A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  In a way it would have been better had the slope been steeper. Then cables could be run from top to bottom and the guns hauled up the cables, as his men had hauled the guns up a small cliff the previous day. But this slope would not allow that, for any cables run must sag so much that the guns would be always on the earth.

  ‘What think you, Hayden?’ Moore asked, approaching the promontory upon which Hayden crouched.

  ‘There is,’ Hayden said pointing vaguely, ‘down to the left, a wide and very shallow gully. Do you see? Perhaps “gully” is not the proper description. It is the only place that is not clearly impassable – which is to say that it is only very likely to prove so. I will climb down and see what is to be seen.’ He turned to Moore. ‘Can it be managed without guns?’

  Moore looked very pensive. ‘You have seen the effects of grape at short range?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘Then you know – the loss of life would be very great, and even then I am not certain the French positions could be carried.’

  Hayden nodded. ‘Let me climb down. If it is within the borders of human strength and endurance, I will attempt it.’

  Moore made a little bow toward him. ‘Thank you, Captain. Lord Hood chose well in you. I will speak to the general.’

  Left on his own, Hayden scrambled across the slope and began to pick his way down. To his left and right the terrain was impossible. There was simply no way a 4000-pound gun could be borne over it. Men were not strong enough and the gun would present a grave danger should it slide.

  He climbed down the draw, tacking side to side, examining every foot of terrain. The gully itself was an extremely shallow trough, nearly thirty yards broad – and though green with sparse vegetation, no more impassable than any other part of Corsica that he had yet seen. Though Hayden could not put a name to the rock that formed these hills, it had clearly been eroded by the ages in such a way that it offered jagged edges and was everywhere coarse and abrading. For a moment he stopped and gazed back up the slope, and his heart despaired. ‘Blast these damned hills,’ he muttered. ‘Why do these army men insist on guns?’

  He resumed his descent, which even unencumbered was perilous, and he was forced, here and there to climb hand over hand. The vegetation was so hardy that he used it for hand-holds without the least worry of it giving way.

  When he reached the bottom, Hayden turned and stared again up the forbidding slope. Perhaps halfway down, Moore picked his way among the rocks, eyes focused on his footing. In a quarter of an hour he reached Hayden, who sat upon a rock, training his glass over the backs of the hills.

  ‘What think you, Captain?’ Moore asked as he reached the bottom. ‘Is it at all possible?’

  ‘I must be truthful with you, Colonel, I don’t believe it can be managed.’ Hayden removed his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘But I am willing to make the attempt, even if I am doubtful of its outcome.’

  Moore took a seat beside him, gazing up the hillside.

  ‘There is a reason the French did not occupy the hills,’ Hayden observed. ‘Nor did they build their fortifications to be protected from that quarter; they believed it to be beyond human endurance to carry guns to such heights.’

  Moore turned to Hayden with a look of utter sincerity. ‘I hope you can prove them wrong, Captain. It will save many lives among my men, for which I would be grateful beyond measure.’

  ‘I will tell you this, Moore, I know my men; they will break their backs before they will give it up.’

  Moore made another little bow of thanks in his direction. ‘Let us find Kochler. He believes there might be a second gun position – not so perfect as this for it is farther off, but of easier access.’

  ‘I should like to examine this slope once more. I expect it will reveal more of its impediments while I ascend than it did when I climbed down.’

  ‘I will come with you, and offer what counsel I can.’

  The climb was not more encouraging, every yard appearing more impassable than upon his first examination. By the time they reached the top, Hayden felt he had been too confident by far in his prediction. Only a miracle would see success.

  They set off along the ridge line in the wake of Kochler, who just could be seen in the distance, a red coat in the grey-dusty landscape.

  ‘This terrain is so rugged,’ Moore declared, ‘that moving men over it in a timely fashion will be one of our greatest obstacles. To mount a surprise attack while moving so slowly would be impossible.’

