A Battle Won

by Sean Thomas Russell

  The instant it grew light enough to walk without a torch, Hayden left this task to his lieutenant and bosun, and set out for the hillside where Wickham wrestled with his guns. He knew the quickest path now, and even his Corsican bodyguard hurried to keep up. Along the way he saw Moore and several companies of the 51st on a hillside, a scattering of red petals against the dusty green. Having studied the way the Corsicans moved so easily through the countryside, the colonel was accustoming his men to do the same. Hayden was certain he had never met with an officer so diligent and thorough.

  As the eastern sky brightened, Hayden emerged at the top of the slope to find Wickham and his fellow lieutenant, not a hundred feet below, deep in conversation. With aching thighs absorbing each long step down, Hayden made his way to them, Wickham calling out and waving as he was perceived.

  ‘It is as we thought, Captain Hayden,’ Wickham explained as Hayden reached them. ‘The slope is such that we cannot run the guns up a rope on a block. The rope will stretch too much to allow it.’ Wickham stared up at the jagged slope above. ‘The longest sheer legs that we can manage do not extend far enough to raise a gun lying at the cliff’s base; it is too distant.’

  Hayden gazed at the cliff as well. ‘We will have to raise the guns as we do when unshipping them, Mr Wickham, rigged just so, then we will fasten a tackle to the ring, with the other end made fast to a convenient rock – there are enough about – and we will lift it little by little, taking up on the one and paying out the other.’ Hayden turned to the lieutenant. ‘Will that not answer?’

  ‘It might be made to work, sir. I have never seen a gun raised so far in this manner, but I can’t think of any reason it should not work, if everyone keeps their wits about them.’

  ‘Then let us keep our wits about us. Send the carriages up first. That will accustom everyone to their part without the weight. Do not allow the carriages to be dashed against the stone; we should lose much time bearing others up from the ships.’

  Hayden left them to carry up spars for sheer legs, and set off back the way he had come.

  The rope had not formed its great ‘N’ upon the slope when Hayden arrived, but had very nearly made a ‘V’, leaving only the fall yet to be run.

  Hayden observed Lieutenant-Colonel John Moore loitering about, speaking with some of the men, but when he saw Hayden he started immediately to intercept him. He seemed always rather sanguine, to Hayden – absorbed by preparations for the coming battle, but never apprehensive. From all that he had said, Hayden suspected his only fear was that he might commit some error of judgement that would cause a British loss or unnecessary deaths. If any man had been born to achieve the status of hero, it was John Moore.

  Hayden harboured a similar fear – fear of failure, in Hayden’s case – but the idea of his own death always whispered in his mind, and had to be suppressed actively lest it hinder him from performing his duties. At such times, Hayden’s faithless stomach would choose to announce itself, sometimes protesting so stridently that others must hear. No small cause of embarrassment, especially upon the quarterdeck.

  Moore waved a hand at Hayden as he approached, and the Navy man walked over to meet him, allowing them a degree of privacy.

  ‘Your guns are ready to ascend, I see,’ Moore called.

  ‘If Corsica will suffer them to do so,’ was Hayden’s response. Until the guns were mounted upon the crest and trained down onto the Convention Redoubt he would take nothing for granted.

  ‘Corsica is as anxious to be rid of the French as are the Corsicans,’ Moore assured him. ‘She will allow it.’

  ‘For a country so eager to be rid of the French, she has been uncommonly froward, but perhaps we have had to prove ourselves worthy.’

  ‘Let us hope we do not all need to prove ourselves worthy,’ Moore replied. He glanced up at the gathering of army officers above, who appeared to be measuring the progress of the guns with uncommon interest. ‘I have been informed, Captain Hayden, that one of your officers…’ He hesitated. ‘One of your officers has been speaking to men of the army and giving you a bad character these last days.’

  ‘Ransome.’

  ‘You know of it then? I cannot imagine what the man is thinking. No matter what has transpired between you –’

  ‘Nothing has transpired between us. I only met the man for the first time last evening.’

