Kite looked at the ugly face of the American. He was grinning and Kite laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Damn me, Zachariah, why in God’s name did I not think of so simple a solution?’
Harper shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me, Cap’n.’
‘By heaven, you’ve quite restored my spirits!’
‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way, they say.’
‘And they are damn well right!’ Kite cheered up, particularly as at that moment he saw the Spitfire’s longboat picking her way through the anchorage, her oar blades flashing in the brilliant sunlight.
During that afternoon Kite and the schooner’s company took little notice of events elsewhere. The sudden withdrawal of lighters, which brought an abrupt halt to the discharge of the cargo of flour, served as a welcome relief by withdrawing the gang of wharf-labour, rather than alerting them to impending military events of any great significance to themselves. The rumours that Dorchester Heights were shortly to be occupied by the British seemed so sensible and the operation so overdue, that it was dismissed as a matter for the authorities to be getting on with. Kite and his men had other fish to fry.
To his satisfaction, Kite discovered that no-one had any misgivings about serving aboard the Spitfire and that all were willing to enter into formal articles, to be signed the next forenoon, binding themselves to a four months term of service during which the recovery of the Wentworth was to constitute their chief objective. At the termination of that period, they would either be re-engaged or discharged with their pay in Boston, New York or St John’s, Antigua.
On the passage from Antigua to Boston, Kite had shared the watches with the Spitfire’s mate, her former slaving mate, Hamish Lamont, with Johnstone standing a watch alongside Kite to gain experience. Now he appointed Harper as his Second Mate and Jacob as an additional quartermaster, drawing up a watch-bill with the customary stations for sail-handling and action. He would rather have had Harper as his mate, but Lamont was a quiet competent enough officer whose only fault so far had been to allow a young subaltern sent out by the Quartermaster General’s office to persuade him to open the schooner’s hatches in order that the army might seize the cargo of flour. Lamont had been apologetic to Kite, but Kite had waved the incident aside and, as the lighters were withdrawn, the matter blew over.
Once he had consulted Lamont over the watchbill, the two men set to drawing up the orders for the regulation of the Spitfire. At sunset Kite sent Harper ashore to pick up Sarah as he had arranged. When she arrived, Kite left her in the cabin to settle herself and took a turn on deck. The evening was warm and in the waist some of the men had gathered to smoke and sing songs. Over the almost windless waters of the harbour the stillness of the night settled, the anchor lights of the men-of-war, the merchant vessels and the military transports joined the lamps and lanterns in the houses and taverns along the waterfront, their reflections long tongues that flickered on the black water.
Kite sent for Harper and when the Second Mate joined him Kite asked, ‘In your letter to my wife you mentioned, if I recollect the phrase aright, that you knew something about a matter touching my misfortunes. I presume that you referred to the loss of the Wentworth. Was I correct?’
‘Indeed, sir, you were. I happened to ship in a snow owned in Boston but trading with Rhode Island. I found myself among men of the radical persuasion and dissembled to the extent of not disagreeing with their sentiments. Fortunately none of them knew me and we encountered none that did so, since we generally called not at Newport, but at Providence. Anyway there is great agitation in Rhode Island and the representatives which they have sent to what they term their Congress, have been charged to form a rebel naval force. The name of Whipple and Rathburne are much talked of as being men fit to lead such a squadron either in the name of Rhode Island or of the United Colonies. Whipple commanded a privateer called the Gamecock in the last war and is thought to be a capable man. Of course I listened when they mentioned Rathburne and upon enquiry as to whether this navy would have any ships, they said that it already had, Captain Rathburne being in command of a fine frigate-built ship, the Rattlesnake. Admitting that I did not know of her, what was her armament and so forth, I was told that she had only lately been acquired, that she had been a British vessel named the Wentworth. Now she was armed with eighteen guns and fitted to cruise against British trade anywhere between Halifax and New York. I dropped the matter after that, and kept my own counsel.’
‘That was wise of you…’
‘I had little option, Cap’n. They made other remarks regarding their collective smartness in outwitting the dumb fools aboard the ship… You can guess I had no choice but to pipe down.’
