by Seymour Reit
Now, under the colonel’s sharp eye, each gun was lowered little by little. Every fifty feet, fat logs were wedged under wheels and runners to hold the loads in place. Then the men ran ahead and shifted the heavy ropes to trees farther down the slope. The tricky process was then repeated.
J. P. Becker, working alongside the older hands, kept an eye on his hero, Will. In spite of his bad knee, the colonel’s brother was everywhere, limping along the ridge, giving orders, testing ropes, making sure that every gun moved safely. The troopers and drivers, remembering the runaway cannon, worked hard and took no foolish chances. There were a few snags and tense moments, but no accidents.
As the long hours passed the men’s confidence grew, and even Thorne had to admit that the colonel had been right. They were beating the chasm.
By nightfall the whole artillery train was safely at the foot of the great hill. Not a single gun had been lost nor a man injured—and at that point, Henry called a halt.
“I’m right proud of us all,” he said to the crew. “Let’s eat supper and get a night’s rest.”
It was one decision over which there were no arguments.
21
On to Westfield
At dawn the horses and oxen were hitched up, and the convoy started off. They followed a dry streambed to a dirt trail Henry knew from his map that the trail would take them straight to Westfield.
For a long while they had moved over hard frosty ground coated with snow—a smooth surface for the sled runners. But now the sun began beating down, melting the snow and turning the trail to mud. This made it slow going for the patient animals, who plodded along dragging their heavy loads. As usual, Colonel Knox fretted about losing time, but even he realized that the weather was something he couldn’t give orders to.
Mr. Becker’s shoulder was now healed, and he took over the reins of their wagon. J. P. was a little disappointed at losing his job, but Will saw this and invited the boy to ride with him on the big sled. Will’s vehicle, hauled by eight oxen, carried a twenty-four-pounder that the men had nicknamed the “Old Sow.” Young John was thrilled to be riding alongside his friend, and he watched with pleasure the skillful way Will handled his four pair of oxen.
To help pass the time, William taught J. P. a lively song called “The Derby Ram,” which people said was a favorite of General Washington’s. J. P. soon learned the words, and as they rode along he and Will sang together.
As I went down to Derby
On a market day,
I met the biggest ram, sir,
That ever was fed on hay.
The wool on that ram’s back, sir,
Reached up to the sky.
Eagles built their nest there,
I heard the young ones cry.
He had four feet to walk on, sir.
He had four feet to stand.
And every one of those feet, sir,
Covered an acre of land.
And it’s true my lads,
It’s true my lads,
If never was given to lie.
If you’d a’ been in Derby,
You’d see the same as I!
By the time the caravan plodded into Westfield, everyone was in a festive mood. Once again, the whole population came out to meet them. Few of the locals had ever seen cannons before, and they marveled at the giant weapons tied on the carts. They also gave the travelers ale, cider, and all the good food they could eat.
At the town inn, Henry and Will relaxed and joined the fun. The brothers smiled at each other happily, suddenly aware that the worst of their ordeal was over. The ale flowed freely, and numerous toasts were offered. “Here’s to Colonel Knox!” somebody shouted. “Here’s to good old General Washington!” others cried. “Here’s to the artillery train!” “Here’s to the rebel cause, ’n’ to blazes with the British!” A farmer brought out a fiddle and someone else brought out a dulcimer. They played tunes such as “The Massachusetts Hop” and “The Road to Boston,” and Will Knox, his knee all better, joined in a lively square dance called a quadrille.
Will was bursting with pleasure and excitement. Henry was also pleased, but he tried to keep his emotions in check. “It looks right good,” he admitted to Will, “but remember—we’re not home yet.”
As a climax to the festivities, Henry treated the townspeople to a demonstration. From their small supply he filled a powder horn and poured it into the breach of the Old Sow; then he put a match to the cannon’s touchhole. The gun erupted in a powerful but harmless BOOOM! Everyone was impressed and cheered loudly.
“Thank the Lord,” Will said to J. P. with a grin, “that the British are too far away to hear us!”
22
Partings
The trip from Westfield to Springfield was a short one, but the trail was deep in mud so the pace of the convoy was slow.
As they drew near Springfield, the happy mood of the travelers changed to one of gloom. The reason was clear to William. Many of the drivers had agreed to stay with the train as far as Springfield. At that point—with the guns safely across the mountains—they were ready to return to their farms and towns in New York State. The men missed their families and were needed at home, but they had developed ties of loyalty to the mission and found it hard to tear themselves away.
Among those due to leave were the Beckers, who faced a long trip back to Glens Falls. They had been part of this venture day and night for over a month, and for J. P. it was painful to leave. When he said good-bye to William, he had to swallow hard to keep his voice steady. Will also felt sad, but he grinned, reached out, and ruffled J. P.’s hair. “Don’t you mind, old friend,” he said. “We’ll meet up again, I promise. We’ll have a proper visit after we send the redcoats packing.”
At last Mr. Becker clucked to the horses and the empty wagon started off J. P. turned around and watched the group standing near the vehicles. He kept watching longingly, until a bend in the trail hid the convoy from view.
