The moon was full and its light whispered silver across the bay. The tide was ebbing to carry the Penobscot’s waters out to the wide Atlantic while on Cross Island the rebels were digging a new emplacement for the guns that would hammer Mowat’s ships.
And on the bluff the redcoat picquets waited.
General McLean had been inordinately grateful for the two days’ respite the rebels had granted him. The enemy fleet had arrived on Sunday, now it was late on Tuesday evening and there had still been no attack on Fort George, which had given him the opportunity to emplace two more guns and to raise the parapet by another two feet. He knew only too well how vulnerable his position was. He was resigned to that. He had done his best.
That night he stood at Fort George’s gate, which was nothing more than a brushwork barricade that could be pulled aside by the two sentries. He gazed southwards, admiring the sheen of moonlight on the harbor water. It was a pity that the artillerymen had been driven from their battery on Cross Island, but McLean had always known that position was indefensible.
“You look pensive, sir,” Lieutenant Moore joined the general in the gateway.
“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”
“I am, sir. This is but a dream.”
McLean smiled. “When are you on duty?”
“Another two hours yet, sir.”
“Then you might accompany me,” the general suggested and led the way eastwards. “You heard the enemy approached the bluff again?”
“Major Dunlop told me, sir.”
“And withdrew again,” McLean said, “which suggests to me they are trying to deceive us.”
“Or lack the nerve to make an assault, sir?”
McLean shook his head. “Never underestimate an enemy, Lieutenant. Treat every foe as though he holds the winning cards and then, when his hand is declared, you won’t be unpleasantly surprised. I think our enemy means us to believe he will assault the bluff, and so force us to commit troops there, while in truth he plans to land elsewhere.”
“Then post me elsewhere, sir.”
“You will stay on the bluff,” McLean said firmly. The general had decided to thicken the picquet line facing north towards the marshy isthmus that joined Majabigwaduce to the mainland, for he still believed that to be the likeliest enemy approach. That picquet line should delay the rebels, and the tangle of the abatis would hold them for a few more moments, but inevitably they would break both those defenses and charge the fort. “If the enemy does land on the neck,” he told Moore, “then I shall recall your picquet and you’ll help defend the fort.”
“Yes, sir,” Moore said resignedly. He feared battle and he wanted battle. If the main fight tomorrow, if a fight even came tomorrow, was to be at the neck then Moore wanted to be there, but he knew he would not change McLean’s mind, and so did not try.
The two men, one so young and the other a veteran of Flanders and Portugal, walked the path just north of the Hatch cornfield. Lamplight glowed bright from the windows of Doctor Calef’s house, their destination. The doctor must have seen them approach in the moonlight because he threw open his door before McLean could knock. “I have a house full of women,” the doctor greeted them morosely.
“Some men are more blessed than others,” McLean said. “Good evening to you, Doctor.”
“There’s tea, I believe,” Calef said, “or something stronger?”
“Tea would be a pleasure,” McLean said.
A dozen women were gathered in the kitchen. The doctor’s wife was there, as were Colonel Goldthwait’s two daughters, the Banks girls, and Bethany Fletcher. They sat on chairs and stools about the big table, which was covered with scraps of cloth. It was evident that the evening gathering was ending, because the women were stowing their work into bags. “A sewing circle?” McLean asked.
“War doesn’t stop a woman’s work, General,” Mrs. Calef answered.
“Nothing does,” McLean said. The women appeared to have been making and mending clothes for children, and McLean remembered his own mother joining just such a group every week. The women would talk, tell stories, and sometimes sing as they darned and stitched. “I’m glad you’re all here,” McLean said, “because I came to warn the good doctor that I expect a rebel attack tomorrow. Ah, thank you,” this last was to the maid who had brought him a mug of tea.
“You’re sure about tomorrow?” Doctor Calef asked.
“I cannot speak for the enemy,” McLean said, “but if I were in his shoes then I would come tomorrow.” In truth, had McLean been in the enemy’s shoes, he would have attacked already. “I wished to tell you,” he went on, “that in the event of an assault you must stay indoors.” He looked at the anxious lamplit faces around the table. “There’s always a temptation to witness a fight, but in the confusion, ladies, a face seen through smoke can be mistaken for an enemy. I have no reason to believe the rebels will want to capture any of your houses, so you should be safe inside your own walls.”
“Wouldn’t we be safer inside the fort?” Doctor Calef asked.
“The very last place to be,” McLean said firmly. “Please, all of you, stay home. This is excellent tea!”
“If the rebels . . .” Mrs. Calef began, then thought better of what she had been about to say.
“If the rebels capture the fort?” McLean suggested helpfully.
“They’ll find all those sworn oaths,” Mrs. Calef said.
“And take revenge,” Jane Goldthwait, whom everyone called Lil for a reason long forgotten, added.
“Mister Moore,” McLean looked at the young lieutenant, “if it looks likely that the fort will fall, then you will be responsible for burning the oaths.”
“I’d rather be killing the enemy on the ramparts, sir.”
“I am sure you would,” McLean said, “but you will destroy the oaths first. That’s an order, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir,” Moore said in a chastened voice.
Over six hundred local people had come to Majabigwaduce and signed the oath of loyalty to King George, and Lil Goldthwait was right, the rebels would want revenge on those folk. Dozens of families who lived about the river had already been forced from their homes in and near Boston and now they faced yet another eviction. McLean smiled. “But we place the carriage in front of the horses, ladies. The fort has not fallen and, I can assure you, we shall do our utmost to repel the enemy.” That was not true. McLean had no wish to stand to the last man. Such a defense would be heroic, but utterly wasteful.
“There are men here who would willingly man the walls with you,” Doctor Calef said.
“I am grateful,” McLean replied, “but such an action would expose your families to the enemy’s anger and I would rather that did not happen. Please, all of you, remain in your homes.”
The general stayed to finish his tea, then he and Moore left. They stood a moment in the doctor’s garden and watched the flicker of moonlight on the harbor. “I think there’ll be a fog tomorrow,” McLean said.
“The air’s warm,” Moore said.
McLean stepped aside as a group of women came from the house. He bowed to them. The Banks girls, both young, were walking back to their father’s house on the western side of the village beneath the fort, while Bethany Fletcher was going directly down the hill to her brother’s house. “I haven’t seen your brother lately, Miss Fletcher,” McLean said.
“He went fishing, sir,” Bethany said.
“And hasn’t returned?” Moore asked.
“He’s sometimes away for a week,” Bethany said, flustered.
“Mister Moore,” McLean said, “do you have time to escort Miss Fletcher safely home before you report for duty?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then pray do so.”
“I’m safe, sir,” Bethany said.
“Indulge an old man’s wishes, Miss Fletcher,” the general said, then bowed, “and I bid you a good