‘Of course.’
‘I shouldn’t be sorry to wipe the smiles from their faces though,’ Zachariah said, stifling a yawn. ‘If you’ll forgive me, Cap’n, I must get my head down. I’ve the anchor watch at midnight.’
‘Not at all, Zachariah. And thank you for the intelligence. It’s a long stretch of coast but, who knows what tomorrow will bring.’
Chapter Thirteen
Bunker Hill
Kite woke in the night and lay in the darkness listening to the faint noises of his schooner. The vessel lay almost motionless in the still, calm water, with only a faint creaking coming from the rudder stock as it moved slightly, constrained by the sennit-work beckets looped over the tiller on the deck above. Beside him the faint sound of Sarah’s breathing came to him, and as though aware of him being awake, she turned uneasily. He felt supremely happy as though neither the night, nor the future held any fears for him, though both were pregnant with possibilities.
He pondered this, for such a grim hour was usually filled with unbidden horrors and apprehensions. Yet the feeling of well-being persisted and he realised that for months that had run into years he had never felt any sense of tranquillity. Even though the prolonged period of sadness following the death of Puella had ended with his marriage to Sarah, the seemingly interminable difficulties of settling their affairs and the unsatisfactory sojourn in Antigua, had given him no fulfilment. Indeed the difficulties seemed to him to be fate’s recompense for the joy of his love for Sarah. For although this had always seemed like an oasis in a desert of desolation, like an oasis it could only be left for further travail through the wilderness. Now, however, all seemed different. He felt a sense of purpose that had begun to form as he had undertaken the simple task of assembling his crew and drafting his standing orders to them. This and the satisfaction of reassuming full command of the Spitfire, free of the constraints of consignees’ demands, had been crowned by Sarah joining him, throwing in her lot with an abandon that stirred him. He turned towards her.
It was already growing light and he could see the detail of her beautiful face on the pillow beside him. A wisp of hair drifted over a cheek and he looked down over her body as it lay under the light coverlet.
‘You are awake.’ Her voice startled him and he looked at her face again, bent and kissed her. She drew back the sheet and parted her legs. ‘Come,’ she said, and he moved over her tenderly as the dawn flushed the eastern sky.
Afterwards they fell asleep and it was late when Bandy Ben woke them with news that the whole place was in an uproar.
‘Why is that?’ Kite asked, reaching for his breeches.
‘Because the rebels are here,’ Ben said with a confusing lack of accuracy.
‘You had better go up on deck, my dear,’ Sarah urged, thinking like Kite that the Americans had attacked Boston itself.
On deck in the brilliant sunshine of mid-morning, Kite found the entire crew lining the rail. He joined Harper and Lamont who had their telescopes trained on Boston.
‘What the devil’s going on?’ Kite asked, ‘are the rebels in Boston itself?’ he asked, his tone full of incredulity.
‘No sir,’ said Harper turning and handing over his glass, ‘take a look above the North Battery.’
From the position of the anchored schooner, the Nort
h Battery formed the visible extremity of Boston. Beyond, on the far side of the entrance to the Charles River, rose a low hill, marking the end of the Charlestown peninsula. The hill rose to a greater height known as Bunker Hill which, from Kite’s vantage point, lay directly above the nearer North Battery. On both hills could be seen swarms of men, the brown scars of earthworks under construction and the occasional brief flash of a swung pick or shovel catching the sunshine.
‘Well I’m damned.’
It was quite clear what had happened; either as a matter of coincidence or of pre-emptive initiative, the rebel commanders had decided to occupy Bunker Hill before the British calimed Dorchester Heights.
From beyond Boston, unseen in the Charles River, came the boom of gunfire and Kite noticed a small brown shower of earth fly up, as one of the warships pitched round shot into the rising entrenchments.
‘This will set the cat among the pigeons,’ Harper remarked. ‘General Gage will have to do something now,’ he added, to which Kite could only agree.
‘There’s a flood-tide running,’ Lamont said, ‘high water is about two o’clock this afternoon, surely they’ll not try pulling barges and flat-boats across the Charles River with the ebb under them.’
