The morning mist had lifted and they could see a new armada flying banners with white Horses on a red background bearing down on Jon’s fleet. They presumed the men from one of the other columns were coming to their assistance. Most stood up on the shorelines welcoming their saviors; the Germans had no idea that Gustoff was using the same trick that worked so well against the Spanish fleet. Gustoff had organized his flotilla of barges into three squadrons. He commanded the last section of four barges which trailed the others upon entering the strait. He planned to direct the fire of his squadron’s twelve cannons, armed with iron balls for longer range, at targets of opportunity. The leading squadron, three barges under Hector’s command, was sailing close to the banks of Karl’s Isle, their cannon barrels loaded with chain shot. The other section, under his father’s command, would attack the soldiers on the bank of the swamp. Henri’s cannons were loaded with small shot which should be highly effective at such short range. Once Gustoff decided on his target, the more exposed enemy troops on Karl’s Isle, he gave the entire fleet the signal to fire. A great volley of cannon fire erupted almost simultaneously from all ten gunboats. This first volley was a complete surprise to the Germans. In but a moment, over three hundred were killed or wounded by the volley. However as the lumbering barges moved further into the straight with crews struggling to reload, other Germans emerged from the swamp and began setting up field guns. Despite the causalities, these well-discipline soldiers still wanted to fight. A second volley from Henri’s barges killed more men, but his forward firing cannons could no longer be brought to bear on these new gun emplacements. Henri began to receive sporadic cannon fire to his stern, and a cascade of musket fire was erupting all along the shoreline.
Gustoff, unaware of the danger, was directing his second volley against the troops on Karl’s Isle. Hector’s boats, pulled through the straight by the rapid current near that shoreline, were unable to fire a second time. The surviving mercenaries on the isle were wisely hugging the ground and rising only to fire their muskets in tremendous volleys and the volume of enemy cannon fire was increasing. The newly arrived enemy artillerymen were accurately targeting the stern of Henri’s and Gustoff’s flotillas. Soon the Achilles heel of the barge fleet became obvious as the stern area, where the power and shot was stored became exposed to the increasing enemy fire from both shorelines. It could have been a small cannon ball or a lucky musket shot that ignited the powder on one of Henri’s barges which instantly exploded. It sent a layer of thick black smoke across the strait, temporarily hiding the now sinking barge and its two sister vessels. Henri courageously dropped his own sail and tried to rescue survivors. The two remaining barges found themselves in a hellish fire storm of ball and shot from both sides of the straight. The barge that had not dropped its sail had made its way to the open lake, but with so much damage, it would soon be scuttled. Gustoff used the current in the middle of the straight to lead his trailing section to safety, but his boats too ran a gauntlet of enemy fire. He looked back with despair at the cloud of black smoke, knowing the current prohibited him from sailing to his father’s assistance.
Jon, who had withdrawn his gunboats to give the barge fleet room to maneuver, sensing the situation, ordered his own gunboat’s oars unlocked. He ordered his men to row to Henri’s rescue. His boat took a terrible pounding until it too was obscured by the black smoke. Once alongside Henri’s barge Jon’s men attached a tow line. The vessel had already taken on the few survivors from the one that had exploded. Jon’s gunboat was pulling the heavier barge through the hailstorm of lead when Henri was hit by a musket ball. It was a serious injury. Once clear, Jon and Gustoff consulted, both remembered the Baron’s instructions and ordered a general withdrawal. Jon’s own boat was so battered it too had to be abandoned on the trip home as did one from the Boatswain’s section. Jon’s gunboats had left nearly two hundred of the enemy on the bottom of the lake. The cannons on Gustoff’s barges had accounted for at least a few hundred more. Yet four vessels were lost, and while the fleets proved themselves formidable, they were not invincible. Worse still, the man who built them might very well be dying.
