maybe down the coast towards the Carolinas, but Wadsworth worried that any day now he would see topsails appear above the seaward islands in the Penobscot River. Some men were already urging abandonment of the siege, but Lovell was unwilling to contemplate failure, instead he wanted his militia to win a small victory that would lead to the greater triumph.
And so this ambush had been devised. McCobb was to take his men down to the concealment of the cornfield from where he would send a small patrol to occupy the deserted battery. Those men would carry picks and spades so that they appeared to be making a new rampart to face the British, a defiance that Lovell was certain would provoke a response from Fort George. McLean would send men to drive the small patrol away and the ambush would be sprung. As the British attacked the men heightening the earthwork, so McCobb’s men would erupt from the cornfield and assault the enemy’s flank. “You’ll give them a volley,” Lovell had encouraged McCobb the night before, “then drive them away at the point of bayonets. Balls and bayonets! That’ll do the job.”
General Lovell now appeared in the dawn fog. “Good morning, Colonel!” the general cried cheerfully.
“Good morning, sir,” McCobb answered.
“Good morning, good morning, good morning!” Lovell called to the assembled men who mostly ignored him. One or two returned the greeting, though none with any enthusiasm. “Your men are in good heart?” the general asked McCobb.
“Ready and raring for the day, sir,” McCobb answered, though in truth his men looked ragged, sullen, and dispirited. Days of camping in the woods had left them dirty and the rain had rotted their shoe leathers, though their weapons were clean enough. McCobb had inspected the weapons, tugging at flints, drawing bayonets from sheaths or running a finger inside a barrel to make certain no powder residue clung to the metal. “They’ll do us proud, sir,” McCobb said.
“Let us hope the enemy plays his part!” Lovell declared. He looked upwards. “Is the fog thinning?”
“A little,” Wadsworth said.
“Then you should go, Colonel,” Lovell said, “but let me say a word or two to the men first?”
Lovell wanted to inspire them. He knew spirits were dangerously low, he heard daily reports of men deserting the lines or else hiding in the woods to evade their duties, and so he stood before McCobb’s men and told them they were Americans, that their children and children’s children would want to hear of their prowess, that they should return home with laurels on their brows. Some men nodded as he spoke, but most listened with expressionless faces as Lovell moved to his carefully prepared climax. “Let after ages say,” he declared with an orator’s flourish, “that there they did stand like men inspired, there did they fight, and fighting some few fell, the rest victorious, firm, inflexible!”
He stopped abruptly, as if expecting a cheer, but the men just gazed blankly at him and Lovell, discomfited, gestured that McCobb should take them down the hill. Wadsworth watched them pass. One man had tied his boot- soles to the uppers with twine. Another man limped. A few were bare-footed, some were gray-headed and others looked absurdly young. He wished Lovell had thought to ask Saltonstall for a company of marines, but the general and the commodore were barely on speaking terms now. They communicated by stiff letters, the commodore insisting that the ships could not be attacked while the fort existed, and the general certain that the fort was impregnable so long as the British ships still floated.
“I think that went very well,” Lovell said to Wadsworth, “don’t you?”
“Your speech, sir? It was rousing.”
“Just a reminder of their duty and our destiny,” Lovell said. He watched the last of the militia disappear into the fog. “When the day clears,” he went on, “you might look to those new batteries?”
“Yes, sir,” Wadsworth said unenthusiastically. Lovell wanted him to establish new gun batteries that could bombard the British ships. Those new batteries, Lovell now insisted, were the key to the army’s success, but the idea made little sense to Wadsworth. Building more batteries would take guns from their primary job of cannonading the fort and, besides, the gunners had already warned Lovell that they were running short of ammunition. The twelve-pounder shot was almost entirely expended, and the eighteen-pounders had fewer than two hundred rounds between them. Colonel Revere was being blamed for that shortage of powder and shot, but in all fairness everyone had expected the British to be defeated within a week of the fleet’s arrival, and now the army had been encamped before Fort George for almost three weeks. There was even a lack of musket cartridges because the spare ammunition had not been properly protected from the rain. General McLean, Wadsworth thought bitterly, would never have allowed his cartridges to deteriorate. He had been unsettled by his meeting with the Scotsman. It was strange to feel such a liking for an enemy and McLean’s air of easy confidence had gnawed at Wadsworth’s hopes.
