Redone version of the mortar attack:
Prescott, Upper Canada
21st January 1862
"Right, get them in place!" the lieutenant called, waving at his subordinates as they manhandled the heavy sling wagons across the packed earth streets of Prescott. "Where's the bloody ammunition?"
"Here, sir!" one of the Canadian volunteers called, putting his shoulder to a small cart. Several more Canadians, these all civilians, gawked as the Royal Artillery detachment and their support staff set up on the ice-choked waterfront, and a company of the 24th Upper Canada Militia (Glengarry, Stormont and Prescott) stood by with their percussion muskets at the port.
"Powder?" the lieutenant asked, then nodded as the same volunteer pointed into the cart. "Good. Now... I make that about two thousand yards."
"About that, sir," said another Canadian volunteer, one of the locals. "Pity they moved the big ones back last month."
The lieutenant nodded, remembering hearing about it in the newspapers - four large screw steamers, moved out of Ogdensburg harbour with no small amount of difficulty and now wintering in Oswego. There were some more elsewhere, as well, he'd heard, but there had been too much ice to cut out the majority of the shipping and it seemed a lot of it was stuck at Buffalo.
Which was why the Royal Artillery detachment across the Niagara river from Buffalo was going to work today with eight tubes.
"All right, boys, let's do this by the book," he said then, as the chocks were hammered into place to hold the cart on the slight slope. “Looks like maximum range to me, but let's give it a pound and a half.”
One of his gun crew cut into a two-pound linen charge, emptying some of the powder out of it into a larger, empty, powder sack they'd brought along to catch the waste. The rest went into the mortar tube, fixed at forty-five degrees, and the shell down on top of it.
There was a chuff of smoke, and the first mortar bomb flew skywards. It hung in the crisp air for several seconds, then fell to burst on the ice.
"Let's go with one pound and twelve ounces," the lieutenant instructed. "Let's try and make sure we only hit the boats, don't want too many of them angry at us..."
Another shuff, as the mortar shell soared skywards. This one burst a little closer to the shipping, and the third – a full charge – fell only about a hundred feet short.
The lieutenant considered the situation, then waved his hand. “Let's take them down a bit, get some flatter ground. Flatter ground, better angle.”
The evolution took a bit of slipping and sliding, and by the time they were done – with the sling wagons on the hard-frozen water's edge – the lieutenant's telescope could see movement in Ogdensburg, though no sign of guns or militia. Then the fourth shell struck – right among the steamers iced into their winter harbour.
There was a sudden scattered applause from the watching civilians, and the lieutenant smiled a little - surprised at how much that helped his mood.
"All right, boys, fire for effect," he instructed. "Five rounds each, then we'll see how it looks."
Every American river boat lost now was one less that could carry a raiding force across the river after the thaw. Still, he was grateful for the local militia standing by, in case a raiding force decided to walk...