Ram; being the tale of one Ramillies Anstruther, 1704-55 .. (63 page)

"Fourteen craft ye say, sir?" Peg-Leg grunted from the wheel. "And us only four. Long odds, but we've knowed worse, hey. Colonel?"

"Only three, till we catch up," Ram corrected, his blood surging. "In God's name, cram on more sail, lest we're too late!"

He went into the waist, putting a Creek with each gun crew. Though unskilled, they could help the seamen with the tackles and to run out the pieces after reloading. He posted his rangers as marksmen or to repel boarders should the fighting be close.

A distant gun boomed: Oglethorpe's scout boat, far in the lead, had engaged the enemy! As gunfire increased. Ram went forward and peered through his glass. Several half-galleys were entering Cumberland Sound from seaward and attacking Oglethorpe's boats.

'Yellow-bellied bastard!" he raged incredulously, for Tolson had turned toward the mainland and was rowing into a creek's mouth. Ram shouted for Peg-Leg to turn a point to starboard and, as the schooner began to swing, snatched the glowing match from the bow chaser's gunner. A trifle more . . . Now! He touched the match to the vent and the nine-pound ball raised a splash alongside Tolson's craft.

"That'll lam 'em!" the gunner grinned, taking back his match while his crew began swabbing out the piece. "What's come over them soldiers? Skeered to follow the general?"

"I've a mind to sink the bastards!" Ram snarled. But now Oglethorpe's boats and their attackers were hidden in a solid bank of gunsmoke; so he hurried aft. "More sail! If the general's lost, all's lost!"

Peg-Leg worked the Lass to leeward, then bore around. A ball whooshed through the rigging, another sent up a waterspout to starboard. Then she drove full into the flash-lighted smoke and almost at once a high-sided hull loomed ahead. Peg-Leg spun the wheel hard and the schooner answered, so that she swung parallel with the enemy, with scant feet to spare.

"Fire!" Ram yelled, and the five starboard guns belched. At so close a range the shots must have struck hard and low, but there was no chance to observe through the thick pall, and both vessels continued on their way. The schooner's bowsprit, however, struck the next Spaniard on the larboard side and drove like an arrow into a gun port, where it snapped off. Ram knew his starboard battery could only bear obliquely, but ordered it to fire. It was answered instantly by heavier metal. Men near him were smashed down and a gun was ripped from its truck and crushed a Creek's legs.

In the few chaotic moments while Peg-Leg was trying to free his broken bowsprit. Ram ordered his rangers to shoot any "Double-damn'd Don" who showed himself. Then something landed on the deck near him and exploded with a blinding flash, knocking him down.

He lay stunned, powder smoke filling his lungs. He could feel no wound, yet had no strength to rise. A vagrant breeze parted the smoke cloud and he saw the afterdeck of the enemy towering above. Men were peering over its rail, their arms raised to toss more grenades.

His gaze riveted upon one Spaniard's face and, as if goad-pricked, he sprang up, drawing a pistol.

"Del Lagol"

Briefly they stared into each other's eyes. Ram fired and the baron disappeared, only, however, to reappear with a musket. Ram raced toward the bows, praying the vessels were still locked. But already the Lass had drifted free.

He screamed futile curses. Yet when sanity returned, he knew only a terrible elation. He's back! We'll meet again!

Abruptly the schooner was in bright sunlight. She had sailed clean

through the whole Spanish squadron, and ahead lay Oglethorpe's boats. Joining forces, they sought an inlet and counted losses: the general's had been miraculously few. But aboard the Lass two gun crews were wiped out, the injured Creek was dead and two rangers wounded; while she herself was holed between wind and water, her canvas torn, her rigging cut, and she needed an entire new bowsprit.

Leaving Peg-Leg to effect repairs. Ram took his rangers and Creeks ashore to Oglethorpe, who sent some off to observe the squadron's further movements and ordered the rest to help Fort St. Andrew's garrison evacuate guns and stores and concentrate all at Fort William, in readiness for further attacks.

Later, a ranger reported the Spaniards were returning southward, but hugging the mainland to avoid the forts' guns. Ram watched the vessels drawing level. Three were low in the water, obviously hard hit, and a fourth showed damage to spars and rigging.

You Irish cutthroat, don't escape me by drowning! Ram prayed.

But none had sunk when the squadron disappeared from sight.

