“I don’t think we’ll have to,” Mr. Knox countered. “The four oxen pulling each sled weigh as much as the cannons themselves. If we continue to use that elongated rope and harness setup, their weight should be far enough away from the guns to allow safe crossing.”
Valnor looked back at the river, then toward the oxen tethered together on the other side. The engineer had a good point. “I believe you’re correct, but we can’t cross here.”
“I suggest we move a quarter mile further up river and attempt the crossing there instead,” Mr. Knox suggested.
“That is a fine idea,” Valnor answered before letting loose a heavy sigh burdened with exhaustion. “What a nightmare this has turned out to be. I told General Washington this would take two weeks, and here we are six weeks in and still struggling at every turn.”
“It will all be worth it,” Mr. Knox assured him. “When we make it to Boston with these cannons, it will have been the greatest logistical achievement since the construction of the Great Pyramid in Egypt.”
That comment brought a much needed smile to Valnor’s lips. It had been a while, but he remembered that project being a bit more elaborate and time consuming. “Maybe not that grand a feat, but it will be a great accomplishment without a doubt.”
Chapter 32: The Heights
Past the connecticut River, the going got much easier for Valnor and his train of artillery bound for Boston. The amount of snowfall was much lighter the farther east they traveled. Eventually, the ground lacked enough snow to use the sleds anymore. The workers reassembled the cannons and rolled them behind the oxen teams in a more conventional manner along the roads.
With the cleared weather and the equipment looking more like weapons of war rather than piles of junk, Valnor’s caravan began gaining attention. At first it was the random, curious farm boy looking and waving at them from his chores in the field. Soon, entire families ran out from their farmhouses to cheer the procession onward.
As they went through Cambridge and neared Boston, it was a full-blown parade event. Citizens loyal to both the crown and rebellion lined the streets ten deep on either side to cheer or simply witness a sight never seen before by any of them. There was still a romantic mystique about warfare for these people. All they saw was a neat and powerful tool, with no thought as to the carnage these tools could bring.
That being the case, Valnor was not one to let such a perfect propaganda moment pass unused. He jogged toward the back of the procession until he reached his crew pulling the last cannon, a twenty-four pounder. “Set her up and load a round of powder to fire.”
Ten minutes later, the Big Bertha was ready to fire and Valnor yelled to the crowd, “Cover your ears. Fire!”
The explosion and concussion wave that followed made his body ache from the inside out. The cannon was every bit as powerful as it appeared. The crowd certainly thought so as applause and cheers rippled through the assembled masses. Mixed in with the adulation, though, was the sound of a small child crying. noise and impact terrified the poor thing; perhaps they all should have been.
The cannon crew wasted no time packing up their weapon to continue down the road with the rest of the artillery train. Valnor jogged back ahead to reach the front of his triumphant procession. After another hour of marching and accepting flowers and hugs from the crowd, he spotted a tall figure standing in the middle of the road up ahead.
Valnor realized as they marched closer that the man was not alone. There were at least a dozen soldiers shouldering muskets lined up behind him. Valnor breathed a sigh of relief as the color of their uniforms came into focus; they were dark blue, not red. These were colonial forces, and soon the tall man’s features revealed him to be General Washington.
“I heard the rumors and thought I had better come see this for myself,” the general said when Valnor approached. “Now I’m glad I did.”
Valnor turned around to admire the view of fifty-nine artillery pieces stretching from one hilltop to another along the road. “It’s a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”
“A belated one,” Washington noted with a somewhat soured tone. “You promised me two weeks, not ten.”
“If you only knew the hardships we encountered, then you would see the arrival of these cannons at all as the modern miracle that it is,” Mr. Knox offered in Valnor’s defense.
Washington held his stern look for a set of heartbeats before breaking into a broad grin. “I have read every action report you forward my way, so I am well aware. You are a man ahead of his time, and I commend you for that. Well done.”
“Thank you, sir. Does this make us even then?” Valnor asked with a playful tilt of his head.
“It is I who shall buy the brandy tonight,” Washington answered.
“Excellent. Now where would you like for us to position these cannons so we can begin the process of relieving the British of Boston,” Valnor asked.
Washington turned and pointed to a long and robust row of wooden barricades resting between the army’s encampment and the city of Boston. “We have already constructed fortifications to house the guns where they can reach the city.”
“There, on the low ground?” Valnor questioned. “They will only be able to hit various buildings in the city. The point is to reach their navy in the harbor to close their last line of resupply.”
“To reach the harbor, we would need to place the guns on Dorchester Heights,” Washington objected while redirecting his arm and extended index finger to a tall hillside overlooking the city. “We could hit them from that vantage point, but they would also be able to revisit the mischief on us with every cannon in their fleet. There’s a reason neither side occupies those commanding heights, it cannot stand up to artillery fire from either side.”
“We’ll need to build fortifications up there then,” Valnor offered.
“The ground is too hard. Digging trenches and earthen barricades won’t be practical until the spring thaw,” Mr. Knox countered on Washington’s behalf.
