by Smith, Skye
Not a sound rose from the boats. Men mumbled in the lightest of whispers, and sat on their morning farts, and buried their morning coughs in their sleeves. The oarsmen rowed carefully trying not to splash, trying not to grind wood on wood, trying not to be heard. The pilot launch raced ahead into the fog but after a few minutes came into view again. They had stopped rowing and came alongside Daniel's launch so they could speak in hushed tones.
"This is the last bend before the River Brent joins in. It has an island in the centre with channels on both sides. The south bank channel is too shallow for the barges, so we have no choice but to use the northern one. Do you want to?"
"What do you mean do I want to?" Daniel asked.
"Can't you hear the army, man? They are moving towards London so they ain't parliament's regiments. We could tie up on the south bank and wait for the fog to clear or wait until Colonel Onslow sends more men to give us cover from the bank. We could even turn back. What do you want to do?"
"We press on," Daniel replied in a whisper. "We have no choice. We can't turn back. We couldn't tow these barges against the current. The fog hides us the same as it hides the army. We press on and hope the fog doesn't lift."
The pilot touched his cap and replied, "That's what I thought you would say, but it wasn't my decision to make. See you on the other side."
The clansmen on the oars all shivered, not because of the chill of the fog, because they were all heated up from working hard on the oars. It was the pilot's words. "See you on the other side." It was a Frisian's saying for when you tempted the Wyred sisters of the fates to end your life.
The pilot launch had just entered the northern channel when the Wyred sisters must have looked down from where ever they sit to interweave the fates of men, and noticed the barges, because suddenly there were shots. A lot of shots. Musket shots dead ahead from Brentford way. A hot skirmish had just begun on the northern bank of the Thames. Daniel left go of the tiller so he could unfold the map of the Thames that Onslow's clerk had copied for him. "There are three villages at the mouth of the Brent," he whispered to the oarsman in front of him. That man passed the whisper along until it reached Anso who was in the rowing position closest to the bow gun. Only Anso had the strength to manhandle the gun by himself in close quarters.
Once Anso waved that he had heard, Daniel passed forward the next whisper, "Brentford End on the west end of the bridge over the River Brent, New Brentford on the east end of the bridge, and Old Brentford further to the east towards London. Those shots will be from between the new and the old villages."
The men were all listening to the whispers but they were also listening to the sounds of battle. Now there were more sounds than just the firing of muskets. There were voices. Voices of command, voices of the lost, voices of the injured. There were cries of panic and screams of outrageous pain. Daniel look behind him along the line of barges. "Oh please," he prayed, "let them keep the silence. Don't let them be tempted to shoot at a shadow moving along the bank." All of the men on the barges had been ordered to keep silent at all costs, but when there were six hundred men all armed and scared and blind, what were the chances that none of them would fire a shot. One shot was all it would take to tell Rupert's army that there were barges on the river.
The sounds of the skirmishes ahead of them were now changing. The shots were less frequent and the voices and screams more frequent. Now some of the screams were from women's voices. "Rupert is into the old town," Daniel said almost to himself, but it too was heard and whispered forward to Anso. Moments later the shots began again, this time volley shots, all together and so loud like the thunder of cannon, and the sounds were ever closer to them. There was nothing they could do but row quietly and listen.
The pilot launch came out of the white fog ahead of them like a grey ghost, and as soon as they were visible the pilot waved to get their attention. A change of course. He was signaling ... hard to starboard. They were through the north channel and beyond the island, but now there seemed to be another hazard ahead.
Daniel covered and uncovered his lantern to signal their barge that there was a change of course, and then made the signal for starboard. They would pass on the signal to the next launch, and they to their barge and so on down the line. Daniel's gut turned sour at a sudden thought. The launch towing the first powder barge would get the signal, but not the last two launches who were also towing powder barges. They would not be able to see around the first powder barge, and there was no one on the powder barges to pass on the message.
There was nothing he could do about it now. Not in this fog. Not while silence was their best weapon. To focus his mind away from this worry he again looked at the map and then whispered, "Where the Brent enters the Thames it forms a bar to the west of the flow. We have to turn hard a'starboard to the south bank else we will run aground on it. That will be a problem for the powder tugs."
And then everything, absolutely everything, went wrong.
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The Pistoleer - Brentford by Skye Smith Copyright 2014
Chapter 14 - Barges of cannons at Brentford in November 1642
A breeze felt icy against Daniels cheek. The breeze strengthened into a gust and the cold of the mist it carried made him protect his cheek with his hand. The dense fog all around the launch suddenly thinned. It first swirled, but then was lifted above the surface of the Thames by twenty or thirty feet. The oarsmen he was facing were all staring around him and beyond him and the tiller of the launch. He twisted around to see what they were staring at. The barges ... the long line of barges and tug launches that were stretched out along the river behind them. He could see all of them, and therefore so could the army that was moving in the same direction on the north shore ... Rupert's flying army.
First one man, and then a hundred men on the first of the troop barges opened fire at musketeers lined up along the north bank. There was no need to whisper anymore, no need to be quiet. The line of barges had been well and truly announced. Anso called back from the bow. "Men in the water. A lot of men. They are trying to wade across the Brent with their muskets above their heads. Rupert's men on the shore are shooting at them. The barge troopers are shooting at the shooters."
