Norris vandenBerg

After reading THE WATERMAN, every reader will want to stand over the resting places of Dan and Paul to pay their respects! We must settle, however, for the knowledge that the patriots who actually completed this extraordinary mission, set a benchmark for heroism and tenacity which continues to course its way through the veins of the men and women of today’s military.

—Rear Admiral Ray Smith, USN, ret. Former Chief of Navy Seals

Based upon the diary of one of General George Washington’s staff officers, The Waterman recounts the seemingly impossible transport of 59 cannon 300 miles over land and water from Ft. Ticonderoga to Boston in the dead of harsh winter 1776. These cannon gave General Washington the missing artillery he desperately needed for his stunning, first victory over the invincible British forces.

During this two-month heroic exploit, facing ferocious weather and daring attacks by ruthless British spies, the story’s protagonist, Continental Navy Lieutenant Dan Saunders perseveres with cunning and audacious courage. Together with his loyal compatriot, Paul Williams, a former pirate and slave, the pair led a ragtag crew of volunteers to prevail and turn the tide in one of young America’s most inspirational, early milestones toward independence.

EXCERPT

Chapter 24

A Fair Wind, December 9, 1775

By 3 PM on December 9, all of the artillery had been loaded and the three vessels set sail under a fair wind. Exhausted, the crew on the scow settled in while she moved ponderously on a broad reach to the south. As the sun disappeared, however, the wind died. The bateau and the pirogue were able to press forward to Sabbath Day Point to camp for the night, leaving the scow behind.

Dan stood next to the helm as Henry managed her slow drift downwind. At about 6 PM with night fully in hand, the scow suddenly hit bottom.

“Jesus Christ!” said Henry. The scow eased slightly to starboard and settled in. Fortunately, she had been moving slowly and a hasty inspection of the hull revealed no apparent leaks. They had hit a large submerged rock, or rock ledge, a hundred yards offshore.

The pirogue and the bateau were about a mile ahead and continued to press on, unaware of the scow’s dilemma.

Dan called out, “Lower the main. The only way we’re going to get her off is to kedge her sternward. Henry, have two men take the skiff and load her with both anchors. Row aft at least two hundred feet before setting the anchors; we need as much scope as possible to get the best leverage. And make certain that the anchors are well bit.

“Henry, can you send someone in the smaller boat ahead to notify Colonel Knox, even though there’s not much he can do about this? If we need help we’d best go back to the fort to get it.”

Pierre spoke up. “I’m sorry we ran aground.”

“It’s not your fault, Pierre. These are uncharted waters and you and your fellows are not that familiar with this lake. Don’t worry, we’ll get her off.”

The boatmen made up a block and tackle rig for each of the two lines coming from the anchors. The bitter ends were wrapped around the one large capstan amidships. When the skiff signaled that the anchors were set, all hands laid to on the winch.

The winch turned quickly at first as the slack was taken out of the lines. Abruptly, the lines rose from the water. As the tension grew, water was squeezed out of the twisted cords in a vibrating suddenness. The men were slowed now to a barely perceptible movement. They increased their strain on the winch handles.

“She ain’t movin’,” shouted Pierre. “These old ropes are gonna break!”

Before his words had died, a loud crack confirmed his fear as the port line gave way. The parted end flew back with such force that it could have carried away Henry’s arm, but he dodged it just in time.

The boat lurched to starboard as the other line received all the tension before it, too, snapped.

Dan called out quickly to Henry, “Get that skiff out there to recover the ends of the lines before they sink and our anchors are lost.”

“It’s all right, skipper, they had guy lines tied to the anchors just in case.”

Dan shook his head. “Of course, of course…”

“Henry, I didn’t see any other lines on board, did you?”

“No, sir, all of the good cordage was used to replace our standing rigging. I think we need to send the skiff back to the fort for some line and perhaps a few more men.”

“Yes, that’s it, I guess. I don’t know what else to do.”

Dan slammed his fist on the railing. “God damn it!”

