The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War Part 21

"Oh we can!" Dennis said.

"You think so?"

A thunder of gunfire obliterated the marine lieutenant's reply. The semicircular British battery on the harbor's lower slope had fired its cannon across the harbor towards Cross Island. No sooner had the sound faded than the three enemy sloops began firing. "Is the commodore attacking?" Wadsworth asked.

The two men moved to the southern crest and saw that two privateers were firing through the harbor entrance, though neither s.h.i.+p was making any attempt to sail through that narrow gap. They fired at long range and the three sloops shot back. "Gun practice," Dennis said dismissively.

"You think we can get behind the fort?" Wadsworth asked.

"Capture that battery, sir," Dennis said, pointing down at the semicircle of earth that protected the British cannon. "Once we have that we can make our way along the harbor sh.o.r.e. There's plenty of cover!" The route along the harbor sh.o.r.e wandered past cornfields, log piles, houses, and barns, all of which could conceal men from the guns of the fort and the broadsides of the sloops.

"Young Fletcher would guide us," Wadsworth said. James Fletcher had rescued his fis.h.i.+ng boat, Felicity Felicity, and was using it to carry wounded men to the hospital the rebels had established on Wasaumkeag Point on the far sh.o.r.e of the bay. "But I still think a direct a.s.sault would be best," Wadsworth added.

"Straight at the fort, sir?"

"Why not? Let's attack before they make that nearer wall any higher." A cannon fired to the north, the noise sudden, close and loud. It was an eighteen-pounder of the Ma.s.sachusetts Artillery Regiment and it fired from the trees on the high ground at the redcoats working to raise the fort's curtain wall. The sound of the cannon cheered Wadsworth. "We won't need to get behind them now," he said to Dennis. "Colonel Revere's guns will batter that rampart down to nothing!"

"So we attack along the ridge?" Dennis asked.

"It's the simplest way," Wadsworth said, "and I have a mind that simplicity is good."

"Captain Welch would approve, sir."

"And I shall recommend it," Wadsworth said.

They were so close, the fort was unfinished, and all they needed to do was attack.

"I hate New York," Sir George Collier said. He thought New York a slum; a fetid, overcrowded, ill-mannered, pestilential, humid h.e.l.l on earth. "We should just give it to the b.l.o.o.d.y rebels," he snarled, "let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds stew here."

"Please stay still, Sir George," the doctor said.

"Oh Christ in his britches, man, get on with it! I thought Lisbon was h.e.l.l on earth and it's a G.o.dd.a.m.n paradise compared to this filthy b.l.o.o.d.y town."

"Allow me to draw your thigh?" the doctor said.

"It's even worse than Bristol," Sir George growled.

Admiral Sir George Collier was a small, irascible and unpleasant man who commanded the British fleet on the American coast. He was sick, which is why he was ash.o.r.e in New York, and the doctor was attempting to allay the fever by drawing blood. He was using one of the newest and finest pieces of medical equipment from London, a scarifier, which he now c.o.c.ked so that the twenty-four ground-steel blades disappeared smoothly into their gleaming housing. "Are you ready, Sir George?"

"Don't blather, man. Just do it."

"There will be a slight sensation of discomfort, Sir George," the doctor said, concealing his pleasure at that thought, then placed the metal box against the patient's scrawny thigh and pulled the trigger. The spring-loaded blades leaped out of their slits to pierce Sir George's skin and start a flow of blood which the doctor staunched with a piece of Turkey cloth. "I would wish to see more blood, Sir George," the doctor said.

"Don't be a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, man. You've drained me dry."

"You should wrap yourself in flannel, Sir George."

"In this d.a.m.ned heat?" Sir George's foxlike face was glistening with sweat. Winter in New York was brutally cold, the summer was a steamy h.e.l.l, and in between it was merely unbearable. On the wall of his quarters, next to an etching of his home in England, was a framed poster advertising that London's Drury Lane Theatre was presenting "Selima and Azor, a Musical Delectation in Five Acts written by Sir George Collier." London, he thought, now that was a city! Decent theater, well-dressed wh.o.r.es, fine clubs, and no d.a.m.ned humidity. A theater owner in New York had thought to please Sir George by offering to present Selima and Azor Selima and Azor on his stage, but Sir George had forbidden it. To hear his songs murdered by caterwauling Americans? The very thought was disgusting. on his stage, but Sir George had forbidden it. To hear his songs murdered by caterwauling Americans? The very thought was disgusting.

"Come!" he shouted in response to a knock on the door. A naval lieutenant entered the room. The newcomer shuddered at the blood smearing Sir George's bare thigh, then averted his eyes and stood respectfully just inside the door. "Well, Forester?" Sir George snarled.

"I regret to inform you, sir, that the Iris Iris won't be ready for sea," Lieutenant Forester said. won't be ready for sea," Lieutenant Forester said.

"Her copper?"

"Indeed, sir," Forester said, relieved that his bad news had not been greeted by anger.

