by Perry Comer
Three Seminole Indians sat with hands tied behind their backs near the campfire. Two men with pistols stood over them.
“Witen’s scouts?” Hardy asked one of the men.
“Yeah,” the man answered.
Ramsey and two other men came from the tent nearest the fire. “Come inside,” Ramsey said to Hardy and ducked back into the tent.
Hardy obeyed and was followed by Brooks and Nichols.
In the tent was a table with a map spread out on it.
Ramsey stood on the far end of the table. He said, “You saw the bastards out there so you know I did as you suggested. There were four of them, now there’s three, one less but information has come to light. As you suspected, and I’m indebted to you for your caution, a trap was laid. Three-fourths of Witen’s men were in wait. According to those we captured, Witen has close to two hundred in his camp. About half have spears and bows and the others have pistols and muskets. They were in desperate need of our supplies and without them, we are the superior force. I plan to attack and finish this business.”
“This map shows his camp?” Hardy asked.
Ramsey bent over the map, “It does, he is here and we are here.”
Hardy noticed that both camps were situated beside the river. Just below Witen’s camp there was another stream. “What of the trail?” Hardy asked.
“Runs along the river,” Ramsey said and traced it with his finger.
“A wide track?” Hardy asked.
“Yes and sandy,” Ramsey answered.
“Does he have boats?” Hardy inquired.
Ramsey straightened, “Boats, I imagine a few canoes but hardly boats. Why?”
“Because once he has discovered his scouts have been taken, he will be cautious. Perhaps plan an attack sooner than later. Truth is, I’d not be surprised if he sent boats up river under the cover of darkness to give him the advantage of surprise.”
“He’d not risk attacking us,” Ramsey blustered.
Brooks’ face held a wry smile, but he held his tongue.
Hardy looked over to Brooks and answered Ramsey, “I would and at dawn tomorrow before you could launch your attack.”
Ramsey blustered, “Then I should attack his camp now and be done with it!”
Hardy shook his head, “Do that and you’re a fool. I tell you he is waiting and intends to goad you into a trap. I’ve seen his like before in Egypt and in Spain. He relies on the pig-headedness of the English and though you are of this country, you like think like an Englishman.”
Ramsey laughed. “Pig-headed am I, my dear wife would agree. But, I will heed what you say, I will wait but if no attack comes this night I shall have him before noon tomorrow.”
“And I shall be at your side,” Hardy said and grinned.
Ramsey turned serious,” You sincerely believe Witen will attack during the night?”
“Aye, either before the moon rises just before midnight or before dawn, it will depend on the clouds. He will take advantage of the light so I would advise you to put out all fires so your men’s eyes will be adjusted.”
“I’d not considered that!” Ramsey said with a touch of respect.
“It’s something a soldier learns or dies,” Hardy said and continued, “It is the life I’ve lived. Learning the little things keeps men alive.”
“So, it seems,” Ramsey said. His eyes met Hardy’s, “I will see to it and I would appreciate your guidance in preparation.”
“I shall do what I can, as will my officers. Our necks are also on the block so what benefits you will benefit us.”
“Then let us be about the preparations,” Ramsey said.
Hardy and his lieutenants started for their camp. Brooks asked, “Will they come?”
“Aye, and when they do it will be a diversion followed by a second diversion and then the main attack. I believe the Spanish will have schooled this Witen, they believe in probing and feinting before attacking in force. As I said to Ramsey, they will send boats which I expect will be the second diversion with the first being an attack from our rear then the main force will come from our front.”
Hardy did not sleep; he spent the hours since talking with Ramsey positioned men and directing the building of barricades. He stopped once to check on Captain Williams, the poor man was drenched in sweat and lay naked on the cot. Hardy asked, “Has he spoken?” to which the attendant only shook his head. Hardy left the tent with a heavy heart.
Brooks asked, “How is he?”
Truthfully Hardy answered, “Twixt heaven and hell, I know not which.”