Next morning, with new drivers and fresh oxen, the caravan pushed on through the thick mud. It was a long run to the next stop, the town of Worcester, but they made it at last and rested overnight.
Then at daybreak—like so many other day-breaks—Henry roused the men and led his convoy on to Framingham. They were now a mere twenty miles from Cambridge—and it suddenly dawned on Will that the journey was almost over. They really had done the impossible. The young man was elated, but Henry refused to relax. “We’re not finished,” he said. “I’ll only rest easy when every gun is in place.”
John Adams, a member of the Continental Congress (later to become the second president of the United States), was staying near Framingham. With his friend Elbridge Gerry, he hurried to town to inspect the new weapons. He was thrilled with what he saw, and that night wrote about it in his diary.
The next day, leaving Will in charge, Henry mounted a fast horse and raced to Cambridge to report Washington and the others greeted him joyfully. And some of the officers apologized for having once doubted the “foolhardy” plan. They showered him with praise and compliments, all of which he shrugged off. “Sirs,” he said with a smile, “if anyone deserves credit it’s the drivers, the troopers, and those hardworking animals.”
Later, at a council meeting, the mood grew serious. At last they had good artillery and a big shipment of powder was on its way. But General Howe had also gained in strength. He commanded a huge army of redcoats, and his warships could still destroy Boston. The colonists would have to move very carefully. According to their spies, the British had no idea that the rebels had located heavy cannons. How could they guard this vital secret and keep the enemy in the dark? Now that they had real power, what was the best way to use it?
23
Plans and Preparations
The first weeks of February 1776 were a time of feverish activity, all carried out in secret.
At Washington’s orders, Colonel Knox brought some of the new guns, under cover of darkness, to Cobble Hill and Lechmere Point near the
Cambridge lines. Others were set up around Roxbury. But the main gun batteries—and the big surprise for the British—would be elsewhere.
Near Roxbury, southwest of Boston Harbor, was a peninsula with steep hills known as Dorchester Heights. These ridges overlooked Boston and dominated the entire harbor. For some strange reason—though they had the troops and guns to do so—the British hadn’t bothered to capture this strategic spot. Washington’s plan was to put most of Henry’s cannons here on the heights. But it had to be done secretly. If General Howe got wind of the rebels’ activities, he would attack without delay.
Meanwhile the British commander stomped along the deck of his warship, deep in his own plans. He now had 13,500 redcoats and tons of munitions—more than enough to launch a drive on Cambridge. But Howe was nervous about the weather. It was still winter, great windstorms often swept the harbor, and it would be dangerous to move his marines by boat. The rebels, he thought, were getting weaker and had no artillery—so it wouldn’t hurt to wait a bit longer.
Unknown to smug General Howe, the colonists were working feverishly to get their guns all in place. Then one night toward the middle of the month, General Washington decided to probe the British defenses. Accompanied by Henry Knox and another colonel named Rufus Putnam, he left Roxbury on horseback. Later they dismounted and crept silently toward the causeway that crossed Boston Neck. The men moved carefully and quietly. Henry was enjoying the secret foray.
Suddenly two British officers came galloping toward them. The officers were waving their swords and signaling frantically to a British battery positioned near the town gates!
Washington and his men were startled. Colonel Knox grabbed his pistol, ready to defend the general. What fools they’d been, he thought. How careless! The British cavalrymen drew closer. The colonists turned, raced to their horses, leaped into the saddles, and galloped safely back to Roxbury. Henry shuddered when he thought of what might have happened if George Washington had been captured.
Narrow escape or not, General Washington was kept busy. A large shipment of powder had arrived, sent from France to New York, then brought overland. This, plus thousands of round shot taken from the captured brig Nancy meant plenty of ammunition for the Ticonderoga weapons.
Henry and Will worked day and night, and by the first of March they were able to report to the War Council that all was ready. General Washington’s master plan could now begin.
On the night of March 2, cannons began firing steadily from the rebel lines north of Boston.
Paul Revere, Jr., reading by candlelight, heard them. Old Toby, rowing his skiff near the banks of the Charles River, heard them. Will Knox, working in Roxbury, heard them. And the British aboard their warships heard them, too.
General Howe, peering from the deck of HMS Somerset, was very surprised. Why were the fool colonials wasting powder when they had so little to spare? And where did they get those new guns? Well, no matter. If the rebels wanted an artillery duel, he’d jolly well oblige them. The British commander snapped orders to his adjutant, and soon the guns of the fleet began answering the rebel barrage.
For several hours cannons on both sides banged away loudly at each other, and the following night the duel was continued. Only light guns were being used, and in the darkness neither side did much damage. Which was just what Washington had expected. For the truth was, this sudden noisy barrage was simply a hoax—a clever diversion set up to fool the British and to draw their attention away from Dorchester Heights.
During the daylight hours Washington’s ruse continued. He paraded an armed regiment along the ramparts of the Cambridge line as if preparing for battle. Knowing that spies would quickly tell the British, he assembled scores of wagons to carry the “wounded.” He also turned the main Cambridge barracks into a hospital for use in the coming “attack.”