"Pity," Sir George grunted. HMS Iris Iris was a fine 32-gun frigate that Sir George had captured two years previously. Back then she had been called the was a fine 32-gun frigate that Sir George had captured two years previously. Back then she had been called the Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k, an American s.h.i.+p, but though the Royal Navy usually kept the names of captured wars.h.i.+ps Sir George would be d.a.m.ned and condemned to eternal h.e.l.l in New York before he allowed a British naval s.h.i.+p to bear the name of some filthy rebel traitor, and so the Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k had been renamed for a splendid London actress. "Legs as long as a spritsail yard," Sir George said wistfully. had been renamed for a splendid London actress. "Legs as long as a spritsail yard," Sir George said wistfully.

"Sir?" Lieutenant Forester asked.

"Mind your own d.a.m.ned business."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Copper, you say?"

"At least two weeks' work, sir."

Sir George grunted. "Blonde?"

"Ready, sir."

"Virginia?"

"Fully manned and seaworthy, sir."

"Write them both orders," Sir George said. The Blonde Blonde and and Virginia Virginia were also 32-gun frigates and the were also 32-gun frigates and the Blonde Blonde, usefully, had just returned from the Pen.o.bscot River, which meant Captain Barkley knew the waters. "Grayhound? Camille? Galatea?"

"The Grayhound Grayhound is provisioning, Sir George. The is provisioning, Sir George. The Galatea Galatea and and Camille Camille both need crewmen." both need crewmen."

"I want all three ready to sail in two days. Send out the press gangs."

"Aye aye, sir." The Grayhound Grayhound carried twenty-eight guns, while the carried twenty-eight guns, while the Camille Camille and and Galatea Galatea were smaller frigates with just twenty guns apiece. were smaller frigates with just twenty guns apiece.

"The Otter Otter," Sir George said, "to carry despatches." The Otter Otter was a 14-gun brig. was a 14-gun brig.

"Aye aye, sir."

Sir George watched the doctor bandage his thigh. "And the Raisonable Raisonable," he said, smiling wolfishly.

"The Raisonable Raisonable, Sir George?" Forester asked in astonishment.

"You heard me! Tell Captain Evans she's to be ready for sea in two days. And tell him he'll be flying my flag."

The Raisonable Raisonable was a captured French s.h.i.+p, and she was also a proper wars.h.i.+p fit to stand in the line of battle. She carried sixty-four guns, the heaviest of them thirty-two pounders, and the rebels had nothing afloat that could match the was a captured French s.h.i.+p, and she was also a proper wars.h.i.+p fit to stand in the line of battle. She carried sixty-four guns, the heaviest of them thirty-two pounders, and the rebels had nothing afloat that could match the Raisonable Raisonable even though she was one of the smallest s.h.i.+ps of the line in the Royal Navy. even though she was one of the smallest s.h.i.+ps of the line in the Royal Navy.

"You're going to sea, Sir George?" the doctor asked nervously.

"I'm going to sea."

"But your health!"

"Oh, stop twittering, you imbecile. How can it be bad for me? Even the Dead Sea's healthier than New York."

Sir George was going to sea, and he was taking seven s.h.i.+ps led by a vast, slab-sided battles.h.i.+p that could blow any rebel wars.h.i.+p clean out of the water with a single broadside.

And the fleet would sail east. To the Pen.o.bscot River and Pen.o.bscot Bay and Majabigwaduce.

Excerpts from Brigadier-General Solomon Lovell's orders to his troops, Pen.o.bscot, July 30th, 1779: The General is much alarm'd at the loose and disorderly inattentive Behaviour of the Camp. ... As the Success of Arms under G.o.d depends princ.i.p.ally on good Subordination the General expects that every Officer and Soldier who has the least Spark of honor left will endeavor to have his Orders put in Execution and that Colonel Revere and the Corps under his Command incamp with the Army in future on Sh.o.r.e, in order not only to strengthen the Lines but to manage the Cannon.

Excerpts from a letter sent by General George Was.h.i.+ngton to the Council of Ma.s.sachusetts. August 3rd, 1779: Head Quarters, West Point.I have Just received a Letter from Lord Stirling stationed in the Jerseys dated yesterday ... by which it appears the s.h.i.+ps of War at New York have all put to sea since. I thought it my duty to communicate this Intelligence that the Vessells employed in this expedition to Pen.o.bscot may be put upon their Guard, as it is probable enough that these s.h.i.+ps may be destined against them and if they should be surprised the consequences would be desagreeable. I have the honor to be with very great respect and esteem, Gentlemen Your Most Obedient ServantGeorge Was.h.i.+ngton From the deposition of John Lymburner to Justice of the Peace Joseph Hibbert, 12th May 1788: [I was] taken prisoner by the Americans at the Siege of Pen.o.bscot, and was in close confinement ... we were treated very severely for adhering to the British troops, called Tories and Refugees, was threatened to be hanged as soon as they had taken Fort George.