  Moore looked confused. ‘Then this seems very odd…’

  ‘Have you also been informed, that after Ransome has spoken to your officers, and created no little resentment towards this arrogant Navy captain who believes he can carry guns to the hilltops where the army could not, that a second man from my ship then happens along and induces your officers into wagering that I will fail – at odds, I am given to understand.’

  ‘So that is the explanation.’ Moore shook his head in near disbelief. ‘And this man, Ransome, goes about blasting your character for his own profit!’

  ‘Yes, and he is the lieutenant Lord Hood assigned to my ship after we had left for Corsica.’

  Moore kicked a small pebble aside, still shaking his head, clearly incredulous. ‘How do you intend dealing with this matter?’

  ‘I have been uncertain, since first learning of it last night, but now I have fixed upon a plan. Might I ask you the great favour of attending a brief meeting with Ransome and his confederate in this scheme?’

  ‘Yes, certainly. And what, precisely, will be my part?’

  ‘If you could stand by and look stern and disapproving I believe that will answer nicely.’

  Moore smiled. ‘I have understudied officers who mastered every aspect of stern and disapproving. You may count on me in this regard.’

  ‘Excellent. I shall send one of the hands off with a note asking that these two gentlemen attend me ashore. Could you meet me in two hours at the other guns?’

  ‘I shall not be late.’

  A few moments later Hayden sent a man running off with a note, and then turned his attention to hauling the guns up to the crest. Over the course of an hour his considerable anger over the gambling scheme was subsumed in solving the problems that faced him, but once he had set off to see to Wickham’s guns and confront Ransome and Barthe, he found his choler rising with every step.

  He reached the slope where Wickham laboured over his two eighteen-pounders and solitary mortar and found them preparing to raise the second gun carriage. Barthe and Ransome were conversing amiably with Wickham, when they spotted Hayden and Moore converging on them from slightly different angles but apparently about to reach them simultaneously, or nearly so. Barthe looked a bit sheepish, which actually pleased Hayden a little. Ransome, however, hid all signs that he felt anything but utter ease.

  Hayden greeted Wickham perfunctorily, promising to watch the raising of the carriage as soon as he had a word with Barthe and Ransome. Moore followed silently along, playing his part perfectly.

  ‘Mr Ransome,’ Hayden began as soon as they were out of earshot of any other, ‘I am very disappointed to learn that you have been maligning my character among the officers of Colonel Moore’s companies –’

  ‘Sir –’ Ransome immediately protested.

  Hayden raised a hand to silence him. ‘I do not wish to ask Colonel Moore to produce the officers in question, but I have had your words liberally quoted to me and wish to hear them no more.’ Not allowing Ransome to respond, Hayden turned to Barthe, whose complexion had risen to match the colour of his hair. ‘And you, Mr Barthe, have been benefiting from the resentment caused by Mr Ransome to induce Colonel Moore’s officers into wagering… that I will fail in my attempt to raise guns to the hilltops!’

  ‘But, Captain Hayden –’ Ransome began to protest.

  ‘It is true,’ Barthe interrupted, silencing Ransome, who blinked as though he had been struck and left staggering. ‘And I am heartily ashamed for my part in it… which I entered into of my own choosing. No one else bears any blame.’

  ‘I expect all monies to be returned to Colonel
Moore’s officers by tomorrow afternoon, at the express orders of Colonel Moore and myself. All wagers are suspended.’ Hayden looked from one chastened man to the other. Barthe was clearly ashamed, just as he had said. Ransome, however, appeared merely chagrined, perhaps suppressing anger. But contrite he was not.

  ‘After all your years in the service, Mr Barthe, you should certainly have known better. And you, Mr Ransome… how do you intend to punish members of the crew for gambling – a vice you are overly familiar with yourself?’

  ‘I am certain the crew know nothing of it, sir,’ Ransome spoke up.

  ‘And I am equally certain that you are even more naive than you are corrupt. Lord Hood assured me you were a promising young officer. What will he think, now?’

  This finally appeared to drive home the seriousness of the offence – Lord Hood would learn of it, the very man upon whom he was dependent for his future in the Navy.

