Lorenzo and the Turncoat (19 page)

Eugenie watched Robert sleep. The last time Dr. Somerset checked on him, she had asked why his recovery was taking longer than hers. Why had all his joints swelled? The doctor sidestepped the questions.

Thunder boomed beyond the cabin wall.

It reminded Eugenie of the last time she saw Lorenzo. He sat on the colonel's patio eating lunch with her and glanced over his shoulder at a rumbling behind him.

Thunder pealed again.

Eugenie went to the window. The sky was a cloudless pale blue.

“That's not thunder,” Robert said, rousing from a long sleep. “That's cannonfire. What's going on?”

“I don't know.” She stepped onto the cabin porch.

Davy trotted past, musket slung over his back.

“What's going on?” she yelled.

“The Spanish are advancing from the south!” He tipped his hat and ran on.

The Spanish! If she could only get to them, she would be free! Eugenie noticed that the guard was gone. She stepped to the end of the porch and strained to see the front gate.

British soldiers had pushed it shut and barred the fort's only exit. There was no escape.

The sun balanced on the western horizon as Lorenzo and Colonel Gálvez reconnoitered the area around the fort, looking for a good area to set up the artillery. They came across a series of earthen mounds that rose out of the meadow about a thousand yards from the fort. Some had flat tops; others were cone shaped.

“What are these?” the colonel asked, scratching his head.

“Indian mounds.”

“Why did they build them?”

“I don't know.”

Boom! A solid iron ball ripped open a large chunk of earth in a mound several hundred yards away.

Lorenzo jumped in spite of himself. Would he ever get used to the sudden noise?

Gálvez didn't twitch. “These mounds look like a good place to set up the artillery.”

“How are you going to do that, sir?” Lorenzo asked. “The mounds are within range of Dickson's cannons.”

Nodding thoughtfully, he strolled off to a forest area south of the fort.

From time to time, the British fired at Spanish troops busily preparing for battle. There was no way to know when to expect another shot.

Boom! A cannonball tore limbs from an oak. It bounced and rolled, but did no damage, except to the tree.

Gálvez visited each company commander and spoke encouragingly to the soldiers. He headed to the river where his little navy rested at anchor. There, he ran into his aides, Oliver Pollock and Lieutenant Colonel Miró, supervising the unloading of supplies. When he pointed to the mounds, they echoed Lorenzo's concerns.

Gálvez walked off again, hands laced behind him, head down. He stopped under an oak and leaned a hand against it. “A frontal assault would be suicide,” he said,
speaking more to himself than to Lorenzo. “Dickson has cleared all outbuildings within musket range of the fort. There is no place for a sharpshooter to take cover. We've lost the element of surprise. We can't storm the fort. We'll have to bombard it.”

“Sir, Dickson has eighteen cannons,” Lorenzo pointed out. “You only have ten.”

Gálvez lifted an index finger. “But mine are bigger than his.”

“Sir, we could shell thunder out of the fort, but Dickson will simply sit tight and shell us back. Eventually, we will run out of ammunition.”

Gálvez looked at the mounds. His gaze slid to the forest. He smiled mischievously. “Then we'll have to trick him. Take some men to the woods south of the fort. Have them dig trenches and chop down trees. Make a lot of noise. Attract the fort's attention. I want them to think I'm setting up an artillery battery in the grove south of the fort. It would be best if Dickson repositioned his cannons so they were all pointing in that direction.”

“While you are busy elsewhere?”

Gálvez nodded.

“Devilishly clever, Colonel.”

“I have my moments.” He slapped Lorenzo companionably on the back. “Help yourself to whatever supplies you need. Move, Bannister!”

In the descending twilight, Lorenzo took thirty men to the supply officer for shovels, axes, lanterns, candles, and tinderboxes. He led them into the forest. When he judged they were at a safe distance from enemy muskets and cannonballs, he halted. He selected ten men. “Chop these down, men.” He slapped each tree to be felled. “You ten,” Lorenzo said to the militiamen. “Fire on the fort from time to time. I want Dickson to think you are giving the others cover so they can work. And you lucky devils,” Lorenzo said, addressing the remaining ten.
“You get to dig trenches. Make noise. Lots of noise! Let the British know you're here!”