Chapter Nine

"Where the devil is Revere?" Lovell asked. He had asked the question a dozen times in the two days since he had captured the heights of Majabigwaduce and each time there had been increasing irritation in his usually calm voice. "Has he attended a single council of war?"

"He likes to sleep aboard the Samuel Samuel," William Todd said.

"Sleep? It's broad daylight!" That was an exaggeration, for it was only a few minutes since the sun had lit the eastern fog bright.

"I believe," Todd said carefully, "that he finds his quarters aboard the Samuel Samuel more amenable to his comfort." He was polis.h.i.+ng his spectacles on the skirt of his coat and his face looked strangely vulnerable without them. more amenable to his comfort." He was polis.h.i.+ng his spectacles on the skirt of his coat and his face looked strangely vulnerable without them.

"We're not here for comfort," Lovell said.

"Indeed we are not, sir," Todd said.

"And his men?"

"They sleep on the Samuel Samuel too, sir," Todd said, carefully hooking the cleaned spectacles over his ears. too, sir," Todd said, carefully hooking the cleaned spectacles over his ears.

"It won't do," Lovell exploded, "it will not do!"

"Indeed it will not, General," Major Todd agreed, then hesitated. Fog made the treetops vague and inhibited the gunners on Cross Island and aboard the British s.h.i.+ps so that a kind of quiet enveloped Majabigwaduce. Smoke drifted among the trees from the campfires on which troops boiled water for tea. "If you approve, sir," Todd said carefully, watching Lovell pacing up and down in front of the crude shelter made of branches and sod that was his sleeping quarters, "I could advert to Colonel Revere's absence in the daily orders?"

"You can advert?" Lovell asked curtly. He stopped his pacing and turned to glare at the major. "Advert?"

"You could issue a requirement in the daily orders that the colonel and his men must sleep ash.o.r.e?" Todd suggested. He doubted Lovell would agree, because any such order would be recognized throughout the army as a very public reprimand.

"A very good idea," Lovell said, "an excellent notion. Do it. And draft me a letter to the colonel as well!"

Before Lovell could change his mind Peleg Wadsworth came to the clearing. The younger general was wearing a greatcoat b.u.t.toned against the dawn chill. "Good morning!" he greeted Lovell and Todd cheerfully.

"An ill-fitting coat, General," Major Todd observed with ponderous amus.e.m.e.nt.

"It belonged to my father, Major. He was a big man."

"Did you know Revere sleeps aboard his s.h.i.+p?" Lovell demanded indignantly.

"I did know, sir," Wadsworth said, "but I thought he had your permission."

"He has no such thing. We're not here on a pleasure cruise! You want tea?" Lovell waved towards the fire where his servant crouched by a pot. "The water must have boiled."

"I'd appreciate a word first, sir?"

"Of course, of course. In private?"

"If you please, sir." Wadsworth said and the two generals walked a few paces west to where the trees thinned and from where they could gaze over the fog-haunted waters of Pen.o.bscot Bay. The topmasts of the transport s.h.i.+ps appeared above the lowest and densest layer of fog like splinters in a s...o...b..nk. "What would happen if we all slept aboard our s.h.i.+ps, eh?" Lovell asked, still indignant.

"I did mention the matter to Colonel Revere," Wadsworth said.

"You did?"

"Yesterday, sir. I said he should move his quarters ash.o.r.e."

"And his response?"

Fury, Wadsworth thought. Revere had responded like a man insulted. "The guns can't fire at night," he had spat at Wadsworth, "so why man them at night? I know how to command my regiment!" Wadsworth chided himself for having let the matter slide, but at this moment he had a greater concern. "The colonel disagreed with me, sir," he said tonelessly, "but I wished to speak of something else."

"Of course, yes, whatever is on your mind." Lovell frowned towards the topmasts. "Sleeping aboard his s.h.i.+p!"

Wadsworth looked south to where the fog now lay like a great river of whiteness between the hills bordering the Pen.o.bscot River. "Should the enemy send reinforcements, sir'" he began.

"They'll come upriver, certainly," Lovell interjected, following Wadsworth's gaze.

"And discover our fleet, sir," Wadsworth continued.

"Of course they would, yes," Lovell said as if the point was not very important.

"Sir," Wadsworth was urgent now. "If the enemy come in force they'll be among our fleet like wolves in a flock. Might I urge a precaution?"

"A precaution," Lovell repeated as if the word was unfamiliar.

"Permit me to explore upriver, sir," Wadsworth said, pointing north to where the Pen.o.bscot River flowed into the wider bay. "Let me find and fortify a place to which we can retreat if the enemy comes. Young Fletcher knows the upper river. He tells me it narrows, sir, and twists between high banks. If it was necessary, sir, we could take the fleet upriver and shelter behind a bluff. A cannon emplacement at the river bend will check any enemy pursuit."

"Find and fortify, eh?" Lovell said, more to buy time than as a coherent response. He turned and stared into the northern fog. "You'd make a fort?"