  ‘I have noticed the Corsicans do not suffer in this matter as we do,’ Hayden ventured, wondering even as he said it if it were true, or simply misperception.

  ‘I have observed the same,’ Moore agreed. ‘I must speak with them and have an explanation, for surely this would greatly aid our efforts.’

  They caught Kochler up at the jagged crest of a hill. He was staring down into the valley below, where a stream drained into a small slough, parted from the sea by a sandy beach.

  Moore pointed down the slope below. ‘This is almost a natural ramp beneath us.’

  Kochler nodded thoughtfully. ‘I thought the same.’ He turned and gazed off toward the fortifications around Fornali Bay. ‘Certainly we are not more than a thousand yards, and, with this height, in range of eighteen-pounders.’

  ‘Do you agree, Captain?’ Moore asked Hayden.

  It was difficult to be sure of the distance – Hayden was much better at estimating such things over water – but he thought Kochler’s measure quite close.

  ‘Yes, a thousand yards – not fewer.’

  Moore gazed back down at the slope below – a green triangle of vegetation angling steeply up from the slough; to the right a ridge, craggy and broken, taking the same attitude. ‘If guns could be hauled to this height, I don’t know where we would mount them, and this last section would be difficult to climb let alone bear guns over.’

  ‘The engineers would have to build up a platform, here.’ Kochler pointed. ‘Is this the Old Pivot?’ he asked, giving Dundas his nickname. He fixed his glass on a not too distant point.

  A company of Corsicans and British soldiers hurried along the very path where Hayden had borne the guns. It struck him how much more quickly they moved unburdened by cannon.

  Moore confirmed this was their commanding officer, and the three set out to intercept Dundas, who was no doubt coming, at Moore’s request. There was no easy or direct way down from this peak, so it was only the greatest good fortune that someone in Dundas’s party spotted them.

  An hour later they were toiling up the hills again, with Lieutenant-General David Dundas in tow. At nine and fifty, Dundas seemed a sorrowful and greying presence, mounting the hills slowly but without pause, until the top was reached. There, out of breath, he required a moment to recoup, then followed the others to the best vantage. Moore pointed out the changed situation around Fornali – the British battery adding punctuation in the background as the cannonading of the Mortella tower continued.

  Hayden thought the lieutenant-general looked ill, as he directed his glass to each salient or embrasure, and every battery in turn. After this catalogue was completed, Dundas stood staring down at the French positions, saying nothing, his two senior officers waiting for him to pass judgement. ‘Perhaps we can bombard them from the sea?’ he finally offered, with little conviction.

  ‘We agree with Captain Hayden that the batteries all are well fortified on their seaward side, and could withstand any number of broadsides, while nothing will impede the French from returning fire, to great effect. We saw what damage was inflicted on Fortitude and Juno but yesterday.’

  Dundas nodded – it had seemed a slim chance but he had, perhaps, been hoping his officers might simply defer to his opinion – something that Hayden suspected they were becoming less and less willing to do.

  ‘We have discovered two excellent positions on the heights where batteries could be advantageously erected,’ Moore offered.

  ‘And is there some roa
d I am unaware of by which you would carry your guns up to these positions, Colonel Moore?’

  ‘There is not, sir, but Captain Hayden believes it might be managed, all the same.’ Moore glanced Hayden’s way, clearly embarrassed at having misrepresented Hayden’s opinion so. There was no doubt in Hayden’s mind, however, that Dundas would never allow the attempt if he were not assured, perhaps repeatedly, of its success.

  Dundas continued to stare down upon the shore, where the tricolour shimmered in the soft breeze. Just as Hayden thought Moore should repeat himself – perhaps in the belief that Dundas had not heard – Dundas nodded. ‘Let us survey these positions, then.’

  For the second time that day they made their way along the line of hills, stopping at the first proposed battery. ‘Certainly it is an excellent situation,’ Dundas agreed, ‘but eighteen-pounders…’ He trailed off, clearly doubtful of the feasibility of the idea.