‘It will take time to muster the troops, though’ said Kite, recalling his own brief military experience in the taking a Guadeloupe years earlier, ‘and they’ll need artillery to dislodge the rebels.’
They could hear the distant rattle of drums beating and, perhaps more imagined than perceived, though it seemed real enough in their recollection afterwards, that a buzz rose from Boston itself. Like a disturbed hive, the town would be swarming with troops and citizens. Some would be eager for the moment of decision that seemed now to force itself upon the reluctant Gage, some fearful of the outcome. Kite could guess that many of the military would be all agog to drive the insolent rebels from their position on Bunker Hill, while a few more perceptive souls might regard the task with some concern.
‘May I see?’ Kite turned at the sound of Sarah’s voice. She wore a grey silk day-dress and her hair was loosely caught up at the nape of her neck, so that the light breeze caught it, while the sun shot lights through it. He thought her very lovely as she steadied the glass against a stay and levelled it on the distant hill. For a moment they remained contemplating the distant activity, aware that the crew were equally fascinated by the turn of events, then Sarah asked, ‘should we not do something?’
‘Do?’ Kite said, frowning, ‘what can we do?’
‘Well we cannot just sit here like the audience at a play, surely?’ Sarah lowered the telescope.
Kite was non-plussed. ‘Is it our business to do anything?’ he asked, looking at his two officers, as though seeking some reassurance from them as men in the face of this odd, female notion. Both men shrugged and shook their heads, then Johnstone asked, ‘what do you mean, Mrs Kite? Have you an idea in what way we might prove useful?’
‘General Gage will send his army across the river to attack the enemy, surely,’ Sarah said. ‘And if so, may we not assist?’
‘They will go over in flat-boats, harbour lighters such as the one which took part of our cargo yesterday, and the boats of the men-o’-war…’ Kite began, but Sarah interrupted him.
‘Well, we have a long boat they can use…’
‘Yes, but they will not require our help,’ Kite assured her.
‘And we have some guns…’ she persisted.
‘Sarah,’ Kite responded, a hint of exasperation in his tone, ‘the Gloucester has a broadside of over thirty pieces…’
‘And you don’t have a letter of marque…’ Sarah riposted quickly.
Kite saw her logic. ‘You think that by helping Gage we will ingratiate ourselves to the extent of the General issuing us with a letter of marque?’ He laughed at her. ‘I am sorry to disappoint you, Sarah, but think this will occupy the General’s mind with rather more important matters than a letter of marque for a would-be privateersman.’
‘Maybe your wife has a point, Captain,’ said Lamont, ‘not so much in respect of the letter of marque, but we may be able to assist a little and the benefit to the men of firing the guns would prove useful.’
‘That is a point, sir,’ Harper put in.
Kite vacillated. It was true that they might be able to do something, but they might equally get in the way and incur the displeasure of the authorities. The Second Mate added, ‘it would not take long to weigh and work our way across the harbour.’
Kite felt himself being boxed into a corner. On the one hand he was reluctant to get involved. A lingering feeling that to do so would compromise the clear and happy intent with which he had woken in the early hours of that same morning. On the other hand he was aware that to act in a manner offensive to the rebels was long overdue, both personally and nationally. At the same time his rejection of an entreaty from Sarah, coming so soon after their love-making, seemed an unkind and dismal response and Sarah, as if divining his train of thought, came to his rescue.
‘There will be wounded if there is fighting,’ she reasoned.
‘Aye, we could do something there,’ Lamont said.
At this point Johnstone joined them. He had been studying the fortifications on the hills from the forecastle and Sarah turned to him as to an ally, asking him for his opinion.
‘Well, I’m no strategist, but I suppose that it is better to be involved than to sit here and watch.’
‘Very well then,’ Kite said, ‘man the windlass and the halliards.’