His anger bred an uneasy silence.

Finally, Paul spoke. “Lieutenant, we ain’t sunk, we ain’t leakin’ and we still got de cannon. Dis ain’t nuttin’. Jes remember dem Caloosas.”

Dan broke into a reluctant smile.

“Paul’s right, as usual. Men, let’s get some food and rest. The skiff won’t be back until early morning at best. We’ll turn to it in the morning when we’re fresh. And, uh, thank you. I know what we’re doing may seem idiotic. Hell, it is. But if we pull it off it’s something you can remember forever. And, so then, will history remember you.

Chapter 25

The Long Rifle in the Wrong Hands

Shortly after dawn on December 10, Edwards shook Delaquire awake. “I think the scow is grounded on some rocks close to shore, sir.”

Fletcher and Evans began to rouse themselves.

“We can see her from a point not too far from here.”

Carefully, the four Englishmen made their way to a rock outcropping to see for themselves. The scow was clearly immobile. After half an hour they saw a skiff making its way toward her, coming from the direction of Ft. Ticonderoga. It was heavily loaded but the two men rowing her were making quick progress in the calm morning.

Edwards pointed out, “They are carrying lots of rope, Ensign. I am thinking they are going to try to get the scow off the rocks this morning.”

“Let’s make their lives more difficult, Evans,” said Delaquire. “I think we are about 120 to 150 yards away from the scow. Can you hit anyone from this range?”

“We are indeed in range, sir, and there is little wind this morning, but it isn’t going to be easy.”

“Well, get to it. The only way they can stop us is to bring the skiff to shore and she would be an easy target at close range. Evans, try to take that big fellow out first; he seems to be in charge.

“Edwards, go back and break camp in case we have to get away from here quickly.”

Evans walked over to some brush nearby.

“What’s wrong, Evans? It looks to me like you’re limping.”

“I’m getting a forked branch to steady my aim, Ensign, but I’m afraid my leg wound seems to be festerin’.”

Delaquire looked at Fletcher who shook his head. If his leg turned gangrenous, the only cure would be amputation. That was risky enough with a good surgeon in camp; it was unthinkable in the wilderness.

If Evans was aware of this, he didn’t show it as he limped back to the highest point of the rock outcropping. Delaquire settled in with his telescope to provide what help he could.

“That big fellow, the Captain, let’s call him, is a nice target. Maybe this morning it will all be worth it. Fire at will.”

Evans was now in a kneeling position, with the beautiful Bucks County long rifle lying easily in his arms with its barrel propped in the forked branch. He stared down the sights for several minutes. He stopped and got up and lay down on the flattest piece of rock he could find.

“Despite the ground being uneven, I think I can get a better shot lying down,” he explained.

He fixed himself on the rock and took a long minute to settle in on the rifle’s sights. He took a shallow breath to hold himself and the musket steady. He slowly squeezed the trigger. The flint ignited the powder and the ball accelerated in its spin as it turned and blasted out from the mouth of the barrel.

Paul turned to his left to watch the approaching skiff. Stepping towards the stern, past Dan, he raised his arms to direct the men in the skiff to the starboard side of the scow when the ball slammed into his left shoulder. The sound of the musket reverberated over the quiet water, and all of the men looked toward land in the direction of the report. Paul did not understand what had happened at first but he lost his balance and slumped over the transom.

Dan yelled out, “Someone is shooting at us! Take cover.”

Henry was crouched down as a second ball thumped into the mast.

He looked over to see Paul taking his coat off with his right hand. His left was slippery with blood.

“Lieutenant, Paul’s been hit!”

Dan jumped over to Paul and with considerable effort was able to get him to lie flat on the deck, shielded by one the cannons. Paul had been able to remove his jacket but his white shirt was crimson from his left shoulder down to his wrist. Dan pulled out his knife and cut away Paul’s shirt. Blood was pulsing out of a wound near his neck.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dan yelled.

He grabbed the remains of Paul’s shirt and pressed it hard against the wound. The blood flow slowed from a fountain to an ooze.

