The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War Part 16

Dawn was fog-shrouded, though from the new battery on Cross Island the British ships were clearly visible. The closest, HMS Nautilus Nautilus, was now only a quarter-mile from the big guns that Revere's men had taken ash.o.r.e. Those men had worked all night and they had worked well. They had cut a path through the trees of Cross Island and dragged a pair of eighteen-pounder cannon, one twelve-pounder, and a five-and-a-half-inch howitzer to the island's summit, where the rocky land made a perfect artillery platform. More trees had been felled to open a field of fire for the cannon and in the dawn Captain Hoysteed Hacker, whose sailors were armed with muskets to protect the gunners, gazed at the three British sloops. The furthest away, the North North, was a gray shape in the gray fog and mostly hidden by the bulk of the other two sloops, but the closest, Nautilus Nautilus, was clearly visible. Her figurehead was a bare-chested sailor whose blond hair was wreathed with seaweed. "Aren't we supposed to be turning that ship to splinters?" Hacker asked the artillery officer. The gunners were standing about their formidable weapons, but no man seemed to be either loading or aiming the guns.

"We lack wadding," Lieutenant Philip Marett, a cousin of Colonel Revere and the officer commanding the battery, explained.

"You what?"

Marett looked sheepish. "We seem to lack ring-wadding, sir."

"The round shot is the wrong size too," a sergeant said grimly.

Hacker scarcely believed what he was hearing. "The round shot? Wrong size?"

The sergeant demonstrated by lifting a round shot and pushing it into the barrel of one of the two eighteen-pounders. One of his men rammed the shot, thrusting the ball up the long gun which, because it was mounted on the highest point of Cross Island, was aimed slightly downwards so that it pointed at the bows of the Nautilus Nautilus. The gunner pulled the rammer clear and stepped aside. Hacker heard a slight noise from the gun. The rumbling, metal on metal, became louder as the ball rolled slowly down the barrel and then, pathetically, dropped from the muzzle to thump onto the pine needles that coated the ground. "Oh G.o.d," Hacker said.

"There must have been confusion in Boston," Marett said helplessly. He pointed to a neat pyramid of round shot. "It seems they're for twelve-pounders," he went on, "and even if we could wad them the windage would make it near useless." Windage was the tiny gap between a missile and the cannon's barrel. All guns suffered from windage, but if the gap was too great then much of the gun's propellant would waste itself around the ball's edges.

"You've sent for Colonel Revere?"

Marett's eyes darted round the cleared s.p.a.ce as if searching for somewhere to hide. "I'm sure there's eighteen-pounder ammunition on the Samuel Samuel, sir," he said evasively.

"Suffering Christ," Hacker said savagely, "it'll take two hours to fetch it downriver!" The Samuel Samuel was anch.o.r.ed well to the north, a long way from the creek south of Cross Island. was anch.o.r.ed well to the north, a long way from the creek south of Cross Island.

"We could open fire with the twelve-pounder," Marett suggested.

"You have wadding for that?"

"We could use turf?"

"Oh for G.o.d's sake, let's do it properly," Hacker said, then had a sudden inspiration. "The Warren Warren mounts eighteen-pounders, doesn't she?" mounts eighteen-pounders, doesn't she?"

"I don't know, sir."

"She does, and she's a h.e.l.l of a lot closer than the Samuel Samuel! We'll ask her for ammunition."

Hoysteed Hacker's inspiration proved a happy one. Commodore Saltonstall snorted derision when he heard of the request for ammunition, but he acceded to it, and Captain Welch sent to the General Putnam General Putnam and ordered Captain Thomas Carnes to a.s.semble a work party of marines to carry the necessary wadding and round shot ash.o.r.e. Carnes, before he joined the marines, had served in Colonel Gridley's Artillery Regiment and afterwards commanded a battery of the New Jersey Artillery in the Continental Army and he was a cheerful, energetic man who rubbed his hands with delight when he saw how close the and ordered Captain Thomas Carnes to a.s.semble a work party of marines to carry the necessary wadding and round shot ash.o.r.e. Carnes, before he joined the marines, had served in Colonel Gridley's Artillery Regiment and afterwards commanded a battery of the New Jersey Artillery in the Continental Army and he was a cheerful, energetic man who rubbed his hands with delight when he saw how close the Nautilus Nautilus lay to the guns. "We can use the twelve-pounder shot in the eighteens," he declared. lay to the guns. "We can use the twelve-pounder shot in the eighteens," he declared.