The sounds of the cannon fire echoed across the lake to where the crew’s families gathered at the boathouse. Since dawn, Lord Karl had nervously paced up and down the dock waiting for word of the outcome. The almost metallic sound of field artillery told him their fleets had met a determined enemy. Sara, Reylana and the local matrons had converted the boathouse into a makeshift hospital. When the first vessels returned, the faster gunboats, each contained dead and injured sailors. Jon gave a brief report of the battle and Karl dispatched the news to the Baron. Soon the barges arrived with more dead and wounded men. Reylana nearly fainted when Henri was brought into the boathouse. She watched in horror as a healer removed the musket ball from her husband’s shoulder. She visibly cringed as his wound was cauterized with a heated blade. The sight of the dead and dying awakened her darkest memories of Spain. Kahili, always at her side, comforted her as best he could. Reylana was blaming herself for allowing Henri to slip away to the battle. Her only consolation was that Gustoff had escaped injury and her other sons were safe in Rotterdam. Everyone realized war had reached the homeland and none could predict the final outcome, but everyone knew this was only the beginning of the pain and suffering. The Baron arrived and visited the wounded before making his way to a little cabin where Henri was taken. Both Jon and Gustoff were present when the Baron put his hand on Henri’s good shoulder and whispered, in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “We are again in your debt shipbuilder and there is much caulking to do when you recover.” The Baron spoke sternly to the two young men, “Do not let your sailors see you so dour. Your demeanor dishonors the men who sacrificed for this victory. You did the enemy more harm than expected. That Saxon column will attack no one for a while.”
The next morning, from his perch high on the First Fort’s tower, the Baron watched as the Germanic cavalry systematically emerged from the completed causeway. He noticed their armor was attracting the morning sun which he hoped would shine into their eyes when they began their charge. The pageantry in their movements told him they had not yet learned their other column had been mauled by the gunboats. He noted Lutwaff was distributing his horsemen to both sides of the swale and units were dismounting but maintaining their formations. Their heavy cavalry were armed with the lance, a weapon the Baron considered long obsolete since the introduction of firearms to the battlefield. He had long ago armed his own horsemen with pistols, carbines and swords. It was obvious Lutwaff was awaiting more horsemen before advancing. The lack of German infantry demonstrated his contempt for everyone but his own cavalry. Spanish spies must have told him that the Dutch politicians had refused to send reinforcements to the Droger Land. That intelligence allowed Lutwaff to see what he wanted and expected to see: A small fortification that he could later pound into submission and some ragged infantry and mounted men that his cavalry could deal with immediately.
The Baron could now hear his four hundred infantrymen as they deployed in three ranks to the right of the fort. Thanks to the old gods the snow hid any trace of the staked ground to their front. The same woodcutters who staked the ground had built “A” frame oak barricades, sprinkled with eight foot spears to keep the enemy lances at bay. They were being positioned in front of the line. The Baron knew such barricades would not hold back the most determined horsemen who would find a way to reach the infantry. He hoped Gustoff‘s small guns and the musket and pistol fire of the infantry could hold the line until Lord Karl arrived. His thoughts were distracted by the arrival of the Friesian lords who leisurely positioned themselves behind the infantry formation. The Baron knew the infantry and the small force of mounted Frisians would be a tempting target for the arrogant Lutwaff. His bowmen, now well trained by Old Andries in the art of volley fire, were hidden within the inner ward of the fort. Each had three quiver loads of arrows at their disposal and could put ten arrows int
o the air in the same time it took a man to load and fire a firearm. Hopefully their arrows would devastate any horsemen who escaped having their horse’s hoofs pierced by stakes. From the tower he could not see Karl’s main force and surmised neither could the Germans. If all went well, they would arrive with demoralizing suddenness. Karl’s mounted force had grown to eight hundred, thanks to the arrival of the Clover militia and others from Amsterdam, but the Baron’s military instincts told him strategy and not numbers would decide the outcome. A victory would depend on a timely arrival. He trusted his brother would bring their horsemen at the proper time and knew Karl deserved the honor of leading that attack. No man could have prepared the Droger Land better for this conflict. It was at this moment he noticed two familiar young men making their way on galloping horses toward the fort. He yelled to the sentries to open the gate, feeling a bit of guilt about the way he had spoken to them the day before.
