Will had not realized he might have been confined. “Why did you inoculate me then?” he asked, trying not to rub his arm.
“As a precaution,” Thaxter answered, putting on his coat.
After the doctor had left, Will helped Sergeant Merriam wash and feed the six occupants of the ward. He brought in more firewood, stacked it by the hearth and went to feed and water the horses. When he returned, Lieutenant Hadley’s horse was tied to the post outside the barracks. Inside, the Lieutenant was giving the sick men an account of the bombardment. He had on clean white breeches. His blue coat still bore the marks of powder and cinders from the night before, although he had made an attempt to brush and scour it. His brown curls were combed and neatly tied up in a queue. The skin of his face was freshly shaven and red from the winter wind.
“It is all in preparation for the attack on Boston. Tonight we will make the Regulars shake in their barracks again. It will not be long now,” he said enthusiastically. “Ah, there you are, Will. Colonel Knox wants you to help us gather cannonballs today. They lie like pumpkins in a field in October. What they have fired at us last night, we will return with pleasure this evening.” He twirled his tri-corn on his hand.
“Hitch up your sled, Will. A few more minutes of conversing with my men and we go to collect the gifts our gracious King has seen fit to send us.”
“Yes sir,” Will said, grabbing a wedge of cheese and half a loaf of bread and stuffing them in his haversack before heading out the door. As he harnessed the horses to the sled, he shuddered, seeing the dark stain of the dead soldiers’ blood on the wooden slats.
In front of the lines down to Lechmere Point and closer to the salt marshes, soldiers of a Connecticut Regiment had gathered cannonballs that had fallen short of the trenches and batteries. Will drove his team along a frozen road sitting on the sled, his coat drawn close against the strong wind and his collar held against his neck by Elisabeth’s scarf, as the men loaded the balls. Lieutenant Hadley had exaggerated the use of the British balls for the bombardment that night. Most had been damaged upon impact and were no longer spherical. The main smelter was at Cambridge, where they would be recast using existing moulds. After leaving the welcome warmth of the smelter, he was sent on toward Roxbury to collect those cannonballs the Regulars had fired from their forts on the Neck and the adjacent floating batteries at the American redoubts.
It was long after dark when Will returned to the Massachusetts Artillery camp above Lechmere Point. The bombardment renewed shortly thereafter. Will again stationed himself with Big Red at the batteries. Warily, he stayed closer to the cannons and consciously avoided the remaining howitzers and mortars. If anything, the cannonading was heavier than the previous one. It lasted intermittently until after midnight. He imagined the cannonballs smashing into the barracks of the officers and soldiers who had committed the atrocities he had read of the night before. Serves them right he thought, as he rode Big Red slowly back to the temporary hospital.
Perhaps tomorrow, after leaving the retrieved cannonballs at the foundry, he could go toward Charlestown. That is where the attack across the water would begin. He would look for Nat and the other Mariners and see if he could be of some service.
Chapter 9 - The Taking of Dorchester Heights Early Monday morning, March 4th, Lieutenant Hadley sent Will to the Cambridge powder tower. Preparations for battle were underway. No more carrying of wheelbarrows, saplings and hay bales. Will’s sled, and the sleds of the other teamsters working for the Regiment, were loaded with crates of powder charges in their canvas bags, marked by colored cloth tags for the different-sized guns: white for the twelve pounders, red for the eighteen pounders, blue for the twenty four pounders, and black for the howitzers and mortars. They delivered their explosive cargo to the Roxbury powder tower. Will didn’t see the purpose in that, since there seemed to be plenty of powder already for the night’s bombardment, but there was no one he could ask. He had learned, from his time with the Mariners and his shorter service with the Artillery, simply to do as he was told and only ask questions of those likely and friendly enough to answer.
It was late afternoon when he returned to the Regiment’s camp in a field adjacent to the hospital. There were many more horses tethered to the few remaining fences outside the barn. Will recognized the Colonel’s large white mare and that of his brother. In the gathering winter darkness, he glimpsed Lieutenant Hadley striding toward the Colonel’s tent in the company of a few other officers. Will wandered among the men, smelling the beef roasting over their fires, but unwilling to beg to share their meal.