“You constructed fortifications out of wood over there,” Valnor observed. “Why can’t we do the same on top of that hill?”
Washington shook his head and looked ready to lash out at the continued questioning of his orders. “Those fortifications took my men two weeks to mill and assemble. We would have one night at best to fortify that hill before the British open fire and blast anything not under proper cover into oblivion; ten, twelve hours at the most.”
Valnor eyed the wooden barriers for a few moments before moving his eyes to assess the hilltop. What his mind pieced together in that divine moment nearly made him hop with anticipation. “That should be enough time. Tell me, both of you, how good were you as children building blocks by numbers?”
Mr. Knox was the first to catch Valnor’s meaning and broke into a delighted laugh, “Oh that’s good. That is very good!”
**********
It was nighttime in Boston and General Clinton sat at the head of a long dining table featuring white linens, fine china, crystal, and silver utensils. He thought for a moment about the colonial forces encamped around the city on three sides, but not the fourth. Their resupply lines via the navy allowed him and his officers to continue enjoying fine meats, wines, and deserts inside a palatial villa warmed by the hearth of a fire. Meanwhile, the rebels suffered the blistering cold in their tents and huddled around open fires to choke down their field rations. This was not a fair fight, especially now.
“I offer a toast to General Howe and his officers,” Henry said with a booming voice as he raised his wine glass. “Your arrival in Boston gives us the ability to finally push out from the city and send those rebels scurrying for the woods from which they came. Here’s to a quick end to this little rebellion.”
“Here, here,” twenty officers seated at the table on either side responded, and a few even pounded the table with their fists for emphasis before taking a drink.
“When do you expect to take such action?” General Howe asked from the far end
of the table.
“As soon as your men finish disembarking from the ships,” Henry answered and was about to elaborate further, but was cut short by an aide entering the room.
“I beg your pardon, general, but this intelligence report just arrived from our source in Cambridge.”
“This can’t wait until morning,” Henry challenged with a stern reprimand at the ready if he did not like the man’s response.
“I fear not, general.”
Henry vented a frustrated huff through his nostrils before snatching the folded piece of paper from his page.
“What news is of such importance?” General Howe asked after several silent seconds passed.
“It seems the rumors we heard about our rebel adversaries attempting to transport cannons captured from Fort Ticonderoga to Boston were true. Not only that, they succeeded in the effort. A count of fifty-nine cannons just arrived in the rebel camp,” General Clinton answered with his emotions held tightly in check.
“Depending on where they place them, that many guns could pose a grave threat to our position here,” General Howe cautioned even though the words were unnecessary; every officer in the room understood the situation just fine on their own.
“If they occupy Dorchester Heights, they will gain a superior position,” one of the officers observed.
“True enough, but they will never hold them long enough to get a shot off. The fleet would bombard them back to the stone age,” another officer countered.
“What about the city?” another officer asked. “That many cannons could do a lot of damage even at ground level.”
“That would only serve to strengthen our hand,” General Clinton objected. “Rebels firing on their own citizenry? Every citizen of Boston, even those sympathetic to their cause, would be enraged and turn on them.”
“This news does not overly concern me,” Henry declared with a finality in his voice, and then turned a disapproving glare to his aide. “It is certainly nothing that cannot wait until morning when we can see where they intend to position these guns.”
The next morning, Henry awoke with a pounding headache from the prior evening’s festivities. General Howe’s reinforcements were cause for celebration, and celebrate they did, but there was always a price to pay for such rejoicing. The booming in his head was excruciating, far worse than his amount of drinking the night prior warranted, he reasoned. There was almost a rhythm to the throbbing.
That notion made him focus into his senses and push past the distracting pain. The booming was not inside his head, it was coming from all around him. He leapt to his feet, ran to the nearest window and threw the curtains open to have an unobstructed view of the Dorchester Heights.
Great billows of white smoke rose from those heights and were accompanied by the crack of a cannon blast and the shot’s impact nearby. They were targeting the barracks.
Henry threw on a white undershirt, and then grabbed his red overcoat and hat on his way out of the room. He made an attempt to button the shirt and tuck it in, but gave up the task in favor of a spyglass handed to him by his aide once he reached their fortified walls.
He focused in on the hillside and saw an unbelievable site. The day before nothing stood on those heights, but this morning dozens of reinforced log fortifications dominated the scene. General Howe reached his side a few minutes later and Henry handed him the spyglass to have a look.
“My God, these fellows have done more work in one night than I could make my army do in three months,” General Howe admired. “How do you suppose they accomplished that?”
“They must have had the fortifications pre-constructed already and simply set them up by numbers. Either that or they had unnatural assistance on their side,” Henry added with a dry satire attached. “Either way, we’re in trouble.”
Henry moved his attention away from General Howe to focus on his officers now assembling. “I want every cannon in the fleet and forts focused on that hillside. Also, ready the men for an assault on the heights.”