“I din’ see de dam Caloosas dis time, Cap’n.”

“Yeah, that’s when it happens, Paul. But, we only heard one musket. Maybe it’s just one sniper.” Then, there was another report followed by a yell from one of the boatmen.

Henry crawled over to Dan. “That bastard is going to pick us off one by one sure as shit, and there is no way we can get this boat off the rocks until we take care of him.”

Dan called out, “Dom, get your medicines over here and take care of Paul. Henry and I are going ashore.

“Paul, just stay down behind this cannon and let Dom take care of you. Do not move around; you’ve got to save some blood.”

“You there, slide the skiff around to the port side. Pierre, get those ropes unloaded and Henry, get us two muskets. I’ve got this horse pistol and a saber; you get whatever you like. You and I are going to head east away from the scow and use her as cover until we are out of range. We’ll head north parallel to the shoreline and then back to shore to see what we’re faced with.”

A fourth ball slammed into the skiff, which was tied to the starboard side. “Mon Dieu,” yelled one of the boatmen as he tried to submerse himself in the deck.

“Lieutenant, shouldn’t we go to the fort first and get more help?”

“That’ll take too long, Henry; we need to shut these bastards down as soon as we can. The other boat should be back from delivering the news to Knox and we’ll send that one to the fort.”

Delaquire smiled as he watched through his telescope. “By God, Evans, you are taking it to them. The big black stepped in the way of the man we wanted but you took him down hard. How many rounds do you have left?”

“I would say about forty rounds, Ensign. How many should I hold back?”

“I’m not certain, Evans, but fire whenever you have a clear target. They are doing their best to hide below the gunwales and the cannons right now. I think the key is not to let that skiff or anyone else get back to the fort.”

“They’re trying to move the skiff to the other side of the scow!”

“Take them out if you can, Evans. If you take out the skiff, they have no other way to get off the boat.”

On board, one of the men put his arm out between the scuppers and, with a line on the stern, began to maneuver the boat sternward. A ball pounded into the skiff and splinters flew over the gunwales. Hurriedly, he moved the skiff toward the stern and then around the sternpost where Dan picked up the line. With his head down near the sternpost, Dan could see Paul’s still fresh blood where it had soaked the post and the tiller. Images of his grandfather froze him.

“Come on, skipper!”

Another ball hit the wrist of the boatman handling the line. He screamed out.

Henry and Dan crawled over the gunwales and into the skiff as soon as it reached the port side of the scow where it was protected from the gunfire. Checking their weapons first, they rowed due east away from the scow, using its leeward side to protect them. After rowing more than a hundred yards away they turned and headed north, parallel to the shoreline.

Looking through his glass, Delaquire said, “I can see two men in the skiff and one is the Captain. Can you reach them, Evans?”

“No, sir, it would be a waste of shot.”

“I think they’re headed to the fort. Edwards, you and Fletcher follow them along the shore on horseback and intercept them when they make their landing at the portage. Kill them, of course. It would be best if you did it without alarming the fort.”

Edwards and Fletcher mounted up and headed west to avoid being seen from the skiff and then they, too, headed north and parallel to the shoreline.

Dan asked Henry, “Who do you think they are, Henry?”

“I’m not sure, Captain. I see only a few men on that rocky point there. They don’t look like Iroquois. My grandmother is Iroquois and I know their ways pretty well. They’re not happy with the British right now and I don’t imagine they would fire at us, especially without provocation. My guess is it’s the British. They would be the ones most likely to be doing this.”

“Yes, if they knew about what we are up to, but the decision to retrieve the cannon was made only about ten days ago. It’s hard to imagine they would find out and be here so soon. And, they’re using a long rifle. The British don’t have those.”

“Maybe some Loyalists?”

They rowed as quickly as they could and the skiff heaved its way along to the north.

“Lieutenant, it’s hard to be certain, but I think two of those men have mounted and are riding away.”

