War 1812 (8 page)

“Here they come,” someone shouted from the wall.

It appeared that with the foreboding thunderstorm, General Proctor’s patience had run out.

For what we are about to receive, let us be grateful,
Jonah thought as Moses ran for their weapons.

Chapter Eight

T
hey are attacking from
the northwest and south,” Croghan shouted as he approached his officers after making a hurried reconnoiter of the fort’s walls. “Captain Hunter, take fifty men and go to the southern wall. Keep down until the redcoats are out of the woods in plain sight, and then give ’em hell. I will stay here, as I’m convinced this will be their main point of attack.”

As Hunter turned to do as bid, Croghan placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and called him by name. “James, keep your head down.” The two men shook hands then Hunter rushed off. Suddenly, the ground shook and the roar of the enemy’s guns was deafening.

“They’ve fired all their guns at once,” Gesslin volunteered.

Within a minute, another round was fired. Balls crashed into the palisade wall, the block-house, and some even landed on the parade ground. Surprisingly, Jonah didn’t see any casualties but the smoke from the cannons and howitzers was being carried toward them by the wind. Several men were already wiping their eyes, while others coughed from the smoke and the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Behind the smoke, the British made their move.

Seeing the distant advance, Croghan called to Sergeant Benson, “Who’s your best gunner?”

“That would be Private Brown with the Petersburg volunteers, Major.”

“Very well then, Sergeant. Since Private Brown is so skilled in gunnery, put him and his fellows in charge of the six-pounder.”

“Will do, Major.”

Within a few minutes, Private Brown was at Croghan’s side. A quick salute was given and the private said, “Major, I need a good supply of rifle balls.”

“Rifle balls?” Croghan asked, dismayed at the private’s request.

“Yes sir. If we are to fire on troops, they will be a lot better than the six-pound balls. It will be like the navy firing canister or grape.”

As Croghan hesitated, the private spoke again in a hurried voice. “Sir, it will be more like a shotgun than a musket.”

Understanding, Croghan said, “Get what you need from the magazine.”

Brown rushed off as the British guns fired again. The smoke was now so dense the fort’s defenders hunkered down on the ramparts to seek some protection for their eyes.

It was Moses, with a wet rag tied over his nose and hat pulled low, who peeked over the wall and bellowed, “It’s the British. They are on us.” Looking at his friend, Moses held out his hand. Jonah grasped it firmly. No words were spoken, none were needed.

The British had made it to within twenty paces of the fort before they were noticed. They were in two columns, each led by a British officer.

“I don’t see any Indians,” Jonah said.

“Probably attacking the other wall,” Croghan coughed his reply. As the British grenadiers closed to fifteen paces, he ordered, “Open fire.”

Every man inside the fort had been at his post. Their guns were primed and loaded. Each of these Kentuckians was known as sharpshooters. When the order to fire came, they rose from their cover and poured an intense shower of balls with such fatal precision that the British line broke as it was thrown into a mad confusion. While reloading his long rifle, Jonah could hear the British officers snapping orders and encouragement. The retreat faltered then the soldiers rallied. On the other side of the fort the sound of a pitched battle was heard. The sound of men shouting and cursing rose above the din of battle.

Hopefully, Captain Hunter and his men would be able to keep the British at bay. So far only the northwestern corner and the southern walls were being attacked. Croghan had put sixteen men on the eastern and western walls should they be attacked. That few men would not be able to hold off any sizable force, but they could hold off the enemy until reinforcements could be sent to help out.

The British now had axe-men working on the stakes driven into the ground of the embankment. It was hard not to admire the bravery of the soldiers as they hacked a path through the obstacles and under the constant fire of the fort’s defenders.

One of the British officers, a colonel, was at the head of his gallant party. “Cut away the pickets, my brave lads,” he yelled. “Show the damned Yankees no quarter.”

The men now had a path opened up and they jumped into the ditch, which was muddy after the recent storms. They only had to make it up the steep side of the ditch to be at the fort’s wall.
That would still be difficult,
Jonah realized, as in their haste the British had not thought to bring scaling ladders. As the number of British making their way into the ditch increased, Jonah wondered how much longer they would be able to hold off the British assault.

In the block-house, Brown and his men had loaded the six-pounder with rifle balls. He depressed the barrel so that it could fire into the ditch. He then ordered the cannons port to be opened and fired. The gun spoke with a devastating effect. Slugs and rifle balls poured into the attackers like a swarm of deadly bees. The destructive havoc was instantly recognized, but the British mounted a second assault.

Wiping the grime and smoke from his face, Gesslin shouted to be heard. “They don’t know the word quit, do they?”

The riflemen kept up their rapid fire with such accuracy that redcoats fell in increasing numbers. How long would it be before the adrenaline gave out and the defenders would be too tired to continue? The second column of the storming party met with another volley from the six-pounder. The aftermath of the deadly discharge was sickening as Jonah peered down. The entire second column was down; most appeared dead including the two officers.
Could the British commander not see the carnage,
Jonah wondered.

Several from the forty-first regiment were climbing up the embankment in retreat. Some of the fort’s sharpshooters continued to fire until Major Croghan roared out the order to cease fire. Jonah couldn’t count the bodies as dead lay on top of fallen comrades. At least twenty-five had fallen with the last blast by the six-pounder.