Chapter Seven
They came just as Hardy predicted. The full moon rose over the tree line, hidden at first by clouds, then shone brightly. The peaceful night ended with as bloodcurdling war whoops erupted followed by a dozen musket shots. Hardy had prepared for them; Brooks waited with thirty men arranged in a double line. The attackers were cut down in the first salvo.
Hardy waited with forty men near the river’s edge. He watched as the silent canoes came up the black river. Were it not for the occasional sliver of silver from dripping paddles in the moonlight, he would have not seen them. He waited until the canoes began to turn toward the bank before he ordered, “Now!” and fired his musket. The men and canoes were riddled with shot; still they came on. The second salvo of musketry and pistols took a heavy toll.
“Mister Nichols remain here with them, finish the bastards! I will see to the main attack!” Hardy shouted.
“Aye,” a confident Nichols answered.
“Hardy had misjudged the main attack. He assumed they would come along the river through the drifts of white sand, but they came by the road. He had placed sixty men in the wrong area. It fell to Brooks and his small force to pivot and provide defense before the sixty could join them.
“Colonel Ramsey the road!” Hardy shouted.
In the next breath he ordered, “Marines to me!”
White answered, “Aye, sir!” and called those under him to follow Hardy.
Muskets banged as did pistols, there was the clash of metal on metal as knives and swords clanged against bayonets. Hardy fired the two pistols he held and wrenched an ancient sword from an attacker. A cloud covered the moon and they fought on in the darkness. Hardy was hit on the right shoulder by either a pistol or a club; he did not see which and was forced to switch the sword to his left hand. He fought on as did the others. There was no more shooting, only man against man with steel against steel. Nichols brought his men from the river and the fight waned as the added men with loaded pistols began to fire. The attackers began falling back, melting into the darkness of the jungle.
“Marines to me!” Hardy shouted and exhausted men began drifting to where he stood.
“Reload! Be damn quick about it before they come at us again!” he shouted.
Another cloud floated across the moon, there was still light. Men cursed their own clumsiness.
Hardy saw Brooks, “Two ranks Mister Brooks!”
“Aye, sir,” Brooks answered.
Brooks bellowed, “Two lines! Form up! Push them Sergeant White!”
White began pushing men into a line. Hardy called to him, “Leave them sergeant, Mister Brooks tend them, Sergeant White press the new men into a line on our flank!”
“Ramsey’s men?” White asked.
“Aye, kick em in the arse if you have to!”
“Aye, sir,” White answered.
Hardy did not see Ramsey, he wondered if the man had gone down. Pity for his widow if he had. He did see Nichols who seemed to be dragging one leg. He was of a mind to see to the young officer but Brooks’ voice sounded strong and clear. “Front rank! Level!”
Brooks followed with “Fire!” Muskets thundered.
Hardy turned just as the men fired. The fight was on once again.
“Second rank! Level!” Brooks shouted followed by “Fire!”
From Hardy’s left came the sound of more muskets firing and Sergeant White’s voice shouted, “Fight you bas
tards!”
The crash of the fight again drown out all other sound. Men shouted, screamed and cursed. Hardy fired his two pistols and managed to pull one of his four-barreled pistols. He fired, levered the second barrel and fired, kicked another man in the knee and clubbed him. He was struck a glancing blow with a spear that tore into his tunic but did not find flesh; he fired into the man’s face. Pulling the other pistol he fired off all four shots dropping a man with each shot. With nothing but the empty pistol he beat and kicked until the attackers again retreated into the jungle. He was out of breath, the moon also retreated behind a dark cloud and there was blackness.
“Form up on me!” Brooks shouted.
The moon reappeared and Hardy could see dead and dying all around him. He saw Brooks; the young man had gained a sword and was waving it.
“Reload!” Hardy shouted above the crying and the shrieking of the wounded. His hands were steady as he began reloading his only remaining pistol. His eyes searched the ground for the other pistol he had dropped in the course of the fighting. No more than the length of a man’s body lay his pistol; he stooped and picked it up. It had one unfired barrel. He levered it, stuffed it into the holster and continued to load the other pistol.