"We can?" Marett asked.

"We'll double-shot," Carnes said. "Load an eighteen-pound ball by the charge and wad a twelve on top. We're going to splinter that nearest ship, boys!" He watched the Ma.s.sachusetts gunners, all imbued now with enthusiasm from Carnes's energy, load and lay the cannon. Carnes stooped by the barrel and peered along its upper side. "Aim slightly higher," he said.

"Higher?" Marett asked. "You want us to aim for the masts?"

"A cold barrel shoots low," Carnes said, "but as it heats up she'll shoot true. Lower her elevation after three shots, and take it one degree lower than you reckon necessary. I don't know why, but round shot always rises from a barrel. It's just a fraction, but if you compensate then you'll hit true and hard when the guns are hot."

The sun was glowing bright in the fog when, at last, the battery opened fire. The two big eighteen-pounders were the ship-killers and Carnes used them to shoot at the Nautilus Nautilus's hull while the twelve-pounder fired bar shot at her rigging and the howitzer lobbed sh.e.l.ls over the Nautilus Nautilus to ravage the decks of the to ravage the decks of the North North and and Albany Albany.

The guns recoiled hard and far on the rocky ground. They needed realigning after each shot, and every discharge filled the s.p.a.ce between the cleared trees with thick powder smoke that lingered in the still air. The smoke thickened the fog to such an extent that aiming was impossible until the view cleared, and that necessity slowed the rate of fire, but Carnes heard the satisfying crunch of round shots striking timber. The British could not return the fire. The Nautilus Nautilus had no bows chasers, and her broadside of nine cannon was aimed west towards the harbor approach. Captain Tom Farnham, who commanded the had no bows chasers, and her broadside of nine cannon was aimed west towards the harbor approach. Captain Tom Farnham, who commanded the Nautilus Nautilus, might have warped his ship around to face Cross Island, but then Mowat would have lost a third of the cannons guarding the channel, and so the sloop had to endure.

The commodore, satisfied that the battery was at last in action, sent an order that Carnes and his handful of marines were to return to their ships, but before he left Carnes used a small telescope to stare at the Nautilus Nautilus and saw the holes ripped in her bows. "You're hitting her hard, Captain!" he told Marett. "Remember! Aim low at this range and you'll sink that b.a.s.t.a.r.d by noon! Good day to you, sir!" This last greeting was to Brigadier-General Lovell who had come to watch the new battery in action. and saw the holes ripped in her bows. "You're hitting her hard, Captain!" he told Marett. "Remember! Aim low at this range and you'll sink that b.a.s.t.a.r.d by noon! Good day to you, sir!" This last greeting was to Brigadier-General Lovell who had come to watch the new battery in action.

"Good morning! Good morning!" Lovell beamed at the gunners. "'Pon my word, but you're hitting that ship hard, lads!" He borrowed Carnes's telescope. "My word, you've knocked an arm off that ugly figurehead! Well done! Keep going and you'll sink her soon enough!"

The Nautilus Nautilus was still afloat an hour before noon when Colonel Revere arrived with eighteen-pounder ammunition from the was still afloat an hour before noon when Colonel Revere arrived with eighteen-pounder ammunition from the Samuel Samuel. He came in his smart white-painted barge, which belonged to the Castle Island garrison and which Revere had commandeered for the expedition. Revere ordered sailors from the Providence Providence to carry the round shot to the battery, then strode uphill to discover General Lovell still standing beside the guns. The fog had lifted and the general was peering through a gla.s.s that he rested on a gunner's shoulder. "Colonel!" he greeted Revere cheerfully, "I see we're striking hard!" to carry the round shot to the battery, then strode uphill to discover General Lovell still standing beside the guns. The fog had lifted and the general was peering through a gla.s.s that he rested on a gunner's shoulder. "Colonel!" he greeted Revere cheerfully, "I see we're striking hard!"