After two short hours spent shelling the heights, it became painfully obvious to Henry that it was a lost cause. The rebels out maneuvered him. His forces lost two warships in the harbor and the barracks was in tatters. The rebels lost nothing; perhaps some of their cannon crews suffered splinters, but nothing more substantial than that.
Assailing the heights on foot was also doomed to failure, as the rebels had set up a second firing position near the Lamb’s Dam that would obliterate any charge up the hillside in a crossfire.
“What should we do, general,” Henry’s aide asked, clearly hoping he possessed a magic wand in his back pocket to alter their reality.
“We withdraw,” Henry answered. “Order the men onto their boats. We sail as soon as possible.”
“Should we set fire to the town before our departure?”
“That depends on the sort of man our opponent over there is,” Henry responded. “Send the mayor to their lines with a white flag carrying a message that we will spare the city if they allow our forces to depart unmolested by sea.”
Henry then turned to General Howe. “I’m sorry, general; it seems this rebellion will take a little longer to quell than anticipated.”
Chapter 33: Overconfidence
Valnor watched from his concealed vantage point as the dockworkers labored to pull the towering ship into port and tie it down. “Wait for them to lower the gangplanks,” Valnor said to his anxious men.
When the long plank descended from the ship and touched the dock, Valnor felt the pressure of his men leaning in on his back. “Wait until the officer is on deck.”
That eased the men back a bit. Five minutes passed as a few dozen soldiers stepped down off the boat carrying bags over their shoulders; not their weapons. Finally, a fat man wearing gold tassels on his shoulders and an ornamental breastplate as a necklace identifying his regiment set foot on the dock.
“Now!” Valnor shouted. His order set off two cannon blasts that struck the water fore and aft of the anchored ship. At the same time, a hundred militiamen came out of hiding from behind buildings and barrels to level their muskets at the unsuspecting soldiers in red. The lobster backs dropped their bags to the deck and looked to their officer for instruction, but none came. The fat lieutenant was dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events and looked on the verge of soiling his fine, white trousers.
“Welcome to Boston, lieutenant. We’ll be taking that ship and its cargo off your hands while we host you and your men in our brig,” Valnor announced as he approached the stunned officer.
“What is the meaning of this…this assault on the king’s men,” the portly fellow managed to say with an entitled undertone.
Valnor flashed an amused grin before answering, “Your compatriots were kind enough to hand over the city of Boston to us undamaged a few weeks back in exchange for us allowing them to retreat without firing on them as they departed. I suppose you didn’t receive that dispatch on your long voyage from England now did you? Pity that, but it is a big ocean after all. The message was bound to miss some ships, and yours is one of them. Come along now without a fuss and no one gets hurt.”
“This is treason. You’ll all hang for this,” the officer declared as he handed Valnor his saber to officially surrender his men.
“Only if we lose,” Valnor countered before his men marshaled the prisoners off the docks and began boarding the newly acquired vessel. Once the last prisoner left the docks, he then looked to Paul, “Can you handle unloading the ship while I make a report to General Washington?”
“It would be my pleasure. I counted one hundred and twelve prisoners, plus the ship and her cargo. Not a bad day’s work,” Paul boasted. “I can’t believe this keeps happening.”
“The British left a few vessels outside the harbor to redirect ships. They are catching most in time, but not all of them. Their loss is our gain,” Valnor answered as he fell in step behind the long line of captives bound for confinement.
Valnor foll
owed the row of prisoners until crossing in front of the mayor’s mansion. There he hung a left and entered the large structure to pay his commanding officer a visit.
“I see another ship came into port this morning,” the general observed while looking out the second story window at the parade of prisoners. “Anything of particular value aboard?”
“The men are unloading the boat now. They will deliver an official tally, but at a glance I’d say some weapons and ammunition along with some food stuffs,” Valnor reported. “Then of course there is the ship and the twelve cannons aboard. That is the real prize; it’s like sinking one of theirs and instantly constructing one of our own. Their loss is our gain,” Valnor concluded.
“Hmm, yes. Staying here in Boston we continue to gain ships and prisoners, but I fear it will come at a high cost in the end if we remain,” Washington announced as he turned away from the window and moved toward a conference table dominating the center of the room with a large map opened upon it.
Valnor followed his commanding officer to the table and recognized the map as a pictorial of the east coast stretching from Canada down to Florida. There was a cluster of markers indicating army and naval units surrounding New York City. Unfortunately, all those markers were red. The enemy was intent on capturing the city it seemed.
“Our adversary may have given us Boston, but he intends to gain a far greater prize in exchange,” Washington said.
Valnor took a moment to evaluate if New York was indeed the target. It did not take long before his head started nodding up and down in agreement. “With its larger loyalist population, New York will be a far friendlier host than Boston for the British. Moreover, from there they can advance up the Hudson River under cover from their ships and seal off New England from the rest of the colonies. They’ll divide us in half.”
“Only if we allow them to have the city,” General Washington corrected. “Our boots are not frozen to the ground here in Boston. We can relocate the army and offer a defense of that city.”
Origins: Revolution (Crew Chronicles Book 2) Page 20