to assign some of the women and old men to help guard the wall. Even a few women can push a ladder away. Or they can throw stones over the rampart. It might help.”

  “Yes, a good idea. I will do that.”

  “And perhaps I and some of my men could return to the magazine, to help Sergeant Ruvo. There is little chance of an attack today.”

  “No! You and your men must remain at your post! Who knows when they will attack? And if they do come, there will be no time to waste searching for you.”

  Antonio realized the futility of pursuing the idea. The Chevalier was too worried about his precarious position. Perhaps he was right. “Then good luck to us both, Chevalier de Guiral,” Antonio said, bowing his head a bit more than usual.

  The barrage continued the rest of the day, and it was late in the afternoon before the Turks finally ceased the bombardment. Smoke and dust hovered over the defenders. Nonetheless, the villagers worked through the night, repairing the walls with fresh blocks of stone hewn right out of the ground beneath the villages.

  The work was brutal. Men strained and lifted and shoved the unwieldy blocks into position as women and children cleared away the rubble. Many of the fragments would be used in the guns when next the enemy rushed the walls.

  Back at the battery, Antonio found Martin, Will, and Sergeant Ortiz waiting for him. The sergeant had managed to obtain some extra rations of bread and meat. At least that’s what he claimed the dried sausage was. “Is tomorrow the day, Antonio?” Ortiz asked.

  “They will pound us until they run low on powder and shot,” Antonio said. “Only then will they attack. But yes, it must come soon. Tomorrow or the next day.”

  “It seems like they’ve plenty of powder,” Martin said.

  “Yes, Ruvo told me the Turks are constantly receiving fresh supplies by galley, some from ports on the Turkish coast. That’s one of the reasons they needed such a large fleet, for protection and supply.”

  “Damn these cursed infidels and their cannons,” Will muttered.

  Antonio could agree with that. The Turks had grown skilled in siege craft, and they relied on their cannons to break the defenses.

  The bombardment continued the next day, and great clouds of dust and smoke lingered over all the forts. The crews manning Antonio’s little battery had it much easier than those defending the walls. His guns, nestled in between the rock formation rising out of the harbor and the walls of St. Angelo, remained well-hidden and safe from direct fire. Only a lucky shot would find its way into the battery, and the Turks had few guns firing on St. Angelo and Senglea from across Grand Harbor.

  That didn’t make the waiting any easier. If an attack came, 1,000 Janissaries would be threatening them within minutes, and it wouldn’t take much effort for one of the enemy galleys to attempt to land at the base of St. Angelo. Not to mention that Antonio could drive back the galleys, and St. Angelo and the other forts could still fall.

  Nonetheless, no attack came that day. The grateful men slept among the guns, or at least tried to, everyone restless and wondering what tomorrow would bring.

  July 15

  A rumble of cannon fire woke Antonio. He glanced at the sky and saw that dawn had not fully broken, but the Turks had begun their barrage early. He glanced at Martin, who had slept beside him and now sat upright as well.

  “They’ve never started before dawn,” Martin said. “Does that mean . . .”

  “That they’re coming today,” Antonio answered. To his surprise, his words came calmly enough. The constant waiting of the last few days had gnawed at him, too, though he had not let it show. Better to face the Turks in battle then endure this waiting.

  By the time dawn rose over Grand Harbor, every man was at his gun. Antonio lifted his eyes to Senglea. He saw Chevalier de Guiral on the wall, joining the lookouts watching the harbor. But no trumpet sounded, so the attack hadn’t begun.

  They waited. Since St. Elmo, the Turks had somehow added more cannons to their inventory, and now every one of them was being worked as fast as possible. A few of the Knights’ guns returned fire, more for morale than anything else. Most of the guns were kept ready for the assault. When it began, each gun would fire a round or two of solid shot. By then the attackers would have drawn close, and the precious grapeshot or loose rubble would be used to strike the masses of Turks.

  Just after 10 o’clock, the ground assault began. The noise of battle grew louder, as the Knights worked their own weapons as fast as they could. An hour passed, then most of another. Antonio, survivor of St. Elmo, could imagine the fighting taking place against St. Michael and the land side of Senglea. Behind the high wall at his back, men were fighting, killing each other with the ferocity of ravenous beasts. The constant roar of cannons now blended with the screams and shouts of men, the clash of swords, and the bang of muskets.

  Hell, which Antonio had previously thought only existed on St. Elmo, had now come to the garrisons of Birgu and Senglea, and the forts of St. Angelo and St. Michael.

  Yet sheltered between the harbor and the fort, the little battery waited in relative silence. Antonio knew what was coming. The Turks would not keep 1,000 Janissaries out of the battle for long. Such a formidable force could tip the battle. By now the enemy knew that the harbor walls of Senglea would be almost stripped of defenders, called to reinforce the men fighting on the landward side. He glanced up at the sun. The time had come. The Turks would not delay much longer, for if the attackers were driven off, the defenders would shift back to repel any assault from the harbor.

  “Load the guns.” Antonio stood as he gave the order.

  For a moment, no one moved. The trumpet
had not sounded the alarm and the crews understood the difficulty and danger of unloading a cannon. Antonio strode over to his gun, and rested his hand on the breech.