The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War

“You don’t need to come out, sir,” James said. The commodore was right, of course, that while it would be easy to use the prevailing wind to enter the harbor it would be a devilish business to tack out again, especially under fire from the fort’s cannon.

“Oh, praise the Lord,” Saltonstall said, “so I am just supposed to lie there, am I, allowing the shore batteries to reduce my ship to wreckage?”

“Lord love you, sir, no. You can sail on up into the Bagaduce River,” James said. “Deep water there, sir, and long beyond the reach of any of their guns.”

“Must be thirty feet at low water up the river,” Brewer put in.

“Twenty, anyway,” James said.

“You seem to be damned knowing about the matter,” Saltonstall turned on Captain Brewer.

“I live here,” Brewer said.

“I am not going to risk my shipping in that damned hole,” Saltonstall said firmly, then turned away again to gaze at the defenses.

“What damned hole, Commodore?” a bright voice interrupted.

Saltonstall turned to look at Peleg Wadsworth who had just arrived on board the frigate. “Good morning, General,” the commodore grunted.

Brigadier Wadsworth looked happy. His concerns about the fitness of the militia had been dissipated by his first sight of the British defenses, which had been visible from the Sally’s deck as it sailed north. Wadsworth had gazed through a telescope at the fort above the settlement and he had seen that the walls were pitifully low, confirming reports that the ramparts were unfinished. Two local men who had been brought to the fleet by marines from the Tyrannicide had also confirmed that McLean’s works were far from completed and that the fort’s guns were still not mounted. “God has been good to us,” Wadsworth said, “and the British are unprepared.” He smiled at Fletcher. “Hello, young man, is that your boat tied alongside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She looks a very trim craft,” Wadsworth said, then stepped alongside the commodore. “General Lovell is determined to launch an assault this afternoon,” he told Saltonstall.

Saltonstall grunted again.

“And we beg the favor of your marines, sir.”

Saltonstall grunted a third time and then, after a pause, called aloud, “Captain Welch!”

The tall marine stalked across the deck. “Sir?”

“What kind of assault, General?” Saltonstall demanded.

“Straight at the bluff,” Wadsworth said confidently.

“There’s a battery of guns on the bluff,” Saltonstall warned, then waved carelessly at Fletcher and Captain Brewer, “they know.”

“Six-pounders probably,” Captain Brewer said, “but aimed southwards.”

“The guns face the harbor mouth, sir,” James explained. “They don’t point at the bay,” he added.

“Then the guns shouldn’t trouble us,” Wadsworth said cheerfully. He paused as if expecting agreement from the commodore, but Saltonstall just gazed past the brigadier, his long face somehow suggesting that he had better things to do than concern himself with Wadsworth’s problems. “If your marines take the right of the line,” Wadsworth suggested.

The commodore looked at Welch. “Well?”

“It would be an honor, sir,” Welch said.

Saltonstall nodded. “Then you can have my marines, Wadsworth,” he said. “But take good care of them!” This was evidently a jest because the commodore gave a brief bark of laughter.

“I’m most grateful,” Wadsworth said heartily, “and General Lovell asked me to inquire, Commodore, whether you plan an attack on their shipping?” Wadsworth asked the question with the utmost tact.

“You want it both ways, Wadsworth?” the commodore demanded fiercely. “You want my marines to attack on land, but you’d deny me their service in an assault on the enemy shipping? So which do you want, land or sea?”

“I desire the cause of liberty to triumph,” Wadsworth said, knowing he sounded pompous.

Yet the words seemed to jar with the commodore who flinched, then looked at the three enemy sloops again. “They’re the cork in a bottleneck,” he said. “Not much of a cork, you might think, but a damned tight bottle. I can destroy their ships, Wadsworth, but at what price, eh? Tell me that! What price? Half our fleet?”

Captain Brewer and James Fletcher had stepped back respectfully, as if leaving the two senior officers to their discussion, while Captain Welch stood glowering beside the commodore. Wadsworth alone seemed at his ease. He smiled. “Three ships can do that much damage?” he inquired of Saltonstall.

“Not their damned ships, but their damned fort and their damned batteries,” Saltonstall said. “I sail in there, Wadsworth, and my fleet is under their fort’s guns. We’ll be pounded, man, pounded.”

“The fort hasn’t mounted’” Captain Brewer began.

“I know how few guns they have!” Saltonstall turned angrily on Brewer, “but that was yesterday. How many more today? Do we know? We do not! And how many field guns are concealed in the village there? Do we know? We do not. And once inside that damned bottle I can’t get out unless I have an ebbing tide and an easterly wind. And no,” he looked sourly at James Fletcher, “I am not minded to take my ship up a river where enemy field guns can be deployed. So, General,” he turned back to Peleg Wadsworth, “do you wish to explain to the Navy Board the loss of yet another Continental frigate?”

“What I wish, Commodore,” Wadsworth still spoke respectfully, “is for the enemy marines to be aboard their ships and not waiting for us on land.”

“Ah, that’s different,” Saltonstall spoke grudgingly. “You want me to engage their shipping. Very well. But I won’t take my fleet into that damned hole, you understand? We’ll engage them from without the harbor.”

“And I’m certain that threat alone will keep the enemy marines where we wish them to be,” Wadsworth said.

“Have you marked that chart for me?” Saltonstall turned on Captain Brewer.

“Not yet, sir.”

“Then do so. Very well, Wadsworth, I’ll hammer the ships for you.”

Wadsworth stepped back, feeling rather as though he had waved a lit candle over an open barrel of gunpowder and had managed to survive without causing an explosion. He smiled at James Fletcher. “Do I understand that you’re familiar with Majabigwaduce, young man?” he asked.

“Bagaduce, sir? Yes, sir.”

“Then do me the honor of accompanying me. You too, Captain Welch? We must draw up orders.”

The Felicity was left tied to the Warren as James Fletcher was rowed with Wadsworth and Welch to the Sally, which, for the moment, acted as the army’s headquarters. Wadsworth appraised James Fletcher and liked what he saw. “So, Mister Fletcher,” he asked, “why are you here?”

“To fight, sir.”

“Good man!”

The sun sparked off the water, it glittered. The expedition had come to Majabigwaduce and would go straight into battle.

Brigadier McLean had ordered every civilian to stay in their home because, if the rebels came, he did not want unnecessary casualties. Now he stood outside the long storehouse that had been built within the half-finished walls of Fort George. The garrison’s precious supplies were in the long wooden building, all except the artillery’s ammunition, which was buried in stone-lined pits just behind the unfinished ramparts. The union flag flapped noisily above the bastion nearest the harbor entrance. “I think the wind’s rising,” McLean remarked to Lieutenant John Moore.

“I believe it is, sir.”

“A wind to blow our enemy into the harbor,” McLean said.

“Sir?” Moore sounded plaintive.

“I know what you desire, John,” McLean said sympathetically.

“Please, sir.”

McLean paused as a sergeant bellowed at a private to extinguish his damned pipe. No smoking was allowed