"What the devil do you mean, the wrong ammunition?" Revere ignored Lovell and challenged Captain Marett who pointed to the twelve-pounder round shot and began a halting explanation of his difficulties, but Revere brushed him aside. "If you brought the wrong round shot," he said, "then you're to blame." He watched as the gunners hauled one of the huge eighteen-pounders back into place. The gunner squinted down the barrel, then used a long-handled maul to drive a wedge deeper under the breech. The wedge slightly lifted the rear of the barrel, lowering the muzzle, and the gunner, satisfied with the angle, nodded at his crew to reload the cannon.

"They must be suffering, Colonel," Lovell said happily. "I can see distinct damage to her hull!"

"What are you doing?" Revere again ignored Lovell, rounding on Marett instead. The colonel had peered down the barrel and had not liked what he saw. "Are you shooting at the water, Captain? What's the use of shooting into the water?"

"Captain Carnes'" Marett began.

"Captain Carnes? Is he an officer in this regiment? Sergeant! I want the barrel raised. Loosen the breech wedge by two degrees. Good day, General," he at last greeted Lovell.

"I came to congratulate the gunners," Lovell said.

"We're just doing our duty, General," Revere said briskly and again crouched behind the gun after the sergeant had loosened the wedge. "Much better!"

"I trust you'll be at the Council of War this afternoon?" Lovell said.

"I shall be there, General. What are you waiting for?" This last was to the gunners. "Give the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds some iron pills!"

The sergeant had pierced the powder bag with a spike and now inserted the portfire. "Stand back!" he shouted, then, satisfied that the s.p.a.ce behind the gun was clear, he touched the burning slow-fuse to the portfire. There was a hiss, a puff of smoke from the touchhole, then the gun roared and smoke billowed to fill the sky around the battery. The cannon leaped back, its wheels bouncing off the stony soil.

The shot flew down the Nautilus Nautilus's deck and narrowly missed her masts, though it pa.s.sed close enough to shatter a stand of boarding pikes at the base of the mainmast before smacking harmlessly into the beach of the peninsula. A sailor on the sloop twisted and fell, scrabbling at his throat, and Captain Farnham saw blood where a splinter from a shattered pike-shaft had speared into the man's gullet. "Get him below," he ordered.

The surgeon's a.s.sistant tried to withdraw the splinter, but the man convulsed before he could slide it free. Blood spilled across the dark lower deck, the man's eyes widened to stare vacantly at the deck above, then he made a choking, gurgling noise and more blood welled from his throat and mouth. He convulsed again, then went still. He was dead, the first man killed on board the sloop. The surgeon himself was wounded, his thigh pierced by a sharp blade of wood driven from the hull by one of the earlier shots. Six men were in the sick bay, all of them similarly injured by splinters. The surgeon and his a.s.sistant were pulling the wood fragments free and bandaging the wounds, and all the while waiting for the dreaded hammer blow of the next shot to smash into the hull. The ship's carpenter was hammering wedges and caulking into the damaged bows, and the ship's pumps were clattering constantly as men tried to stop the water rising in the bilge.

"I do believe," Captain Farnham said after another eighteen-pounder shot had screamed just above his deck, "that they've lifted their aim. They're trying to dismast us now."

"Better that than hulling us, sir," his first lieutenant observed.

"Indeed," Farnham said with evident relief, "oh indeed." He aimed his gla.s.s out of the harbor and saw, to his further relief, that the rebel warships showed no sign of readying themselves for another attack.

"Signal from the Albany Albany, sir!" a midshipman called. "Prepare to move ship, sir!"