Next morning, the British craft sailed back to Frederica, where they were greeted as if from the grave. For Tolson, after hiding in the creek during the whole action, had brought back the tale that he'd seen the general's scout boat sunk by broadsides from every enemy vessel, as had been the other boat and the Lass.

"Save I've sympathy for his poor wife, I'd have him shot!" Oglethorpe exploded. "But court-martial and cashier him I will!"

As stunned as Major Heron and the rest. Ram expostulated; "Were he my own brother, I'd shoot him. He's a King's officer, yet I've small boys at Shoreacres who shame him in courage."

"Perhaps they'll need to," was the heavy reply. "This was but a reconnaissance. If our warships don't arrive soon, we're like to face a great armada alone, and if we're beat the Spaniards have nothing to stop 'em until Charles Town and beyond."

On July 5, the main Spanish fleet, thirty-six strong, entered St. Simon's Sound. The Lass, the commandeered merchantman Success, the guard sloops and the shore batteries punished the invaders heavily; but, numbers telling, the armada passed on into the south mouth of the Altamaha. Now bypassed, Oglethorpe ordered his battered vessels off by seaward to Charles Town for repairs, spiked

the land guns and withdrew the garrison of St. Simon's Fort, which enemy troops occupied.

Ram, with his own rangers, the Highland rangers and foot company, and Toonahowi's Yamacraws, covered the retreat north, though constantly striking back at the Timucuas and Yamasees of the enemy's vanguard.

And now, early on the seventh, Oglethorpe, back at Frederica, sent word he would bring four regular platoons to reinforce Ram, who must take a good position and make a stand.

Ram chose a spot where the marsh precluded his being outflanked from the east, while the undergrowth-choked woods forbade a thrust from the west. He could be attacked only from a path which allowed only three men to march abreast.

At his order his men vanished into the brush or behind moss-draped oaks, while all mounts were hurried to the rear by the horse-holders. He himself, though well hidden, had a good view of the path, and rearward he could already see Oglethorpe advancing with the regulars. Let del Lago be with the Dons' advance! he begged.

Two Timucuas appeared. Unaware they were already in the trap, they halted to put ears to the ground. Hearing the distant thud of marching feet—Oglethorpe's platoons—they signaled to those behind and were joined by a Spanish officer and several axmen, who began to widen the path—probably for guns.

Another five minutes and the net's filled! Ram estimated. But he was foiled by an impatient ambusher shooting too soon.

"Give fire!" He leaped into the open. Instantly the woods vomited death. Stunned Spanish officers tried to rally their men; but to add to the disaster, Oglethorpe arrived with the regulars.

It was soon over: the vanguard commander was a prisoner, and of the 200 axmen, Yamasees, Timucuas and Spaniards, three-quarters were either dead or captive.

Exultant, Oglethorpe considered sending for the rest of the regiment and marching against the Spaniards' main body and their camp. "We've no chance in the open," Ram objected. "Not with eight hundred against their five thousand! Let's take 'em piecemeal. We've cut up one detachment. Let's trap the next. It must come, for they daren't stay back there supine, lest our warships arrive." So it was decided to set a second but larger ambush farther back.

Ram knew just the place; where the path crossed open ground, with woods on three sides and a wide marsh on the fourth.

"Even if they scent us out, it'll cost them heavy," he said, counting on most of the Spanish not being forest-wise.

Oglethorpe agreed and decided that with one platoon he would escort the prisoners on to Fort Frederica. At the site of the new ambush, he took Ram aside. "No recklessness, I beg. Rather than risk defeat, fall back to the fort and we'll make our last fight there. Pray God Carolina relents or our warships arrive!"

He marched off, and Ram made his dispositions. The regulars commanded the open from one side, the rangers and Highlanders from the others, and all from perfect cover. Tlie Yamacraws scouted rearward to observe the enemy's movements.

Ram's head ached and his skin was dry, presaging another fever bout. But his spirits soared when, in midafternoon, the Yamacraws reported another enemy force, about four hundred strong, was advancing, accompanied by pack animals.

In confirmation came the distant tapping of a drum, and soon the shufHe of marching feet and the jangle of equipment. The leading files came into view; tall, white grenadiers. Behind followed part of the Negro regiment; well-built men who knew that in action they must fight or flee, but never surrender.

Ram was estimating how much of the detachment he could trap when, incredibly, the Halt was drummed! The files closed up in the open ground and the sweating, heavily equipped men piled arms and fell out, to sit or lie wearily on the wet grass. Pack horses were brought up and cooking pots and rations unloaded.