The woodcutters set to work.

Suddenly, light flashed from the fort. Puffs of smoke plumed into the air. The British lobbed one cannonball after another at them.

“Fire away, Dickson!” Lorenzo exclaimed. It was too dark to see Gálvez and his men behind the Indian mounds, but Lorenzo knew they were there. He also knew the diversionary tactic was working. Not a shot was aimed at Gálvez erecting a battery within pointblank range of the fort.

By morning, Dickson would be in for a big surprise.

On the morning of September 21, Lieutenant Colonel Dickson sat in his dining room waiting for his slave Jubilee to serve breakfast.

The Spanish were knocking at his door. Well, not exactly knocking, Dickson thought. They were chopping down his forest. He had ordered his cannons repositioned to face the noise. Artillerymen worked feverishly through the night to move them.

Gálvez was so predictable. He was doing exactly what Dickson would have done under the same circumstances.

Dickson had seen his kind before—aristocratic snobs who thought themselves superior because they had been born to position and privilege. Some of his own officers snubbed him because he was the son of a footman and a housemaid. Well, he would show them that he was just as good as Gálvez! His Excellency, Lord of New Orleans, would soon eat humble pie.

Jubilee placed a delicious looking plate in front of him.

The savory aroma of ham and eggs in Jubilee's special sauce wafted toward him. His mouth watered. He reached for his knife and fork. Beyond the fort's walls, a cannon thundered.

“Damn those Diegos!” Dickson muttered. “Impossible to eat a meal in peace.”

A cannonball sailed through the roof and landed in the middle of breakfast.

Gálvez pumped his fist in the air, pleased to see the first cannonball clear the walls and land somewhere inside the fort. If Dickson wasn't awake before, he certainly was now.

There was no way to know where shots would go until the first couple of rounds were fired. Cannonballs weren't perfectly spherical. In flight, they could veer left, right, up, or down.

The gunnery crew ran the first cannon back into position. Shooting always sent it hurtling back several feet and it took all four men of the crew to reposition it.

Excitement surged through Gálvez. For the last three years, he had been an administrator, not a warrior. He had forgotten how exhilarating and terrifying a battle could be.

Eugenie awoke to the sound of an echoing boom. Startled, she jumped from her chair and threw the cabin door wide open. The cannon fire sounded further away. She watched in horror as a cannonball plowed its way across the parade ground.

Soldiers, yelling and cursing, hurried to their posts. One was still buckling on a sword belt. Another hopped on one leg as he pulled on a boot. Officers snapped out orders.

“What's going on?” Robert asked.

Eugenie turned to find him awake. “The fort is under attack.” Her voice wavered in spite of herself.

He tried to sit up but fell back into the pillows.

She rushed over to him. “You're too weak to be out of bed.”

“No, Madame. I am not.”

She tucked covers around him, then sat down at his side and knotted her hands in her lap so he wouldn't see that they were shaking. She was terrified of the bombardment, but she was far more terrified by Robert's condition. His recovery was taking too long. Something was dreadfully wrong, but Dr. Somerset would not tell her what. Robert complained of stiff joints and had no energy. His knuckles and toes were horribly swollen.

He patted her hand. “You needn't be afraid.”

“I'm not.”

“You're terrified and too proud to admit it. No worries. You'll make it through this. God will protect you.”

Speechless, she stared at him a moment. “But you said God did not …”

“Listen carefully, for I shall say this but once. I was wrong. Now that I've had time to reconsider my position, I realize why God allowed me to kidnap you. He wanted me to bring you here to Dr. Somerset.”

“We have excellent doctors in New Orleans.”

“I'm sure you do, but are they experts in scarlet fever? Dr. Somerset is. He learned all the latest methods in a recent epidemic in Scotland. You couldn't have been in better hands. You survived scarlet fever. I doubt you'll be squashed by one of your husband's cannonballs.”

There was something different about Robert now, but she could not put her finger on what it was.