"That's hardly a surprise, is it?" Farnham said.

Colonel Revere's battery on Cross Island had started its day in confusion, but now it had succeeded in one ambition. The three British sloops that barred the harbor entrance were being driven away eastwards.

And the door to Majabigwaduce had been opened.

General McLean stood on Dyce's Head and stared towards the enemy battery on Cross Island. He could see nothing of the rebel guns because their smoke shrouded the clearing the rebels had made on the island's summit, but he recognized the damage that had been done to his defenses. Yet he could never have spared enough men to garrison Cross Island properly. Its fall had been inevitable. "The wretched Yankees have done well," he said grudgingly.

"A slow rate of fire," Captain Michael Fielding observed.

Yet if the rebel gunners were slightly slower than Fielding's men of the Royal Artillery, they had still unblocked the harbor. Captain Mowat had sent a young lieutenant ash.o.r.e who discovered McLean on the high bluff. "The captain regrets, sir, that he must move the sloops away from the enemy guns."

"Yes, he must," McLean agreed, "indeed he must."

"He proposes to make a new line at the harbor's center, sir."

"Give Captain Mowat my best wishes," McLean said, "and thank him for informing me." The three sloops and their attendant transport ships were already moving slowly eastwards. Captain Mowat had marked their new anchorage with buoys made from empty barrels and McLean could see that their new position was not nearly as formidable as their old. The ships would now make a line well to the east of the harbor entrance, no longer a cork in a tight bottleneck, but halfway inside the bottle, and their retreat would surely invite an attack by the enemy fleet. That was a pity, McLean thought, but he understood that Mowat had no choice but to retreat now that the rebels possessed Cross Island.

The brigadier had gone to the bluff to see whether Fielding's twelve-pounders could be deployed to shoot down at the new rebel battery on Cross Island. The small six-pounders on the bluff were already firing at the rebel position, but they were puny cannons and, besides, the new enemy battery lay in the island's center and was shooting down a corridor of cleared trees, and that corridor pointed northwards. The guns themselves were hidden from Dyce's Head, lying to the northwest of the enemy battery, and Midshipman Fenistone's three guns were spitting their small b.a.l.l.s into Cross Island's trees in optimistic hope of hitting whatever was hidden by the smoke and the foliage. "I'm not sure we gain much by using twelve-pounders, sir," Fielding said, "except to cause more damage to those trees."

McLean nodded, then walked a few paces westwards to gaze at the enemy shipping. He was astonished that the Americans had made no move to attack him. He had expected the rebel warships to be at the harbor entrance, adding their fire to the new battery, and that rebel infantry would already be a.s.saulting him, but the anch.o.r.ed fleet lay peacefully under the sun. He could see clothes hung out to dry on lines slung between the transport ships' masts. "My worry," he said to Fielding, "is that if we put twelves here we won't have time to withdraw them when the enemy attacks."

"Without horse teams," Fielding agreed, "we won't."

"I do miss my horses," McLean said gently. He took off his c.o.c.ked hat and stared ruefully at the inner leather band, which was coming apart. His white hair lifted in a sudden waft of wind. "Well," he said, "I dare say we can afford to lose a trio of six-pounders, but I won't abide the loss of any twelves." McLean turned and gazed at the smoke enveloping Cross Island, then carefully replaced his hat. "Leave the twelves at the fort," he decided, "and thank you, Captain." He turned as footsteps sounded loud among the trees. Lieutenant Caffrae, a Hamilton, was running towards the general. "More bad news, I suspect," McLean said.

Caffrae, a lithe and energetic young man, was panting as he stopped in front of McLean. "The rebels have landed men north of the neck, sir."

"Have they indeed! Are they advancing?"

Caffrae shook his head. "We saw about sixty men in boats, sir. They landed out of sight, sir, but they're in the trees beyond the marsh."

"Just sixty men?"

"That's all we saw, sir."

"Major Dunlop is apprised?"

"He sent me to tell you, sir."