Jon and Gustoff joined the Baron at the top of the tower. Ignoring his son, he put a hand on Gustoff’s shoulder and pointed to the swale, “I want you to sight the fort’s largest cannon so the ball will hit somewhere midway down the swale. After you do that, take command of the field guns with the infantry; prepare the battery for an immediate assault on its front by cavalry.” Gustoff gave the Baron a formal salute and Jon a wink as he left. The Baron gave Jon the choice of riding with his Uncle at the head of the main body or staying with him. Jon’s only visible reply was that he remained at his father’s side. Both watched the seemingly endless flow of enemy horsemen disembarking from the distant causeway. After all these years of war, they knew this would be the first time any Dutch army would meet the enemy on an open battlefield.
The Baron seriously told his son, “We could both die this day.”
Jon laughed. “Fear not. By now, another Lord of the Droger Land had been born. My father, you have a grandson in Italy. If we lose our lives and homeland today, he will find a way with the help of the old gods to recapture our sacred land.”
The “Honors of War” demanded that warring forces parley peacefully before any battle commenced. It was a medieval custom that represented the last vestige of a more chivalrous time. To refuse such a meeting was considered an insult. The Baron knew a Saxon prince like Herman Lutwaff would follow the tradition. He would send a small honor guard down the swale under a banner of truce. The Baron did not want to grant Lutwaff any honor nor give his riders the opportunity to discover the handy-work of his woodcutters. Horns and drums could be heard in the distance as the Germans began to re-ascend their horses. The weight of their armor made remounting a task, so it was a while before the small party was sent forward over the snow-covered swale, flying a white banner of peace and one bearing Lutwaff’s family crest. The Baron ordered a gunner to light the fuse of the cannon Gustoff had sighted. Within seconds, a single cannon ball landed among the approaching horsemen causing pandemonium. Every man of noble birth knew that the Lord of the Droger Land had chosen to dishonor Prince Lutwaff in full sight of both armies. For the Baron, it was partially a payback to the Prince’s family. He hoped by day’s end Lutwaff would pay the ultimate price.
The enraged Prince ordered his main force of heavy cavalry forward. They began to trot slowly toward the Dutch line of infantry as expected but Lutwaff did something else that could have spelled disaster for the Dutch. He sent not one, but two pincher columns of lighter and faster cavalry racing toward both sides of the Baron’s position. The column on the left chose a lake side route. By that path they would reach the flank of the infantry without impaling any horses on the hidden stakes. The brave Frisians, sensing the danger, heroically threw themselves forward to meet this larger force. The pure ferocity of their Frisian neighbors halted the lead element of that German column momentarily, giving Gustoff time to turn his battery and fire upon the column. His canon fire stalled whatever was left of their momentum, allowing the Friesians to hold them momentarily in-check. Jon quickly left the fort with his father’s fifty horsemen to intercept the other column. That enemy wing was larger, three hundred horsemen, but that column had an unexpected encounter with staked ground seriously diminished their numbers by the time Jon slammed into them. The Frisians and Jon’s command were locked in a savage, desperate, horse-to-horse clash with vastly superior numbers of enemy horsemen. Neither Dutch force yielded an inch of ground. It was the most brutal and glorious moment of the day but the casualties mounted quickly. The Baron knew his outnumbered riders on both flanks were in great danger of being broken and overrun. He did his best to assist by having the archers send volley after volley of arrows against both waves of enemy light cavalry. At times his bowman shot directly over the heads of their own infantry; until the Baron returned the attention of his archers to the now charging main enemy force. The best heavy cavalry in all Europe was riding at full gallop to close with the Dutch infantry. They came to within fifty yards of the infantry before the front row of horses stopped almost in mid-gallop, and began throwing riders or crashing with them to the ground. Those undetected stakes, accurate musket fire, cannon fire from the fort and Gustoff’s battery, and the unending volley of arrows, finally, made the most formidable heavy cavalry in the world, pause to regroup. Even then, some small groups broke through the barricades and reached the infantry line. For a few minutes the issue was in doubt.