Hardy looked across the sand and saw Sergeant White pushing and shoving men into a makeshift line. Beside him was Ramsey, it brought a sense of relief to see the man. Ramsey saw him and left White.
“Will they come again?” Ramsey asked.
Hardy did not look up but continued to load the pistol, “Not for a while, perhaps at dawn, depends on how many are left.”
“I trust you are right again,” Ramsey said.
“Aye,” Hardy answered. “Best see to your men, they’ll need water and bandages. Don’t let them slip off, Witen’s men will be watching, bidding their time.”
“Mister Nichols how is your wound?” Hardy asked as the young man limped to him.
“Hurts like bloody hell but I’ll bear up,” Nichols answered.
“Aye, but sit and tend to it, wash it and put a bandage on it or else it will worsen.”
Hardy turned and sought out White, “Sergeant White take some of those men and drag the bodies to the wood!”
Brooks had his men into two ranks again. Hardy called to him, “Mister Brooks hold the men in ranks and at the ready!”
“Aye, sir!” Brooks answered as he tied a bandage around his head.
“Damn me if that was not a fight to be remembered,” Nichols said as he tied a piece of his shirt around his wound.”
“Aye,” Hardy said and added, “You acquitted yourself well this night!”
Nichols smiled up at Hardy and said, “Thank you, sir!”
Hardy glanced up at the sky; there was another cloud about to dim the moon. He pulled his watch; it was just after two. The sky went black as the cloud covered the moon. There were three muskets shots, each some distance from each other. The moon once again appeared but there was no attack. He suspected that there would not be another attack that night but there was no way to be sure. All that remained was to wait and be vigilant.
Daylight was coming; Hardy again checked his watch and found it was just past five. The bastards had not attacked again. He assumed their losses to have been heavy. White reported that thirty-one of the bastards lay dead. There would be at least double that number wounded. Witen would not risk another attack without reinforcements.
“How is it with you Mister Nichols?” Hardy asked the young officer.
“Stiff and sore, sir, ball cut a chunk from above my knee. I cleaned it like you said and a little while ago doused it with rum.” Nichols answered.
“Douse it again in a couple of hours,” Hardy said then asked, “How many of our lads dead or wounded?”
“Three dead sir, fourteen badly wounded and eighteen lightly,” Nichols answered.
“What of Ramsey’s men?”
“Eleven dead and twenty-three wounded,” Nichols responded.
Hardy calculated in his head and said, “We are about as before if my estimate of Witen’s men is close to right. My guess is that we have more powder and shot. He’ll be some time licking his wounds.”
“Will we attack? Colonel Ramsey thinks we should.”
“Ramsey can do as he damn well pleases, but I’d advise against it for now, perhaps in a few days,” Hardy said. His thoughts turned to the immediate needs of the marines, “Go to Mister Brooks and have him stand down every second man for two hours sleep. I will see to Captain Williams.”
“Aye, sir?” Nichols answered and rose. He asked, “Shall we light fires and prepare a meal?”
“Aye, see to it,” Hardy answered.
Williams was unchanged. Cole said that the Captain had not stirred during the fighting or afterwards. He did not know how the man managed to hold to life. “Nor do I,” Hardy thought.
A heavy rain began in mid-morning and only slackened in late afternoon. The rain continued and persisted through the next day. The temperatures dropped so much that the wet marines shivered. They found it difficult to maintain their fires and those who were wounded suffered the worst. Hardy ordered every scrap of canvas confiscated and rigged as awnings for the wounded, it was the least he could do to ease their suffering. Ramsey was little help; he cared more for his own comfort than that of those who had fought for him. “Slaves, property to be bought and sold!” He shouted at Hardy.
Food was also in short supply. Fish were caught and small game killed but still there was not enough. What meal and flour remained became damp. The men resorted to boiling water and favoring it with whatever they could find. Wet and miserable, Hardy endured with his men, he refused Ramsey’s offer of shelter and food.
