The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War

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 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, “that we have achieved splendid things! Noble 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 petition 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 petition 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 assume, gentlemen, we are agreed that we must make our assault soon?” Lovell asked.

Voices murmured their assent. “Tonight, go tonight,” George Little, first lieutenant of the Hazard, suggested forcibly.

“Wait too long,” Colonel Jonathan Mitchell, commander of the Cumberland County militia, said, “and they’ll have their damned 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 on her anchor cable and the windows now looked towards the southwest. The sun was setting there, glossing the waters of Penobscot Bay into slithering patterns of red and gold.

“Let us not anticipate such things,” Lovell said.

Wadsworth thought such things were worth anticipating, especially if they lent haste to the job at hand. “I would suggest, sir,” he said warmly, “that we make our assault 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 ashore?” 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 Mitchell intervened. “More to the matter at hand,” Mitchell 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 Assembly. 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 assault was passed unanimously by acclamation.” He beamed at the assembled officers, then looked inquiringly at Saltonstall. “Commodore? You will support our assault 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 embarrassing silence, “you wish my marines to take part in your assault, 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 assistance,” 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