  They then showed the lieutenant-general the route proposed to carry the guns to the crest, which appeared to unnerve Dundas altogether. ‘Over the course of several campaigns I have witnessed attempts to bear guns to such eminences – many easier of access than this. Almost without exception these attempts ended in failure.’ He turned to his officers. ‘This is simply not possible, Moore… that is why the French have not occupied these hilltops. Guns cannot be raised here.’

  ‘Sir,’ Moore said reasonably, ‘you have seen the strengthened French positions for yourself. Storming them will cost many lives and success is by no means assured. Certainly we may fail to bring guns to these heights, but it will cost us nothing in lives and only very little time in delays to allow the Navy to make the attempt.’

  Dundas did not seem pleased by this, and turned to Kochler. ‘You have not offered your opinion, Major,’ Dundas observed, though this only seemed, to Hayden, merely an attempt to avoid making a decision.

  Kochler hesitated. Hayden thought he would agree with Dundas, for certainly the man had little faith in the Navy to accomplish this task.

  ‘It is my opinion that we should allow the Navy to attempt it,’ Kochler declared, ‘but success or failure of our enterprise shall be upon their heads. Admiral Lord Hood must be made to understand that.’

  Hayden’s surprise was quickly overwhelmed by resentment and chagrin. For a moment he even wondered if Moore had conspired with Kochler in this, but could not bring himself to believe it of the colonel. In a very real sense, Hayden had committed the Navy to this nearly impossible task, and the success of the operations in San Fiorenzo Bay would now depend upon him raising guns to the heights. Failing that, the army would claim the French positions could not be stormed without such batteries, and place all blame for failure upon the Navy – upon Hayden, in fact. Hood’s good opinion of him would be lost.

  Dundas brightened visibly upon hearing this. ‘If the Navy have agreed to take on this responsibility.’ But he could not, even then, bring himself to make the commitment.

  ‘Perhaps we might leave Captain Hayden to consider the possibilities here, and discuss the present circumstances among ourselves,’ Moore suggested.

  The army officers retreated back to Moore’s encampment, leaving Hayden to fume upon the heights. In frustration, he walked over to examine, again, the slope up which he had proposed to haul the guns. ‘Well, there it is,’ he muttered to himself. If he failed, all hopes that Hood might grant him a post ship would be lost. And then he wondered if he were becoming one of those men who put success in his career above all. What of Corsica and the hopes of Paoli? But the army had created a situation in which he must almost certainly fail, blasting all of their hopes – British and Corsican alike.

  ‘Damn you both,’ he whispered, Kochler and Dundas being the objects of this profanity. He walked slowly back to the encampment, hoping above all things that Dundas would not allow the attempt, all the while wondering if his new ‘friend’ had betrayed him most cunningly.

  Before he had begun the actual descent, the cannonade, which had gone on ceaselessly throughout the day, suddenly fell ominously silent. Walking back up a few steps, Hayden fixed his glass on the distant tower. A great feather of dense smoke swelled up into the hazy blue.

  ‘It is a tower of stone,’ he muttered. ‘How can it burn?’

  But there could be no other explanation for such quantities of smoke, and certainly the men within must surrender or suffocate. As he turned to proceed down the hill he was met by Moore hurrying up.

  ‘They have broken off firing,’ Moore stated, though it was half a question.

  ‘Yes,’ Hayden said testily, but then added in a more civil tone, ‘it seems the tower, or something within, has caught fire.’ Hayden indicated the smoke rising above the shoulder of the hill.

  ‘One would think the place was packed with straw!’ Moore observed. ‘I can’t imagine why it should burn so.’

  Hayden nodded agreement, his resentment rising.

  ‘I must tell you, Captain,’ Moore said, turning away from the sight and fixing his attention upon Hayden. ‘Kochler throwing all responsibility for the success or failure of our enterprise upon the Navy was as much a surprise to me as to you, and I do deplore it.’

  This was said with such utter sincerity that Hayden could not help but hope the man was telling the truth.