The din of battle still filled the air on the other side of the fort, so Croghan dispatched another fifty men to assist those men. With the reinforcement, the British were assailed with such an onslaught of hot lead that the British officer broke off the attack and the redcoats fled for the protective shelter of the woods.

“It’s over,” Moses said as he handed a canteen to Jonah, who took a deep pull of the warm water. His mouth was dry and he had not realized how thirsty he had gotten.

“Lieutenant Shipp,” Croghan called.

“Yes sir.”

“Secure the men from their post except for a few sentries then assemble the men. Let me know what the cost has been.”

Jonah knew the major was asking how many had been killed. It seemed like the attack had gone on forever but seeing the sun starting to set, Jonah looked at his watch and was amazed. The battle had only lasted about thirty minutes, though it seemed much longer.

Lieutenant Shipp returned in a few minutes and reported, “One dead, Major, and seven with minor wounds.”

“Thank God,” Croghan answered. “We have repulsed a major assault from two quarters with only one man dead and a few wounded.”

“It was the last blast of the six-pounder that ended the contest,” Shipp said. “That took the life out of them.”

“I wonder where the Indians were,” Gesslin said.

“The red devils apparently deserted the British. Had they participated the outcome may have been different.”

“Possibly,” Croghan admitted. “But I think not.”

The dark storm clouds in the west passed northward as the rays from the setting sun beamed down.

“What splendor,” Moses said, more articulate than usual.

A gentle breeze from the southwest swept the lingering fog of battle smoke away toward the forest.

“It’s the Sabbath,” Moses said.

“That’s true,” Croghan said.

As the twilight came, the major addressed his gallant little band with eloquent words of praise; he then said a prayer of grateful thanksgiving. Beyond the walls, the groans of the wounded British could be heard.

“We were truly blessed,” Moses said as he made his way to the rampart.

“What are you going to do?” Jonah asked.

“See if I can help the wounded,” Moses replied. Filling a bucket of water from a fire barrel, he tied a rope around the handle and lowered it over the wall.

Darkness fell and during the night many of the British dead were removed. All during the following morning, the wounded British were brought into the fort’s small hospital and their wounds tended as best the small medical staff could. By noon, scouts were sent out and they soon returned stating the British had pulled out leaving one of the gunboats loaded down with military supplies. These were brought into the fort.

Jonah then approached Croghan and advised him that he and Gesslin were going to head back to General Harrison’s camp. Croghan wrote a hurried report to the general and then thanked the men for their efforts.

“Hopefully we’ll see each other soon,” Croghan said as he shook each of the men’s hands.

“Hopefully it will be under more pleasant circumstances,” Jonah said.

This brought a smile from Croghan. “Hopefully,” he said. “… hopefully.”

Chapter Nine

A
definite chill was in
the air as dawn made its way over the thick forest, and the sky changed from dark to a hazy gray. The bright yellow, brown and red leaves that held to the limbs of the hardwood trees were still black as the sun hadn’t risen to the point the individual colors were distinguishable.

The sentry guarding the main entrance to Camp Seneca had his cloak pulled close about him. Gloved hands were still cold, made even more so by the chill of the steel musket barrel gripped so firmly in his hands. His nose was red and raw where a sleeve was used to wipe away the constant drip from a runny nose. Little clouds were created each time the man exhaled. The sentry was miserable… miserable and dangerous. It would not do for some sergeant to try to sneak up on him as he’d likely get a lead ball in his gut for breakfast. It would have been nice if the sentry had been allowed a fire, but this was denied by the general as it would point out the sentry’s location.

However, any Indian who had made twelve summers would have had no problem locating the sentry. With all the stomping around, rubbing and clapping hands together to keep warm, the sentry may just as well have lit a fire. The only reason he had not lost his hair was the Indians were meeting their general.

Tecumseh was arguing with British General Procter about his failure to bring the Americans to a battle. He knew if the British didn’t stand and fight, the tribes in the Confederation would lose the protection for their lands, which the British had promised if they would become their allies. Sensing the need to push Proctor into making a stand, Tecumseh faced Proctor and tried to force him into action by shaming him. “We must compare our father’s conduct to a fat animal that carries its tail upon its back; but when afraid, it drops it between its legs and runs off.”

Once the conversation was complete, Tecumseh realized Proctor could not be pushed and would not do battle on anything but his own terms. Therefore, when the sergeant came around with a private to relieve the miserable half-frozen sentry, he was still alive. Not because of any alertness on his part but because of the lethargy of British General Proctor.

Jonah and his group made their way into camp as the sun made its way over the trees. The sentry recognizing the group motioned them forward without calling for the sergeant of the guard. After unsaddling their horses, Captain Clay Gesslin shook hands with Jonah and Moses, stating he’d look up Colonel Johnson and report in. Jonah was tempted to make his way to the officer’s mess tent and break his fast but decided to report to General Harrison first. He was sure a hot cup of coffee would be offered. Moses took the bedrolls to their tent and made his way to the mess tent. The two would meet back at their campsite later.