An hour later they anchored again some three cables east of Moulton’s Hill. To the south west of them, lying in the narrow strait between Boston and Charlestown where the Charles River debouched into the outer harbour, the Falcon, Lively, Gloucester and Glasgow lay, their guns firing at the rebel positions ashore. Both Bunker Hill and the lower eminence in its front, known as Breed’s Hill, now bore well defined entrenchments and they could see the white and grey of the rebels’ shirts as they continued to ply pick and shovel to the grassland. Over on the Boston side a battery at Copp’s Hill was opening fire on the rebel positions while on the placid waters of the harbour, which sparkled under the hot noon-day sun, a flotilla of some thirty or so boats began to slowly cross the Charles River, heading for Moulton’s Point.
The brilliance of the day added a fair-ground aspect to the occasion. The sun danced not only upon the water, but upon the oar-blades of the boats, and twinkled on the bayonets of the soldiers crammed into them. Up on the hills, whose altitude though not great was now more obvious to the observers aboard the Spitfire, they could see the rebels not as remote dots, reflecting points of light, but men preparing for battle. Yet despite this, there seemed no great drama in the moment, for it was too pretty to be the prelude to slaughter. Even the gouts of earth and stones sent up by the guns of the warships and Copp’s Hill seemed mere theatrical tricks.
Staring through his telescope, Kite raked the shore of the Charlestown peninsula and noticed the works which extended off the flank of Breed’s Hill, a stone wall that ran to the foreshore and was surmounted by a rail fence. He pointed it out to Lamont and Harper.
‘They are manning it,’ he said without removing the glass from his eye, ‘and I think it might be in range of our long chase guns. We have our colours hoisted and at least as legitimate a reason for engaging the rebels as they have of threatening us, shall we try a shot or two?’
‘I have no objection, Captain Kite,’ said Lamont.
‘Nor I, sir,’ added Harper, grinning. ‘We shall have to close the range, though. If we get the anchor a-trip and let the tide carry her upstream a little.’
‘Very well,’ said Kite closing his glass with a snap, ‘lying to the flood like this, we shall need to clap a spring on our cable and manhandle the starboard bow chaser into a midships port, but let us see what we can do.’
The casual consent of the commander, set the Spitfires into action. Since the order had been given to shift their anchorag
e, they had been in excited anticipation that they would be up to some form of mischief before the day was out. Now they turned-to with a will. Harper led a few men forward to haul short the anchor cable and let the schooner drift closer in, a second party of seamen eagerly slipped the breechings of the starboard six-pounder bow chaser and dragged it aft. A third group ran the smaller four-pounder out of its port and a fourth hauled a rope from the starboard quarter, outside the schooner and made it fast to the anchor cable as Harper veered the cable and brought Spitfire up to her anchor again. This, the spring, was then adjusted so that, by sharing the schooner’s weight between cable and spring, the Spitfire was slewed across the tideway so that her six-pounder might be brought to bear. By manning the helm, she was held more-or-less steady while the six-pounder was laid on the rail fence and the line of militia behind it.
By this time a column of redcoats could be seen advancing from Moulton’s Point, parallel to the shore towards the rail fence. It was clear to Kite that the British intended to attack along the low ground and envelope the higher position on Breed’s Hill and that his gunfire might indeed prove of some use to the British column. To what extent this was true, Kite was never to know, for the six-pounders advancing with General William Howe’s light infantry companies had been supplied with round shot for twelve-pounders. Moreover when they loaded grape to clear the enemy, the boggy ground prevented them from getting close enough to be effective.
Harper insisted on laying the Spitfire’s six-pounder, and he judged the matter to a nicety, his first shot ploughing up the ground in front of the rail fence with a fine feather of earth and pebbles. Kite saw the fall of shot quite clearly, as he did the second where it struck a perceptible shower of stones up and threw a few men back out of the rebel line. Kite was equally ignorant of his target, who were Colonel John Stark’s New Hampshire infantry, but his shot, though it wounded a few men, actually fell on a second rail fence thrown out in front of his main position by Stark to encumber the British approach. Thus Kite’s action only stiffened the resolve of Stark’s soldiers so that, as the British advanced on them and Kite was compelled to hold his fire, they were as steady as regular troops.
The Privateersman Page 20