"The devil moves in a mysterious way," McLean said. "Is he trying to make us stare northwards while he attacks here? Or is that the advanced guard of his real attack?" He smiled at the breathless Caffrae, whom he considered one of his best young officers. "We'll have to wait and see, but the onslaught must come soon. Well, I'm going back to the fort and you, Caffrae, are going to tell Major Dunlop that I'll reinforce his picquet on the neck."

On board the sloops the sailors readied to drop anchors for their new position. The guns on Cross Island still pounded the Nautilus Nautilus where men bled and died. North of the isthmus the rebels began making an earthwork where cannon could command the redcoats' escape route from Majabigwaduce. It was Tuesday, July 27th, and the ring around Fort George was closing tight. where men bled and died. North of the isthmus the rebels began making an earthwork where cannon could command the redcoats' escape route from Majabigwaduce. It was Tuesday, July 27th, and the ring around Fort George was closing tight.

"I believe I can say with great confidence," Lovell addressed the Council of War in the commodore's cabin aboard the Warren Warren, "that we have achieved splendid things! n.o.ble things!" The general was at his most avuncular, smiling at the men crowded about the table and along the cabin's sides. "Now we must go on to achieve our larger designs. We must captivate, kill, and destroy the tyrant!"

For a while the Council indulged itself in pleasurable contemplation of the capture of Cross Island, a victory that surely presaged a greater triumph on the northern side of the harbor. Compliments were offered to the marines in the person of Captain Welch who said nothing, but just stood behind Saltonstall's chair and looked grim. The commodore, also silent, appeared bored. Once or twice he deigned to incline his head when Lovell directed a question at him, but for the most part he appeared to be aloof from the matters under discussion. Nor did he seem in the least abashed by the pet.i.tion sent to him by thirty-two officers from the rebel warships which had respectfully requested that the commodore should destroy or capture the three British sloops without any more delay. The letter had been couched in the politest terms, but no amount of courtesy could hide that the pet.i.tion was a bitter criticism of Saltonstall's leadership. Nearly all of the men who had signed that letter were in the cabin, but Saltonstall pointedly ignored them.

"I a.s.sume, gentlemen, we are agreed that we must make our a.s.sault soon?" Lovell asked.

Voices murmured their a.s.sent. "Tonight, go tonight," George Little, first lieutenant of the Hazard Hazard, suggested forcibly.

"Wait too long," Colonel Jonathan Mitch.e.l.l, commander of the c.u.mberland County militia, said, "and they'll have their d.a.m.ned fort finished. The sooner we attack, the sooner we go home."

"Wait too long," George Little warned, "and you'll see British reinforcements coming upriver." He pointed out of the cabin's wide stern windows. The ebbing tide had turned the Warren Warren on her anchor cable and the windows now looked towards the southwest. The sun was setting there, glossing the waters of Pen.o.bscot Bay into slithering patterns of red and gold. on her anchor cable and the windows now looked towards the southwest. The sun was setting there, glossing the waters of Pen.o.bscot Bay into slithering patterns of red and gold.

"Let us not antic.i.p.ate such things," Lovell said.

Wadsworth thought such things were worth antic.i.p.ating, especially if they lent haste to the job at hand. "I would suggest, sir," he said warmly, "that we make our a.s.sault tonight."

"Tonight!" Lovell stared at his deputy.

"We have a full moon," Wadsworth said, "and with some small luck the enemy will be inattentive. Yes, sir, tonight." A growl of approval sounded around the cabin.

"And how many men could you commit to such an attack?" A sharp voice asked and Wadsworth saw that it was Lieutenant-Colonel Revere who had posed the question.

Wadsworth felt the question was impertinent. It was not Revere's business to know how many infantry could be landed, but Solomon Lovell seemed unworried by the brusque demand. "We can land eight hundred men," the general said and Revere nodded as though satisfied with the answer.

"And how many men can the artillery train take ash.o.r.e?" Wadsworth demanded.