  ‘You may both return to the Themis and collect the monies to be returned. That is all.’

  Master and lieutenant slunk off down the slope, leaving Hayden and Moore gazing after them.

  Moore nodded towards Ransome. ‘You had best watch that one,’ he pronounced quietly.

  ‘Indeed. I cannot tell you how often I have seen cunning and foolishness commingled in the same character. The scheme was almost admirably sly, even if the outcome uncertain. But how does he now govern men when he has broken the law he is to enforce?’

  ‘And to go about maligning his own commanding officer in the bargain… Such a blockhead should not be able to pass for lieutenant.’

  ‘I wonder if Lord Hood has any idea what kind of man he has sent me?’

  The two remained a moment more, and then walked back to the men preparing to raise the gun carriage. The lieutenant in charge had seamen manning the tackle slung from the sheer legs positioned on the ridge-top. A second company manned the tackle fastened to the carriage’s stern. The two companies had to both work together and oppose each other, the upper tackle raising the carriage, the lower pulling back enough to keep the carriage clear of the rocky bluff while at the same time paying out to allow the carriage to rise. It was a delicate dance and proceeded in jerky fashion, the lieutenant giving each party orders to haul or belay in turn. It was only by a helping of good fortune that the carriage managed to avoid disaster and alight at the top, where it was rolled clear by a dozen men hauling and pushing.

  The young lieutenant did not look pleased by the effort, or was perhaps a little discomfited before Hayden and Moore. Hayden did not want to increase this embarrassment but was truly concerned that a gun raised in such a manner would suffer some damage, so decided he would step in.

  ‘Handsomely done, Lieutenant,’ he offered. ‘Let us rest these men and put others in their places.’ Before the lieutenant could climb down from where he had perched himself, halfway up the rocky spine, Hayden ordered the men to fall out, and began pointing to men to take their places. The lieutenant had used well-formed young men for this task, but Hayden selected a preponderance of older seamen, and a smaller number of strong youths. These old hands – the man-of-war’s men – had slung guns aboard ships or lowered them into boats hundreds of times and would know their business.

  The first eighteen-pounder had been rigged to be raised, trussed up ready to be slung from a single eye. It took a few moments for the hands to climb up to the base of the sheers, but once they had reached the top, Hayden called out, ‘Man the falls…! Haul taut…! Hoist away!’ The gun shifted in place. ‘Walk!’

  To the men on the tail-tackle Hayden cautioned, ‘Hold it taut. Now ease away slowly.’

  The experienced hands gauged just how quickly to ease their fall so that the gun went aloft but remained clear of the rocks. Hayden hardly said a word to them. As the gun raised higher the pull on the tail-tackle increased, and Hayden ordered more hands to man the fall. An orderly row of strong men, feet planted and leaning back with all their weight. If the rope parted they would all be thrown in a heap, Hayden realized.

  The gun went aloft in a slow, smooth arc, the four-sheave block creaking and the line bar-tight. The two spars forming the large, inverted ‘V’ of the sheer legs bent only just perceptibly. The sheer-legs were also controlled by a purchase run back at a precise angle to a massive rock behind so that the sheers leaned out from the vertical.

  Hayden moved a little up the slope to where he could gauge the gun’s height more accurately. ‘High enough!’ he called as the gun passed over the edge of the ridge.

  ‘Ease the tail-tackle… More yet… Enough!’ Hayden crossed a little to his right to be more easily heard. ‘Roll the carriage under her, if you please, Mr Wickham.’

  The gun carriage was positioned, shifted a little to one side using bars and brute strength.

  ‘Lower away on the winding tackle!’ Hayden ordered. The gun inched down as the men walked slowly forward, Mr Wickham motioning with a hand.

  ‘Mr Wickham, I am going to ease away on the tail-tackle so that you can align the gun and carriage. Be wary, now.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Hayden ordered the tail-tackle eased and the gun was steadied by several experienced hands, all of whom kept themselves out of danger as best they could.

  ‘Mr Wickham, order those others to stand clear. They have no business there.’ Hayden did not like to see too many men crowded near the gun which, if the rope parted, would fall and cause grievous injury. Best to give a small number of men involved room to jump clear.