Daniel thought for a second and then called back. "The men in the river must be the defenders of the old town. If they are wading the Brent, then Rupert must control the road to the bridge. They must be trying to re-form on the other side so they can stop him from crossing the bridge."
Anso called back. "The mouth of the Brent is too deep for them. Look at them. They can't wade deeper, and they can't turn back. They are being picked off by the musketeers as if they were ducks. Wait. They've chucked their muskets and are making a swim for it. How do they expect to stay afloat wearing a weapons belt. Oh this is bad. They are being swept into the Thames channel. They are sure to drown."
"Then why are the musketeers still shooting at them? What kind of fool wastes powder and shot on a drowning man?" It was a question that Daniel did not need an answer to, and Anso didn't offer one. Everyone knew the answer. The Devil Prince. These men had dared to stand in his way, and now they must pay the price. "Hard to port" he yelled out, over and over again so that not just the oarsmen would know what he was doing with the rudder, but also to forewarn the men on the barge that they were towing.
The oarsmen understood his intentions immediately. They were all seafarers. Every one of them would have done the same. Everyone of them would have tried to pluck a drowning man from the water. There was no longer a need to row softly and silently and as one they put their strong backs and their massive shoulders into their oars.
Daniel stood up and waved to the men on the barge they were towing. He yelled as loudly as he could, "Keep your heads down, but get busy and tie anything that floats to a line and throw it over the side. There are men in the water and you are going to save them. Stand by to pull them aboard."
The barge men already had their heads d
own, for there was no telling where all the shots coming from the shoreline were aimed. Some jumped to the task of making lifesaver lines while other lashed loops to their long pushing poles in hopes of being able to drop them down over the shoulders of a drowning man. Although it seemed to take forever to move the barge close enough for the bargemen to begin hauling men out of the water, it was likely only moments. A cheer went up from the crew as the first of them were saved from the inky water.
The launch was now at such an angle to the barge that Daniel could see back along the entire line of barges. The last of the barges, a powder barge, was drifting sideways around the island. It was sure to be pushed aground on the north bank by the current. Then from just in front of that barge, from the shoreline just this side of the bend in the river, there were four puffs of smoke. "Cannons," he yelled out as loudly as he could. "Incoming."
The next thing to reach them was the roar of the cannons, and the next thing was the splash of the cannon ball, but none of them were a worry to Daniel's oarsmen. The balls were splashing down short. Short of the lead barges anyway. One, two, three splashes and then a terrific thump. The forth ball had hit the gunnels of the third trooper barge, a barge with 150 men aboard. Depending on where the ball had hit, it would have either sprung the planking and cause a leak, or turned planking into a cloud of vicious splinters that would have torn through the men like grapeshot made from needles.
"What now?" came a voice from across the water. The question was a call from the pilot, whose launch had back tracked to hear new orders.
Daniel looked at him with relief. "You take up our tow line and keep our barge in the mouth of the Brent so the bargemen can keeping helping those men in the water. We've got to go back and silence those cannons before they pick us all off." The pilot's crew made swift work of slipping in beside their launch and taking on the tow line. The pilot launch was too light and had too few oarsmen to tow the barge very far, but between the tow line and pushing at the barge with their bow, they would be able to keep the barge up close to the men struggling to keep their heads above water. Little splashes all around the struggling men showed that Rupert's musketeers on the shore were still shooting at them.
Daniel's crew were trying not to watch the struggles of the drowning men. It was a sight that no seaman ever wanted to watch, because it was far too easy to drown. So very easy. You struggle and struggle to keep your nose or mouth free of water, but then there is that first missed breath, that first gulp of unwanted water going down into your lungs and making you cough and gasp. And each gasp fills your lungs with more water, and a minute later you can no longer keep your head above water. None of them wanted to watch what was inevitable. They had seen it too many times before. They had all lost kin to it ... fathers, brothers, sons and cousins.
Instead, as soon as the tow line was released from their launch, they heaved on their oars and span the launch like a top and made their way at full speed back along the line of barges. To the men of first two trooper barges and their tugs Daniel yelled the same order. "Keep your heads down and keep going. Get around that river bar before you dare slow down. Don't worry about the rest of the barges or about the men in the water, just keep rowing and save yourselves from this trap." It was an order that three hundred men were more than pleased to obey.
To the men of the third trooper barge and its tug ... the stricken barge, he gave a different order. The barge was taking on water and was already listing. "Tow it onto the river bar so it doesn't sink," he yelled out. "And keep your heads down. It's a waste of time to save yourself from a drowning if you get your heads blown off doing so."
Quite a gap had formed between the trooper barges and the three smaller powder barges whose tugs were having such a hard time adjusting for the change in current caused by the bend in the river. For all of the time that Daniel's launch was crossing this gap, the cannons on shore had continued to shoot. A quick look at the map told him the all of it. "The cannons must be at the fortified manor of Syon. We have to do something about them before they sink us all."
"And how do you expect us to do that with our two four pounders against ... what ... four fully crewed eight pounders," Anso called back. "They'll sink us before they are ever within our range."