Lovell had heard the lack of enthusiasm in Wadsworth’s voice. “We must rid ourselves of those ships,” he said energetically. The topmasts of the four British ships were visible above the fog now, and Wadsworth instinctively glanced southwards to where he feared to see enemy reinforcements arriving, but the Penobscot’s long sea-reach was entirely shrouded by the fog. “If we can establish those new batteries,” Lovell went on, still sounding as though he addressed an election meeting rather than confiding in his deputy, “then we can so damage the enemy that the commodore will feel it safe to enter the harbor.”
Wadsworth suddenly wanted to commit murder. The responsibility for capturing the fort was not Saltonstall’s, but Lovell’s, and Lovell was doing anything except fulfill that obligation.
The violent sensation was so strange to Peleg Wadsworth that, for a moment, he said nothing. “Sir,” he finally said, mastering the urge to be bitter, “the ships are incapable’”
“The ships are the key!” Lovell contradicted Wadsworth before the objection was even articulated. “How can I throw my men forward if the ships exist on their flank?” Easily, Wadsworth thought, but knew he would get nowhere by saying so. “And if the commodore won’t rid me of the ships,” Lovell went on, “then we shall have to do the business ourselves. More batteries, Wadsworth, more batteries.” He pushed a finger at his deputy. “That’s your task today, General, to make me cannon emplacements.”
It was clear to Wadsworth that Lovell would do anything rather than assault the fort. He would nibble about the edges, but never bite the center. The older man feared failure in the great endeavor and so sought for smaller successes, and in doing so he risked defeat if British reinforcements arrived before any American troops came. Yet Lovell would not be persuaded to boldness and so Wadsworth waited for the fog to clear, then went down to the beach where he discovered Marine Captain Carnes standing beside two large crates. The guns on the heights had started firing and Wadsworth could hear the more distant sound of the British guns returning the fire. “Twelve- pounder ammunition,” Carnes greeted Wadsworth cheerfully, pointing at the two crates, “courtesy of the
“We need it,” Wadsworth said, “and thank you.”
Carnes nodded towards his beached longboat. “My fellows are carrying the first boxes up to the batteries, and I’m guarding the rest to make sure no rascally privateer steals them.” He kicked at the shingle. “I hear your militiamen are planning to surprise the enemy?”
“I hope the enemy haven’t heard that,” Wadsworth said.
“The enemy’s probably content to do nothing,” Carnes said, “while we twiddle our fingers.”
“We do more than that,” Wadsworth said, bridling at the implied criticism which, if he were honest, he would agree with.
“We should be attacking the fort,” Carnes said.
“We should indeed.”
Carnes gave the taller man a shrewd glance. “You reckon the militia can do it, sir?”
“If they’re told the quickest way home is through the fort, yes. But I’d like some marines to lead the way.”
Carnes smiled at that. “And I’d like your artillery to concentrate their fire.”
Wadsworth remembered his close-up look at Fort George’s western wall and knew the marine was right. Worse, Carnes had been a Continental Army artillery officer, so knew what he was talking about. “Have you talked to Colonel Revere about that?” he asked.
“You can’t talk to Colonel Revere, sir,” Carnes said bitterly.
“Maybe we should both talk to him,” Wadsworth said, much as he dreaded such a conversation. Lieutenant- Colonel Revere reacted to criticism with belligerence, yet if the remaining ammunition was to be used wisely then the guns had to be laid skillfully. Wadsworth felt a pang of guilt at his part in appointing Revere to the expedition, then suppressed the rueful thoughts. There was already far too much blame being spread through the expedition.