  ‘Avast lowering!’ Wickham called suddenly. ‘My apologies, Captain,’ he called down to Hayden. ‘We have to shift the carriage but a little.’

  ‘Proceed, Mr Wickham. I shall allow you to give the order to ease away.’

  The carriage was quickly shifted again, the gun hanging but two feet above. Wickham ordered the fall eased, ‘slowly, slowly’ until it seated in the carriage. The acting lieutenant took off his hat and waved it as though an enemy ship had struck her colours. The men all cheered.

  ‘Where are the bastards who claimed it could not be managed?’ a man called out to more cheering. Hayden wondered what the French would make of this.

  ‘We’ve two more guns to raise,’ the lieutenant called.

  ‘I will leave you to it, Lieutenant,’ Hayden said. ‘You seem to have it well in hand.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Shall I rest these men and employ others in their place?’

  ‘Rest them, certainly, but I would employ the same men. They appear to know their business.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ The young officer took Hayden’s point.

  Moore intercepted Hayden and shook his hand, a great smile spreading over his handsome face. ‘Well done, Captain! You have saved uncounted British lives with that act alone.’

  ‘ “Alone” is not how it was achieved.’ Hayden waved his hand to encompass all the sailors. ‘These men have put both hearts and backs into it, Colonel. No few have sustained hurts, both great and small.’

  ‘And my own men owe them a debt of thanks that I shall endeavour to make clear to them. We shall demonstrate our gratitude by performing our part – driving the French from their batteries and redoubts.’

  The walk back to his company seemed, somehow, easier, the exhaustion Hayden suffered, if not lifted, surprisingly diminished. What would Kochler have to say now, Hayden wondered. His zeal to raise guns to the second battery was renewed.

  As he descended to the floor of the narrow valley, Hayden was met by a party of Corsicans, all under arms, of course, and a few mounted on mules. It was among the latter that Hayden found, to his surprise, General Paoli, smiling at him in a manner both charming and amiable.

  ‘Captain Hayden,’ he called out, ‘we heard a great British ‘huzza!’ which I hope indicates you have succeeded in bearing a gun up to the hilltop?’

  ‘It signified that precise event, General,’ Hayden reported, happily. ‘We now have an eighteen-pounder staring down at the French in their redoubt, which I believe will gi
ve them pause to reflect upon their continued presence on your beautiful island.’

  Paoli laughed. ‘Never for a moment did the French think this feat might be accomplished, and I must tell you, Captain, that my own people were of the same opinion. “Never underestimate the English.” I have said it many times and shall certainly have cause to repeat it again. Nobly done, Captain. Nobly done!’

  The old Corsican’s bodyguard parted before Hayden, creating a small channel to the general. Paoli beamed down at him.

  ‘Do not let me keep you from your duties, Captain Hayden. But if you have no objections I shall observe your method of accomplishing this, for in Corsica we have many hills and one never can know when a gun might need to be so raised again. Perhaps later we might share a meal or at least some wine?’

  Hayden agreed that this would be most welcome, and carried on his way. Pleasing the old general, he realized, was more gratifying than he had foreseen. There was, about Paoli, some air or presence that made one wish to do this. Captain Bourne, one of Hayden’s former commanders, had been the same. Men threw themselves into the most dangerous situations hoping to gain his notice and approbation. And yet, how either man accomplished this, Hayden could not say.

  When he came within sight of his own party, Hayden observed a large gathering of army men just below the crest. From this outlook they surveyed the progress of the guns and spoke among themselves.

  Immediately Hayden wondered if these were some of the men Barthe and Ransome had beguiled into wagering against them, and among whom Ransome had been attempting to lower his reputation for no reason but personal gain, a thought that vexed Hayden more than a little. He attempted to put this aside to focus his mind on the task required but found his thoughts straying back to Ransome at odd moments, and he would be piqued yet again. The day wore on, unseasonably warm, only a simple breeze from the sou’west – hardly enough to stir a sailor’s desire.