“Will? Is that you?” A voice called out. “You will need to eat tonight to keep up your strength. Come join with us.” He recognized Sergeant Merriam’s short pudgy figure, leaning on his cane by a cooking fire. Will eagerly went over. One of the men remained squatting, slowly turning a large leg of mutton on a spit over the fire. Fat from the meat dripped onto the fire, making the flames hiss and sputter, before flaring up.
“This is the lad who was at the barracks the other night, assisting me in taking care of our own, suffering from the pox,” Merriam said by way of introduction. Will shook hands all around. He immediately forgot the men’s names, his mind focusing on the roasting meat. He inhaled the delicious aroma in a long lingering breath.
“When the Lieutenant told me the plans for tonight, I could not stay away,” Merriam said by way of explanation of his presence. “He will be out shortly with our final orders,” he said, motioning toward the Colonel’s tent. “What we know for sure is that we are taking Dorchester Heights tonight and the Regulars will try to dislodge us tomorrow. I can ride a supply wagon up and hobble around on my cane at the battery,” Merriam said excitedly. “This is the battle we have been waiting for. Finally, with Providence’s blessing, we will defeat the Redcoats and reclaim our beloved city.”
One of the soldiers probed the mutton with his knife and pronounced it done.
“Good thing too,” Merriam said. “This lad has been trying to get by on the smell alone.” He smiled at Will.
Will took his wooden bowl from his haversack and held it out. It was quickly filled with meat and beans cooked in molasses from a pot hanging over a second fire, which he had not noticed, concentrating on the spit with the mutton. Will offered his remaining bread and cheese, but Merriam told him to keep it.
“You will need it for tomorrow. We have bread here freshly baked today,” and he produced two loaves for the eight soldiers.
As he ate, Merriam told him he had spent the day with his crew, binding straw and cloth around the gun carriage wheels with leather strips, stuffing straw into everything that could rattle and greasing the axles with lard.
“Everything must be as silent as possible. Our watchword is surprise. At dawn, when the Regulars awake, they will be looking up at our cannons on the Heights,” Merriam said confidently.
“Will not the bombardment cover our movement?” one of the men asked.
“We are not that far from the Neck and the Redcoat sentries. They will hear us if we make noise. Look, here comes the Lieutenant. The conference must be over.” A crowd of officers emerged, illuminated by the lanterns from the large tent. The Lieutenants ran briskly to their companies. The Captains and higher ranks remained clustered around the large figure of Colonel Knox.
Lieutenant Hadley went from cooking fire to cooking fire, stopping briefly to talk to the gun crews.
“Sergeant Merriam. Sorry to disturb your delicious repast and repose,” he said mirthfully, as if the soldiers were seated around a dining room table under a chandelier. “You and your men will move out on orders once the bombardment begins. That will be in another hour, around 8 pm. Have the horses hitched to the gun carriages before then.” He noticed Will standing off to the side.
“Ah, Will. The Colonel knew you would be here.” Will wondered how but refrained from asking. “He has special instructions for you. He would like you to pull The Albany up to the Heights.”
H
e knew the eighteen pounder weighed close to 2000 pounds. It had taken a team of four horses to haul it by sled through the Berkshires. That had been almost a dead pull uphill. With the cannon rolling on wheels, Big Red and the mare could do it. Will wished he had a saddle. He would have to ride Big Red bareback. “My team is ready,” Will replied.
“Good,” Hadley said. “The Albany is part of my battery. I will see you there.”
“He is a good officer,” Merriam said to Will, as Lieutenant Hadley left to talk to the next group of men. “I have served with him since the beginning.” Will was on the verge of asking when that was, but the Sergeant was limping away from the fire toward the dark shapes of the cannons.