"I'll keep zig zagging."
"Well that's just great. Your brilliant answer to four big cannons is to zig zag." Anso looked forward again and then turned around again immediately. "Watch it. The cowards in the lead powder tug have just let go their tow line. Their barge is adrift."
"Cowards," Daniel replied. "Nay, they aren't cowards. They are just men who have seen a magazine blow up before." He was interrupted by a shout from one of the oarsmen.
"Smoke, cannon smoke! Hit the deck!" As one, the crew ducked as far down behind the gunnels as they could. They were just in time because these cannon balls had found the range. One of them smashed into the gunnels of the now drifting powder barge, while another ricocheted off the oak planking of the barge and skipped three times across the water like a skipping stone and just barely missed hitting their launch.
When they reached the just-freed tug whose oarsmen were rowing away from their powder barge as fast as they could, Daniel did not criticize them. Instead he called out, "Quickly now, there are men drowning on the other side of the Brent river bar. Help them. Help them."
The man on the tiller called back. "Our barge took a direct hit. We knew it would eventually, but why didn't it blow up?" and then the launches were pulling fast away from each other in opposite directions and new thunder from the cannons had everyone ducking.
Anso had an answer to the puzzle and he called it out, "Their first shots were at the troop carriers but those were too long a shot to strafe with grape so they are shooting balls. Now that the troop carriers are beyond the accurate range of their balls, they are trying to sink the supply barges. They won't know that the cargo is all gunpowder until one of them blows up, and they ain't likely to blow up until they are hit by hot shot or bombs. With a lead ball, the powder is safe enough unless the ball hits metal and causes a spark."
By this time they were beyond the drifting powder barge and closing on the second powder barge which was still under tow. The men aboard the tug were getting ready to let go their tow line when Anso called out his theory to them as well. "You only have to get beyond the Brent bar and you will be beyond the guns," he added. "Why not just lengthen the tow line to its full extent and keep towing. There are other launches at the bar that can help you make the next bend."
"We don't have towline enough to be safe from this mother if she blows," the tillerman called back.
"No worries, mate," Anso called back. "Take a look at the third powder barge." To do this, the tug had to slacken their line and then row at right angles to the barge to see around it and back towards Syon manor and the cannons. The third barge had not made the last bend and had drifted right in front of the cannons. The men in it's tug had slipped their tow line and were rowing hell bent to get away from their powder barge and over to the south bank far away from the musketeers on the shore.
"The third barge is protecting you from being shot at," Anso told them. "Now row you beauties and get that powder safe beyond the River Brent while you still can." His words were unneeded for the oarsmen on the tug were already digging in with their oars to get back on course and take up the slack in the tow line.
Daniel's oarsmen were also digging in with their oars to get as close to Syon House as they could while in the cannon-ball-shadow of the third powder barge. Daniel set a straight course for there was no longer a need to zig zag, and the wake of the launch began to hiss with the speed. The cannon fire from shore continued, but luckily or perhaps unluckily, they were now aiming at the third powder barge. He knew this because of the rents being torn in the sail cloth covering the cargo. Also luckily, or perhaps unluckily, none of the shots had created the spark needed to blow up the powder, this despite the sail cloth being hit three times in a row at close range.<
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"So what now," Anso called to him from the bow. "We could load the bowchaser with a canister of grape and sneak around the barge and blast the gun crews. By that time we'd be close enough to be in grape range."
"We'd only get one shot off before the musketeers on shore crippled us all."
"We could lob an exploding shot over the barge and hope it landed close enough to the gun crews to do some damage," Anso suggested. They had a small supply of hollow cannon balls filled with gunpowder and a fuse. They worked like a giant grenade but it was tricky to cut the fuse to the right length. Too short and it would blow up inside the barrel. Too long and it would blow up after it had come to a stop. Just right and it would blow up mid flight just above the ground and have the same effect of grapeshot on any men nearby.
"How many do we have?" Daniel asked.
"Four."
"They are too precious to waste on blind shots."
"Why not just blow up the barge?" Uve asked. "I mean, you don't want that powder falling into Rupert's hands anyway. Even if they sink the barge, the powder kegs may survive and float to shore with the powder still dry. Why not just blow it all up and blind and deafen them gun crews so we can get the hell out of range?"
Daniel reached forward and tapped Uve lightly on his pot helmet. "Exactly," he told him, and then called out to Anso, "You heard Uve. Let's get just within range of an easy shot and put a bomb into the barge." At his words the oarsmen immediately stopped rowing and let the launch drift to a stop. They were already close enough for an easy shot, and already too close for comfort at the thought of a barge load of powder blowing up. They all took a rest because as soon as the bomb was shot, they would be turning this launch like a top and rowing for their very lives.
Anso carefully aligned the bomb so that the fuse pointed down towards the breech and then let her slide down the barrel. He took his time aiming because he needed to hit something solid to stop the ball dead until the fuse did its work. "Keep her steady," he called over his shoulder to the oarsmen. He clicked back the field gun's flint dog and refreshed the powder in the flash pan over the touch hole. "One, two, ..." BOOM.