  ‘It was never my intention to commit the resources of His Majesty’s Navy to this endeavour,’ Hayden said; ‘only Lord Hood may do that. I meant merely to indicate my willingness to make the attempt. If Dundas represents my willingness as an offer, I shall be in a difficult position with my commanding officer.’

  ‘I will speak with the general and represent your situation to him most adamantly. It is utterly unfair to place the entire success of our enterprise upon your shoulders; we must bear it all together.’

  ‘Thank you, Moore.’

  Sixteen

  Two days were wasted as Dundas attempted to decide upon a course of action. In frustration, Moore wrote him a letter again begging that Dundas allow him to attempt to move the necessary guns up to the heights, and the general finally relented and gave his permission. Whether Hood had been informed of this, Hayden knew not, and as he had no directions from that quarter he accepted the task of moving the guns, as his previous orders had been to give all support and aid to the army in this enterprise. He was not, however, pleased with the prospect, and not at all because of the difficulty.

  There was, now, one advantage that had not existed formerly – the guns could be landed on a beach much nearer to their final objective. This was made possible by the fall of the tower on Mortella point, the guns of which had previously traversed the beach to its south. The landing would have to be made by night, as the batteries at Fornali were near enough that they could lob shot down onto the beach, but once the guns were moved inland fewer than a hundred yards they would be completely sheltered from any fire the enemy could mount.

  Four eighteen-pounders, one ten-inch mortar and a single eight-inch howitzer were shifted into boats from a ship by day and readied for their journey ashore. Once this had been accomplished, Hayden made a visit to the stone tower on Mortella Point. An aide of General Dundas’s was there drawing a plan of the fort and taking careful measurements. He showed Hayden why the tower had smoked so magnificently – the parapet had been lined to a depth of five feet with bass junk which had caught fire when the British had thrown heated shot into it. The tower itself mounted but a single gun, and contained a small furnace for heating shot. The walls were thick – perhaps fourteen feet, and there was but a single small entry high up in the wall. Its weakness had been its inability to fire in any direction but out to sea and towards the nearby beaches. The battery erected inland had been able to prosecute its cannonade with impunity. ‘It seems an excellent design for shore defences,’ Hayden observed. ‘Did the Corsicans erect it?’

  ‘I don’t believe they did. But whether it was the Genoese or some other I cannot say.’

  As the day drew to a close, Hayden put off for th
e ship, from which the guns had been shifted, and as soon as darkness was deemed complete returned with them to shore. The beach was the very same one Kochler and Moore had been speculating about from the heights – backed by a small freshwater lagoon. Hayden’s intention was to land the guns in the usual manner – using tripods – drag them on sleds across the beach, pull the boats across, load the guns back into the boats, and then ferry them over the lagoon. They would then be landed in two separate locations: two eighteen-pounders and the ten-inch mortar would be dragged up the ramp to the nearest position; the eight-inch howitzer and two eighteen-pounders would be transported down the valley, following the path Hayden had previously employed, and then moved to the crest directly behind the Convention Redoubt. It all sounded rather easy if stated quickly.

  The boats lumbered heavily through the water, thin starlight offering the most meagre illumination. Each eighteen-pounder equalled the weight of twenty-five men, so the boats with their crews and a single gun, sat low in the water. The carriages were borne in their own boats, so that a small flotilla was needed to carry all the artillery, shot and powder. A dark, ragged line that blotted out the stars marked the crest of the hills. In this poor light they seemed much higher than Hayden remembered, as though only darkness revealed their true stature.

  The boats landed silently, the beach having been occupied previously by the Corsican militia and a company of Royals. Erecting tripods was the work of a few minutes, though slinging out the guns took longer. Before the guns could be lifted, the crack of musket fire sounded above, and lead balls began thumping into the sand. A man standing near to Hayden was struck in the calf and collapsed onto the sand, howling.

  ‘Douse torches and lamps!’ Hayden called out, forcing himself to hold his place and stand tall in the centre of scrambling men.