Will rode Big Red from the barn to the battery at Lechmere Point, feeling the heat of the horse’s body between his legs. He would have been more secure with stirrups and a saddle, but there was something more exhilarating about riding without. The mare, in her traces next to them, trotted placidly alongside. He tied his team to a tree and walked behind the battery. The cannons that were going up the Heights were easily distinguished by their oversized wheels, wrapped in cloth stuffed with straw. The wheels of the ones remaining behind had bare studded metal rims. The Albany, one other eighteen pounder and three twelve pounders were ready to move. Each carriage had two side boxes loaded with cannon balls and powder. They would add to the total weight, Will thought. Still he was confident Big Red and the mare could pull The Albany.
Although there was no need for silence at Lechmere Point, the gun crews spoke softly among themselves. At a hand signal from the gun commanders, the teamsters moved forward and hitched their teams to the cannons. The bombardment was about to commence. Will stood in the darkness next to the mare. He thought she needed him to calm her more than Big Red. Although he anticipated the sound of an explosion after hearing the command “Give Fire,” tonight Will jumped at the roar of the nearest howitzer. The mare tried to rear but he restrained her, holding tightly onto the reins. Big Red stood still, preventing her from moving sideways or forwards. Will heard the distant boom of the British counter-fire followed by the high whistle of the howitzer and mortar shots and the deeper noise of their heavier cannon. He imagined the scene of the night before, the flash of flames in the darkness forming an arc from the Neck to the side of Boston closest to Charlestown and beyond.
Lieutenant Hadley rode slowly down the line of waiting teamsters.
“All right, men. Saddle up and follow the lead cannon. Remember, no shouting to your teams, use the whip as little as possible, and silence. At all times silence. Our lives may depend upon it.”
Will was second in line. The well-traveled road to Cambridge was reasonably smooth. Even with the wheels covered in cloth, they rattled over the icy paved stone streets of Cambridge. At the Charles, Will saw that there were more teams pulling cannons ahead of them. These, he reasoned, must be from the batteries below Cambridge. They rumbled across the Charles River Bridge and on to the familiar road to Roxbury he had traveled so many times in the past week. Once through the town they turned left, the muffled sound of the many cannon wheels on the frozen ground drowned out by the thunderous cannonade from the American batteries below Roxbury.
They were parallel to the road from Roxbury to the Boston Neck. The British had heavily fortified the Neck. There were cannons in two redoubts outside the main fort across the road. On either side were floating batteries as well, large, flat-bottomed wooden platforms, with several guns and powder casks protected by planks and sandbags. The noise from their far more numerous cannons, concentrated at the very point where they were closest to the British lines at the Neck, helped to mask any sounds the gun carriages made. The real danger, Will realized, was if they were discovered at this point on the low Dorchester causeway before ascending the Heights. They were within easy cannon range of the British guns and less then a mile from the British sentries beyond the Neck. The caravan passed behind a screen of hay bales stuffed into the wooden frames. Will had seen them being constructed at the Roxbury assembly point. They had been dragged by teams of oxen and positioned before the cannons and the silently marching soldiers began their ascent.
A damp mist-like fog swept in from the flat ground beyond the salt marshes and enshrouded the beginning of the climb on the rockhard frozen dirt road to the top of the Heights, one hundred feet above. Will shivered in the clammy mist, although he was thankful for the poor visibility. As they climbed slowly higher, on the side of the road closest to the British lines, Will saw more of the wooden frames from the Roxbury assembly point. Higher up, the rolls of saplings lashed together, at least eight feet high, blocked them from the view of the British sentries below and also offered protection for the troops. Midway to the summit they passed hundreds of soldiers, toiling with pickaxes and shovels to construct a strong redoubt that jutted out from the road, anchoring the left flank of the lines. Will marveled at the silence. Hardly a man spoke. There were no shouted orders or cries of encouragement, just the constant booming of cannons and the closer noise of steady rhythmic digging and men’s feet marching toward the summit, all behind the pre-constructed screen of hay and saplings. Will hoped that if the British sentries below looked up at all during the thunderous cannonade, the wall would appear through the mist as simply the impenetrable darkness of a forest or rock outcropping.