The British easily took the bait. Unaware of Henry’s Ticonderoga prizes, Howe and his officers concentrated only on Cambridge. They paced the decks of their ships, studied the northern lines with their telescopes, and worried about the activities in that area.
While all this was going on, Henry and Will, with their artillerymen, worked like fiends to fortify Dorchester Heights. Washington had assigned many troopers, plus four hundred oxen, to the job of hauling the biggest guns up the steep hills and setting them in place. But winter winds had done their work. “The ground here is frozen solid,” Henry said unhappily to Will “It’s like iron. We’ll never be able to dig trenches.”
Will frowned, his mind racing. “If we can’t dig down, let’s try building up.”
The young soldier relished solving tough problems. In no time at all, he had his men gathering huge bundles of loose branches and tying them together tightly. These bundles were called fascines. Placed upright, jammed one next to the other, the fascines formed a solid, musket-proof wall. He also had dozens of empty barrels rounded up and filled with rocks and sand. These were hauled up the hill and placed in front of the fascines. The heavy barrels gave strength to the makeshift wall. They also had another use: If Howe’s marines stormed Dorchester Heights, the barrels, chained together, would be rolled downhill, smashing into the British lines.
Once this crude parapet was in place, openings were cut for the muzzles of the big guns. Then, one by one, the cannons were hauled uphill by straining teams of oxen. With so many men and animals to help, the work went swiftly. But Henry laid down strict rules of silence. Nobody was allowed to speak above a whisper. They used night lanterns, which shed only small patches of blue light, and straw was spread over the hillside to muffle the sound of the carts. Luckily, the wind was blowing from the west, carrying any sounds away from the British.
The men worked feverishly and quietly, under great pressure. The forts were going up right under the noses of Howe’s redcoats, who were patrolling Boston Neck only a mile away. If they discovered the scheme, they would sound the alarm. British gunboats would race to the spot and destroy everything.
The work started right after dark and went on all through the long moonless night Henry was on edge, but he tried to remain calm. This was his moment—the goal that he and Will had worked so hard for. With his brother at his side, the colonel was everywhere, up the hill and down, helping to load carts, pushing guns into position, and seeing that each post had a supply of shot and powder, and that each crew knew its duties. And all of this was done with signs, gestures, and quiet whispers.
Washington, anxious about the plan, moved his headquarters to Roxbury, where he could keep in touch with the work on the ramparts. By four that morning, as the first glow of dawn appeared over the eastern bay, everything was finished. The heavy guns, including the runaway mortar and Will’s giant twenty-four-pounder, were all in place.
Colonel Knox reported this to the commander, who nodded and smiled. But Washington’s smile was an anxious one. So far things had gone smoothly. In the morning the rebels would face their final test.
24
The Guns Speak
At daybreak on March 4, the watch officer aboard HMS Somerset was quietly pacing the quarterdeck Glancing around the harbor, he happened to look toward Dorchester Heights. What he saw made his jaw drop and his eyes pop wide. He shouted for a messenger and sent him to awaken the British commander.
“Say that it’s urgent!” the officer called as the messenger raced off.
General Howe hurried on deck, pulling a boat cloak over his nightshirt. By then the other officers were also on deck, all of them staring toward Dorchester. Howe followed their gaze and gasped in disbelief. There on the ridge—deserted and bare the day before—were two massive forts! As the first rays of wintry sun appeared, the watchers could see a long line of heavy cannons mounted on the parapet—and their muzzles were pointing straight at the British fleet!
Sir William Howe swore. He sputtered. He fretted and fumed. What manner of black magic was this? How did the Yanks work such a miracle overnight? Where did those guns come from—and why hadn’t the British sentrie
s seen what was going on?
Looking for somebody to blame, Howe raved at his staff officers, who stood in a daze. Just then there was a long rolling of drums on the Dorchester ramparts.
Standing behind the fascines, General Washington nodded to Henry Knox. “Let’s begin, Colonel,” he said. Henry raised his arm and swung it down.
Boooom! CRASH! Crack!
With billowing smoke and flashes of flame, the guns of Ticonderoga spoke. They roared out, growling defiance at the enemy who, for so long, had tormented their city. Startled by the sounds, Paul and many other Bostonians pulled on clothes and raced to the waterfront to watch the spectacle and cheer wildly.
After the great opening salvo, Henry’s guns were hauled in, sponged out, and reloaded with powder and shot. And once again they roared in loud triumph.
Crash! BOOOOM!
The cannonade thundered across the harbor, sweeping over the city and rousing its citizens. In the rumbling, Will Knox heard a magic echo of things to come. To his ears, the blast was a song of victory . . . a mighty shout of freedom . . . a challenge to British rule . . . a roar of support for the colonies.
None of the cannons had been aimed and most of the shots fell harmlessly, sending up a forest of waterspouts around the blockading ships. But this was deliberate on Washington’s part. His goal, at that point, wasn’t to sink ships or take British lives. The Dorchester Heights gunfire was symbolic. Washington wanted a gesture of power—something to show the British the danger of their position. His guns sent a strong message to the enemy: The siege is over and the tide of battle has turned.