It was a pack animal that gave the warning. Evidently scenting the ranger's mounts, it snorted and reared to break away to them. A horse-wise Spaniard, comprehending, shouted an order that sent many of the resting men toward their piled arms.

"Remember Moosa!" some hidden Scot blared, and the massacre began. Young Will Mackintosh's clan slogan blended with the Yamacraws' whoops and the solid cheer from the regulars, who fired by platoons.

But there were cool heads among the Spaniards. Though men were falling fast, officers beat the unharmed into formation and soon vol-

ley was answered by volley. Powder smoke formed such thick clouds that only blurred tongues of flame from muskets provided targets.

Ram dashed out amid the whistling balls, trying to locate the enemy's main point of resistance. Finding it, he was groping toward the regulars to direct their fire when some among them shouted that they were outflanked; that they must retreat.

"No! Damn you, no!" he raged. But already officers were ordering them to form column and retire. "Stand fast, you pigeon-livered bastards, stand fast!" He collided with Lieutenant Sutherland. "Who gave the Retire? Re-form at once!"

"You yourself, sir!" the youngster protested. "I heard distinct. 'Anstruther here! Retreat, we're outflanked!'"

Sutherland vanished into the thinning smoke, bellowing orders.

Ram was bewildered. With victory sure, treachery again! Some Spaniard—surely! Del Lago? He understood English and likely knew Ram was with the rear guard.

Now he could see the strewn Spanish dead and wounded. In rear stood a ragged formation of survivors, with a mounted officer pointing his sword for them to follow him in a charge. Yes! Del Lago himself!

Red haze swam before Ram's eyes and he ran forward, fumbling for a pistol, blind to all but his hatred. With all his might, he challenged: " 'Tis I, Anstruther!"

But it wasn't to be. Ignoring the regulars' panic, the Highlanders and the rangers had stood fast and were pouring death upon the shattered enemy. Ram was within scant yards of his enemy when a new blast killed the latter's horse, while the rolling smoke veiled where it had fallen. A terrifying Gaelic yell arose and the Highlanders swarmed from their cover to complete the work with their broadswords. Ram, caught up in their rush, lost all idea of where del Lago might be.

Over two hundred Spaniards had fallen and now the remainder were fleeing into the woods and brush; anywhere to escape those broadswords and tomahawks. Moosa was being avenged doubly this day.

Oglethorpe arrived, bringing the shamed platoons back with him and saying two more companies were coming. Though at first appalled at sight of so many dead, he grew wildly elated. "A few more such

blows and we're safe, for today alone must have cost them a tenth of their strength!" His words were accentuated by distant death screams, pleas for quarter, whoops and Gaelic yells as the victors hunted down the fleeing enemy. The marsh water became red-tinged with Spanish blood.

"We'll beat 'em," Ram agreed dully. "But del Lago's escaped me again, though I saw his horse killed under him. Satan himself must protect him!"

Brian stirred, the odor of damp mold in his nostrils. Opening his eyes, he found he was lying with his face upon soft earth. Day had come, though its light was filtered and dim through the overhead foliage. There was a dull throbbing in his left shoulder.

Everything came back: his arrival, too late; his ruse to confuse the enemy; his wound and escape into the woods; the merciless pursuers; the fellow fugitives and, at last, night and surcease.

There was a mumur of voices near by—in English! Startled, he turned his head warily, painfully. The speakers were the Negro lieutenant, Bascomb, and the sergeant, sitting with their backs against a great oak. Beside them lay the militiaman, snoring. There was no sign of the Timucuas.

"Surrender? Git handed back to Cap Davis?" the lieutenant was growling. "I'd rather be scalped by Creeks!"

"But we can't git us away! What we goin' to do?"

"Keep your eyes skinned! Ain't a minute we ain't in danger."

"Mr. Bascomb," Brian called softly, "where are our Indians?"

The lieutenant started, then grinned faintly. "General, sir, you sure gave me a turn! The Timucuas? Went off at dawn to see what the shore line's like." Then, urgently: "Excellence, what kin we do? The Creeks was murderin' around us all night."

"How far is the water?" Thirst blurred Brian's words. He slid his right hand into his shirt and felt a pad of moss over the wound. The skin was puffed and inflamed up to the base of his neck.