“They may be trying to hit us when we land. As soon as we’re out of sight of those ambushers, we’ll head in to shore. You keep rowing while I make sure the muskets are ready.”

In twenty minutes, they had passed a point of land that obscured them from view of the men on the rocky point. They laid on to the west.

“If those horsemen thought we were headed to the fort we might miss them,” Henry said hopefully.

“Let’s assume the worst, Henry.”

Sergeant Fletcher led the way and after a few hundred yards they eased down towards a point on the shoreline so they could see how far the skiff had traveled. From a small hill they looked east and north, but no boat was in sight.

“We made much better time over land than they did, Sergeant. It doesn’t make sense, but they must have pulled in to shore to ambush us rather than go for help.”

“Yeah, that must be right, Edwards. Let’s go down to the shore and make our way south to see if we can find them or the boat. Keep your musket at the ready and be quiet.”

Within a few minutes, they came across the skiff. It was empty.

“Should we dismount, Sergeant?”

“Well, we would be quieter on foot, but I prefer to be up on a horse when the fight begins.”

Fletcher and Edwards began to track slowly south. Just a few minutes later, Dan heard the horses’ hooves and pulled Henry beside him behind a large granite boulder. The two riders went slowly by.

Dan put his musket to his shoulder and stood up as they passed. “Halt, or you’re dead!”

Edwards turned and fired, but his horse reared. The ball passed the men harmlessly and slammed into the rock. Dan returned fire and hit Edwards’ horse in the throat. The horse stumbled, falling backward, throwing Edwards off to the side.

Sergeant Fletcher was more deliberate. Henry was facing Fletcher and pulled the trigger on his musket, but the flint failed to spark. This gave Fletcher all the time he needed. With nerves hardened in many European campaigns, Fletcher coolly fired his musket into Henry’s stomach, the most certain target. Henry sank to his knees.

By now, Dan had his horse pistol ready and had moved around behind Edwards’ horse. Edwards had come to his feet and pulled out his saber.

“No time for that!” shouted Dan, and he fired point blank at William’s chest.

Fletcher turned his attention behind him to see what happened. He pulled his saber and tried to run Dan down, but Edwards’ horse prevented him from getting close. Dan pulled his own saber as he dodged backwards.

“Who are you?” Dan challenged.

“You’ll never get those cannon to Boston,” Fletcher responded in his broad midlands accent. Fletcher swung his blade in wide swaths but was unable to corner Dan against the trees and rocks.

“Are you a man of your word?” Fletcher yelled out.

Dan was trying to catch his breath. “I consider myself one.”

“Let’s stop now and see after our men. I promise you I will back off when we are done.

“And why should I trust an assassin?”

“We are equally armed, sir, and you have the advantage in size and age. I’ll dismount.”

Dan rested his saber. “Let’s do it.”

Dan turned to Henry while keeping an eye on Fletcher. Henry was still kneeling but his head was down and he was moaning and holding in his stomach.

“Mon Dieu, Capitaine, je suis morte…”

He lifted his head toward Dan.

“Have mercy. Finish me.”

“No, let me look. Maybe the ball missed your vitals.”

Fletcher came over and Dan stood warily. “My man is dead. Do you need help?”

Henry fell to his side. Dan tried to roll him over but he was unconscious.

Fletcher leaned down and looked at where the ball had entered.

“I have seen this too many times. He’ll be dead ere long, but fortunately he’s unconscious.”

They stood and faced each other with nerves on edge.

“How did you English find out about this?”

Fletcher backed up to his horse and mounted. “What is your name?”

“Dan Saunders.”

“Maybe next time, Captain Saunders.” He spurred his horse and took off at a gallop.

Fletcher headed north and in a few minutes was at the skiff. He jumped off, picked up a large rock and with just four strenuous hits, he stove in the thin battens that covered the hull.

Dan stretched Henry flat and arranged him in the most dignified way possible. Burial would have to wait. Dan recovered both muskets and his horse pistol and headed back to the skiff only to find out what the redcoat spy had done.

He was stranded on shore.