Ramsey was insistent on attacking Witen’s camp. Hardy held him off for three days but finally relented once his men had rested and dried out. He laid out his plan, the marines would attack straight on and Ramsey and his men would attack from the side. The attack would begin at noon the next day.
Nichols and Hardy with half the men would position themselves near the river and Brooks with White would position themselves some three hundred feet away. It was hoped to force Witen’s men into a crossfire.
Hardy explained his plan of attack. “Those with me will open with muskets to draw them to us. Mister Brooks you will wait until they began to return fire and then take as many of them as you can. We will use pistols from then on. Mister Ramsey, you will begin your attack at that point.” What Hardy did not tell Ramsey was that he was hesitant to enter the camp until he was certain of Ramsey’s commitment to the fight.
The day began with another thunderstorm. It proceeded with unmerciful heat with no breezes. Hardy and those with him swatted mosquitoes and gnats, sweated until they were drenched and drank most of their water before they were in place. Half-past eleven, all Witen’s sentries were located, they were lazy men choosing to sit in the shade. The word was passed that no man was to swat at anything lest they give the attack away.
To his trained eyes, Witen’s camp was unprepared for an attack. He hoped he was not being deceived. His watch showed it was approaching noon. He looked to his right and to his left; his men had found cover and were preparing their muskets and pistols. A sentry suddenly stood. Hardy fired.
The sentry went down and others rose up with whatever weapon was at hand. Hardy’s men picked their targets and fired. Those not hit looked startled for a moment and then began running across the clearing toward Hardy’s men. He had instructed them to take up their pistols but not to fire; they were to wait for the men with Brooks and White to fire.
From Hardy’s left came a ragged volley of musket fire. Running men collapsed and fell screaming. Others ran on to defend their camp.
“Fire!” Hardy shouted while aiming his pistol. More men went down. But by that time twice their number were up and moving cautiously toward the firing. Those with muskets fired and those with bows loosed off arrows. There was no response from Ramsey’s men. Hardy grew concerned; Ramse
y should have been in place.
The number of men, mostly Seminoles, out numbered Hardy’s few by three to one. He pulled one of the four-barrel pistols and fired then changed from barrel to barrel as quickly as he could then drew the other pistol and fired till he had not a shot left. Still they came on. A sudden burst of musket fire saved them. Brooks led his group of men into the fray. Were it not for Brooks’ rapid intervention the fight would have been lost before it began. As it was, they were still outnumbered. Hardy fought, was clubbed, had his arm sliced but fought on. Suddenly, the attackers broke away. Ramsey had arrived. Hardy did not pursue, rather he called, “Marines to me!”
To his surprise, he had not lost a man but very few escaped wounds.
“Sir, are we to join the fight?” Nichols asked.
“We will load weapons first, put the men in order!” He looked for Brooks, saw him on the ground being tended by Sergeant White.
“He’s knocked about a bit,” White said. “He’ll be on his feet in a bit.”
“Aye,” Hardy said. “Join Lieutenant Nichols, I’ll see to Mister Brooks.”
“Aye, sir,” White said and stood.
Hardy knelt and pulled a flask from a pocket inside of his boot. He cradled Brooks’ head in the crook of his arm and poured a sip of brandy into the young man’s mouth. Brooks’ eyes jolted open. He stared into Hardy’s face with confusion. “A bump on the head Mister Brooks, you’ll do,” Hardy said and put the flask back.
“Ready Lieutenant Hardy,” White called a few moments later.
Hardy helped Brooks to his feet. Brooks was wobbly. “Rest here!” Hardy ordered.
Brooks did not answer.
“Bayonets Sergeant White,” Hardy said.
“Aye, sir!” White answered with glee.
“At em marines!” Hardy shouted and jumped through the brush toward the fighting. The men yelled and followed.
The fight was bloody; Hardy’s marines stabbed and hacked their way through the center of Witen’s men. Pistols, once fired became clubs and muskets fixed with bayonets stabbed and slashed.