Part 10 (1/2)

”Spike the guns and run like b.u.g.g.e.ry, sir,” Fenistone answered with a grin, ”and get the gunners back to the North North, sir.” He slapped at a mosquito.

Moore looked down at Mowat's s.h.i.+ps, which were wreathed in mist. The three sloops looked formidable enough in their line, though he knew they were lightly armed compared to most wars.h.i.+ps. Behind them, in a parallel line, were the three transport s.h.i.+ps, which looked far larger and more threatening, but in truth were defenseless hulls, merely there to act as an obstacles in the event the enemy managed to pierce Mowat's first line.

”Are they coming today, sir?” Fenistone asked anxiously.

”So we believe,” Moore said.

”We'll give them a warm British welcome, sir.”

”I'm sure you will,” Moore said with a smile, then beckoned at his men to stop gawping at the s.h.i.+ps' guns and to follow him westwards through the trees.

He stopped at the brink of the bluff. Ahead of him was the wide Pen.o.bscot River beneath its thinning pall of fog. Moore stared southwards, but could see nothing stirring in the distant whiteness. ”So they are coming today, sir?” Sergeant McClure asked.

”We must a.s.sume so.”

”And our job, sir?”

”Is to take post here, Sergeant, in case the rascals attempt a landing.” Moore looked down the steep slope and thought the rebels would be foolish to attempt a landing on the narrow stony beach at the bluff's foot. He supposed they would land farther north, perhaps beyond the neck, and he wished he had been posted on the isthmus. There would be fighting and he had never fought; part of him feared that baptism and another part yearned to experience it.

”They'd be daft b.u.g.g.e.rs to land here, sir,” McClure said, standing beside Moore and gazing down the precipitous slope.

”Let us hope they are daft b.u.g.g.e.rs.”

”We'll shoot the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds easy, sir.”

”If there are enough of us.”

”That's true, sir.”

The fog thinned as the wind freshened. Lieutenant Moore had posted himself at the peninsula's southwestern corner, at Dyce's Head, and as the sun climbed higher more and more men made their way to that vantage point to watch for the enemy. Brigadier McLean came, stumping with his stick along the narrow path between the pines, leading seven other red-coated officers who all stood gazing southwards down the river that sparkled so prettily under the summer sun. Still more officers arrived, and with them came civilians like Doctor Calef who stood close to the brigadier and tried to make small-talk. Captain Mowat was there with two other naval officers, all of them holding long telescopes though there was nothing to see. The river was empty.

”I forgot to ask you last night,” McLean said to Calef, ”how is Temperance?”

”Temperance?” Calef asked, puzzled, then remembered. ”Ah, she's recovering. If a baby survives a day of fever they usually recover. She'll live.”

”I'm glad,” McLean said. ”There are few things so distressing as a sick bairn.”

”You have children, General?”

”I never married,” McLean said, then doffed his hat as more villagers came to the bluff with Colonel Goldthwait. Goldthwait was American and loyalist, a horse-breeder whose rank had been earned in the old Royal Militia. He feared that any rebel force in the river might persecute the loyalists and so he had brought his family to live under the protection of McLean's men. His two daughters had accompanied him to the bluff, along with Bethany Fletcher and Aaron Bank's twin daughters, and the presence of so many young women attracted the younger Scottish officers.

Lieutenant Moore steeled himself to approach Bethany. He took off his hat and offered a bow. ”Your brother isn't here?” he asked.

”He went fis.h.i.+ng, Lieutenant,” Bethany lied.

”I thought no one was allowed to leave the peninsula?” Moore queried.

”James left before that order was given,” Bethany said.

”I pray he returns safely,” Moore said. ”If the rebels catch him, Miss Fletcher, I fear they might detain him.”

”If they catch you, Lieutenant,” Bethany said with a smile, ”they might detain you.”

”Then I must ensure I am not caught,” Moore said.

”Good morning, Miss Fletcher,” Brigadier McLean said cheerfully.

”Good morning, General,” Bethany said and lightened the brigadier's morning with her most dazzling smile. She felt awkward. Her pale-green linen dress was patched with common brown cloth and her bonnet was long-peaked and old-fas.h.i.+oned. The Goldthwait girls wore lovely cotton print dresses that they must have received from Boston before the British had withdrawn from that city. The British officers, Beth thought, must think her very plain.

Thomas Goldthwait, a tall and good-looking man dressed in the faded red coat of the old militia, took McLean aside. ”I wanted a word, General,” Goldthwait said. He sounded awkward.

”I'm at your service, sir,” McLean responded.

Goldthwait stared south for a brief while. ”I have three sons,” he said finally, still gazing southwards, ”and when you arrived, General, I gave them a choice.”

McLean nodded. ”'Choose you this day whom you will serve?'” he guessed, quoting the scriptures.

”Yes,” Goldthwait said. He took a snuff box from a pocket and fiddled with its lid. ”I regret,” he went on, ”that Joseph and Benjamin chose to join the rebels.” He at last looked directly at McLean. ”That was not my wish, General, but I would wish you to know. I did not suggest that disaffection to them, and I a.s.sure you we are not a family attempting to ride two horses at the same time.” He stopped abruptly and shrugged.

”If I had a son,” McLean said, ”I would hope he would have the same loyalties as myself, Colonel, but I would also pray that he could think for himself. I a.s.sure you that we shall not think the less of you because of the folly of your sons.”

”Thank you,” Goldthwait said.

”We shall speak no more of it,” McLean said, then turned abruptly as Captain Mowat called that there were topsails visible.

And for a time no one spoke because there was nothing useful to say.

The enemy had come, the first evidence of their arrival a ma.s.s of topsails showing through the remnants of fog above a headland, but gradually, remorselessly, the fleet appeared in the channel beside Long Island and not one of the men or women watching could be anything but awed by the sight of so many sails, so many dark hulls, so many s.h.i.+ps. ”It's an Armada,” Colonel Goldthwait broke the silence.

”Dear G.o.d,” McLean said softly. He gazed at the ma.s.s of s.h.i.+pping making slow progress in the small wind. ”Yet it's a brave sight,” he said.

”Brave, sir?” Bethany asked.

”It's not often you see so many s.h.i.+ps together. You should remember this, Miss Fletcher, as a sight to describe to your children.” He smiled at her, then turned to the three naval officers. ”Captain Mowat! Have you determined their number yet?”

”Not yet,” Mowat answered curtly. He was gazing through a telescope that was resting on a redcoat's shoulder. The enemy fleet had stayed close together as it cleared the treacherous ledges which lay beneath the waters east of Long Island, but now the s.h.i.+ps were spreading and running before the wind towards the wide bay west of the peninsula. The wars.h.i.+ps, quicker than the transports, were stretching ahead and Mowat was making tiny adjustments to the gla.s.s as he tried to distinguish the different vessels, a task made difficult by the trees which obscured part of his view. He spent a long time staring at the Warren Warren, counting her gunports and attempting to judge from the number of men visible on her deck how well she was manned. He grunted noncommittally when his inspection was finished, then edged the gla.s.s leftwards to count the transports. ”As far as I can see, General,” he said at last, ”they have twenty transports. Maybe twenty-one.”

”Dear Lord above,” McLean said mildly, ”and how many wars.h.i.+ps?”

”About the same,” Mowat said.

”They do come in force,” McLean said, still mildly. ”Twenty transports, you say, Mowat?”

”Maybe twenty-one.”

”Time for some arithmetic, Paymaster,” McLean said to Lieutenant Moore. ”How many men did each of our transports carry?”

”Most of the men were in four of our transports, sir,” Moore said, ”so two hundred apiece?”

”So multiply that by twenty?”