At the top of Dorchester Heights, Will’s horses emerged from the thinning fog into bright moonlight. It seemed as if there were thousands of soldiers working feverishly to throw up fortifications on the two hills, secure the gun emplacements and establish defensive lines. Lieutenant Hadley pointed and Will maneuvered The Albany into position. Its brass muzzle overlooked the harbor which he couldn’t see in the darkness but knew was below.
Once he had tethered the horses, Will set to work with the gun crews and soldiers. They collected the pairs of wooden barrels, joined by the iron chains and filled them with the stones they had uncovered in preparing the parapets. When they ran out of stones, Will shoveled in frozen earth. The barrels were positioned in front of the parapets. When the British Regulars began their assault up the slope, the barrels would roll down on their tightly grouped disciplined ranks, maiming and killing many of them. Will helped build temporary shelters for the powder charges, moving large rocks to form a low wall, unloaded cannon balls from supply wagons and stacked them behind each gun emplacement.
Working steadily, Will lost all track of time. He was aware the bombardment from the guns at Roxbury, Lechmere Point and Cobble Hill had diminished, as had the British counter-fire. Outside of the occasional drunken shout from the town below, or the whinnying of a horse, there was complete silence. There were now twenty cannon in place on the Heights, with Boston and the British ships in the bay within range. The sky faintly began to lighten to the east beyond the harbor.
Will gathered with the gun crews at the edge of the Heights and watched dawn come to Boston. The day promised to be clear and reasonably mild. A few seagulls swooped low over the harbor, squawking raucously. He sniffed the tang of the salt air, borne by a light breeze from the east.
All along the Heights, soldiers weary from laboring through the night stared down at the occupied city. In the growing daylight, Will could make out rows of American troops to his left, standing behind low earthen works, fortifications of bundles of saplings, and hastily erected stonewalls. The eleven heavy guns of the Massachusetts Artillery were in the center of the line, all brass eighteen and twenty-four pounders. To his right, the temporary fortifications extended to the round knoll at the end of the Heights. Will guessed there were several regiments in line, perhaps as many as 2,000 men. Below them, in the flats leading up to the Heights, where the British troops would have to land to make their assault, Will could make out the movement of men in brown hiding behind trees and brush. They were riflemen, an advance line of skirmishers to harass the Regulars from a distance when they landed, or pick off their officers. He wondered whether they were Morgan’s or MacDowell’s men.
Where were the Marblehead Mariners? He was fairly certain the Mariners were not on the Heights.
A loud cheer went up from the men at the far right of the line. Will turned and saw a group of four officers on horseback, a Regiment lined up in parade before them. Even at that distance, he recognized General Washington on his white horse, two men in dark blue uniforms and the large, bulky figure of Colonel Knox. He heard another round of cheers and saw tri-corns thrown in the air before the band of officers rode on to the next closest Regiment. As they progressed closer down the line, Will could hear the regimental officers’ calls for three cheers for General Washington and the soldiers’ lusty response.
Sooner than he expected, the command troop was at the artillery batteries. Lieutenant Hadley ordered his men to parade rest. They lined up with the entire Massachusetts Regiment, their backs to Boston. Before them, General Washington sat on his horse, the two others, whom he guessed were Generals, flanking him slightly behind, and Colonel Knox further back, accompanied by the Regiment’s two Lieutenant Colonels. Will moved closer, standing off to the side of the soldiers lined up in ranks. Some hastily straightened their blue coats and white crossbelts. Others adjusted their tri-corns trying improve their appearance for their Commander.
“Men of the Massachusetts Artillery.” Washington paused, although he had every soldier’s attention. “Today is Tuesday, March fifth. It is the sixth anniversary of the Boston Massacre.” The General’s voice was deep but it didn’t carry. The men strained forward to listen. Washington’s words were more rounded and softer in accent than Will had become accustomed to hearing since arriving in Cambridge. “It is a fitting day to show the British how Massachusetts men avenge the murder of innocent unarmed civilians by regular troops. Your patience and fortitude during the long siege are now about to be rewarded. Our position is strong and becomes stronger every hour.” There was a rustling as the men closest to the Commander turned and repeated his words to the men behind, who in turn passed the message down the ranks.
Cannons for the Cause Page 20