It was at this point that Lord Karl arrived at exactly the right moment. He routed the Germans battling Jon on the left while the Clover Militia relieved the Friesians on the right. Both German wings of light horsemen broke in panic and attempted to flee, only to impale themselves on the deadly hidden stakes as they attempted to withdraw directly toward the causeway. When the flanking columns collapsed, Karl led his men through a safe passage in the staked ground and smashed into the stalled main force. They struck with such fury that an attempted withdrawal became a wholesale rout. Most of the enemy died retreating, with fatal wounds to their backs. Those who made it across the fields, found the causeway clogged by elements of their still disembarking army. The newcomers had no idea that the fortunes of war had gone against them. The Germans began jousting for space while the Baron’s experienced veterans and the well-armed militia men from Amsterdam poured volley after volley of small arms fire into the bunched horsemen. Lutwaff died like his men, attempting to flee. It seemed ironic that his body was trampled under the hoofs of his own panicked horsemen. The turnip fields became wetlands again, now soaked with the life-blood of a thousand invaders and tragically, hundreds of Dutch citizen-soldiers willingly to sacrifice their lives for this victory. As the old gods had promised, long, long ago, the Droger Land would remain unconquered, at least for another day.
Chapter Fifteen
Winter 1586 A.D.
The old god’s Intervention
Clifford van Weir knew the most distressing event would be dealing with the horrific consequences of the bloody battle. The once picturesque fields were prominently scarred with the aftermath of war. Those fields, wrestled from the wetlands by the toil of residents, were too important agriculturally to become a haphazard resting place for dead men. The Baron knew the subsequent chore of removing the dead and dying must begin immediately. Knowing his people, he suspected his soldiers would have help with that grim chore. The sound of the battle and the eerie silence that followed the struggle had attracted local citizens, some who arrived from the town even before the enemy’s defeat. Those civilians had inadvertently witnessed the slaughter. They had not come out of curiosity, or plunder, as other populations did following such climaxes in medieval warfare; they came out of concern for the welfare of fathers, husbands and sons who participated in the bloodletting. The earliest arrivals actually observed the snow-coated fields being showered red with blood and body parts of the enemy and their own relatives. All were shocked by the brutal reality of war. Regrettably, some saw a relative or neighbor die, while others were only now discovering the disfigured body of someone they cherished. They wou
ld never forget the grotesque manner the men on both sides had met their fate. These people saw firsthand the butchery that could be unleashed by a metal ball or sharpened iron blade used in anger These people would never forget a single detail. If they had been patriotic yesterday, they had seen enough today, to make the very idea of a Dutch “victory” meaningless. Burying a body or pieces of a body you hardly recognize, does that, to even the most partisan of men and women.
The Baron anticipated his worst losses would be within the thin line of infantry, but was not surprised, as events unfolded, that many brave Frisians and his own fearless horsemen had taken so many casualties. He was grateful that his valiant son, who gallantly led his small troop into battle, survived. He hoped Jesus and the old gods would bless all the brave men who had fallen, particularly those who rode to their deaths with Jon and had so willingly ridden with him since the endless war began. Despite the hidden stakes, the spear-tipped barricades, the accurate canon fire, and the awesome volleys of arrows, the thin line of infantry had often been breached by small groups of determined enemy horsemen. The brave farmers and tradesmen used spears, axes, knives, and their bare hands to kill those intruders. Most of the footmen managed to avoid the lances and somehow unhorse the fiercest riders in Europe. They did not falter, they did not run, and many had willingly sacrificed themselves as they swarmed as bees upon each horse and rider who reached their line. The Baron expected that courageous behavior; their ancestors had done similar deeds for almost eternity. Yet, he wondered if ordinarily men could be asked to do such deeds a second or third or fourth time. He knew the battle for the Droger Land would continue beyond this day.
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