Revere flinched, as though the question offended him. "Eighty men, exclusive of officers," he said resentfully.

"And I trust," Wadsworth rather surprised himself by the defiance in his voice, "that this time the ammunition will match the guns?"

Revere looked as if he had been slapped. He stared at Wadsworth, his mouth opened and closed, then he drew himself up as if about to launch a vicious response, but Colonel Mitch.e.l.l intervened. "More to the matter at hand," Mitch.e.l.l said, "how many men can the enemy muster?"

William Todd who had also bridled at Revere's intervention was about to give his usual high estimate, but Peleg Wadsworth silenced him with a gesture. "I've talked long and hard with young Fletcher," Wadsworth said, "and his information is not guesswork, it is not an estimate, but derives directly from the enemy paymaster." He paused, looking about the table. "I am persuaded that the enemy regiments can muster no more than seven hundred infantry."

Someone gave a low whistle of surprise. Others looked dubious. "You have confidence in that number?" Major Todd asked skeptically.

"Complete confidence," Wadsworth said firmly.

"They possess artillerymen too," Lovell warned.

"And they have Royal Marines," a ship's captain spoke from the edge of the cabin.

"We have better marines," Captain Welch insisted.

Commodore Saltonstall stirred himself, his gaze moving disinterestedly about the table as though he was faintly surprised to discover himself in such company. "We shall loan two hundred and twenty-seven marines to the militia," he said.

"This is splendid," Lovell said, trying to rouse the fervor of the Council, "truly splendid!" He leaned back in his chair, planted his fists wide apart on the table, and beamed at the company. "So, gentlemen, we have a motion! And the motion is that we attack this night with all our land forces. Permit me to put a proposition to the Council's vote, and may I suggest we attempt a resolution by acclamation? So, gentlemen, the motion is, do you think the force we possess sufficient to attack the enemy?"

No one responded. They were all too astonished. Even Saltonstall, who had appeared entirely disengaged from the discussion in his cabin, now gazed wide-eyed at Lovell. For a moment Wadsworth was tempted to think the general was venturing a clumsy joke, but it was apparent from Lovell's expression that he was serious. He really expected every officer present to vote on the motion as though this was a meeting of the General a.s.sembly. The silence stretched, broken only by the footsteps of the watch-keepers on the deck above.

"In favor, aye," Wadsworth managed to say, and his words broke the surprise in the cabin so that a chorus of voices approved the motion.

"And is anyone opposed?" Lovell asked. "None? Good! The ayes have it." He looked at his secretary, John Marston. "Record in the minutes that the motion proposing that we possess sufficient force to make the a.s.sault was pa.s.sed unanimously by acclamation." He beamed at the a.s.sembled officers, then looked inquiringly at Saltonstall. "Commodore? You will support our a.s.sault with a naval action?"

Saltonstall looked at Lovell with an expressionless face which nevertheless managed to suggest that the commodore thought the general was a witless fool. "On the one hand," Saltonstall finally broke the embarra.s.sing silence, "you wish my marines to take part in your a.s.sault, and on the other you wish me to attack the enemy shipping without my marines?"

"I, well'" Lovell began awkwardly.

"Well?" Saltonstall interrupted harshly. "Do you want the marines or not?"

"I would appreciate their a.s.sistance," Lovell said weakly.

"Then we shall engage the enemy with gunfire," Saltonstall announced loftily. There was a murmur of protest from the officers who had signed the letter condemning the commodore, but the murmur died under Saltonstall's scornful gaze.

All that was left now was to decide where and when to attack, and no one demurred from Wadsworth's proposal to a.s.sail the bluff again, but this time to attack by moonlight. "We shall attack at midnight," Wadsworth said, "and a.s.sault the bluff directly." To Wadsworth's exasperation Lovell insisted on offering both the time and place as motions for the Council's vote, but no one voted against either, though Colonel Mitch.e.l.l diffidently observed that midnight left little time to make the necessary preparations.

"No time like the present," Wadsworth said.