Part 17 (1/2)

”You expect me to attack their s.h.i.+pping by night?” Saltonstall reentered the discussion. ”You want my s.h.i.+ps grounded in the dark?”

”You can attack in the dawn, perhaps?” Lovell suggested and was rewarded with a curt nod.

The council ended and men went back to their s.h.i.+ps as the bright moon climbed among the stars. The rebels had voted unanimously to make their attack, to bring the enemy to battle, and, with G.o.d's good help, to make a great victory.

The fog came slowly on the morning of Wednesday, July 28th, 1779. At first it was a mist that thickened imperceptibly to shroud the cloud-haunted moon with a glowing ring. The tide rippled along the anch.o.r.ed s.h.i.+ps. Midnight had come and gone, and there was still no attack. The Hunter Hunter and and Sky Rocket Sky Rocket, the two privateers that would cannonade the heights of the bluff as the rebels landed, had to be rowed upriver before anchoring close to sh.o.r.e and both s.h.i.+ps arrived late. Some transport s.h.i.+ps had too many lighters or longboats, and others too few, and the confusion had to be disentangled. Time pa.s.sed and Peleg Wadsworth fretted. This was the attack that must succeed, the attack to capture the bluff and surge on to a.s.sault the fort. This was why the fleet had come to Pen.o.bscot Bay, yet one o'clock came and pa.s.sed, then two o'clock, then three o'clock, and still the troops were not ready. A militia captain suggested the attack should be abandoned because the creeping fog would dampen the powder in the musket pans, a notion Wadsworth rejected with an anger that surprised him. ”If you can't shoot them, Captain,” he snapped, ”then beat them to death with your musket b.u.t.ts.” The captain looked at him with an aggrieved face. ”That's what you came here for, isn't it?” Wadsworth asked. ”To kill the enemy?”

James Fletcher, at Wadsworth's side, grinned, His only uniform was a white crossbelt from which hung a cartridge pouch, but most of the militia were similarly dressed. Only the marines and some militia officers wore recognizable uniforms. James's heart was throbbing palpably. He was nervous. His job was to show the attackers where paths climbed the bluff, but right now that bluff was just a moon-shadowed cliff in the mist. No light showed there. Longboats b.u.mped and jostled alongside the transport s.h.i.+ps, waiting to take the soldiers ash.o.r.e, while on deck men sharpened knives and bayonets and obsessively checked that the flints in their musket locks were firmly embedded in the dogheads. Wadsworth and Fletcher were on board the sloop Centurion Centurion from which they would embark with Welch's marines. Those marines in their dark green jackets waited patiently in the from which they would embark with Welch's marines. Those marines in their dark green jackets waited patiently in the Centurion Centurion's waist and among them was a boy whom Wadsworth remembered from Townsend. The boy grinned at the general who tried desperately to remember the lad's name. ”It's Israel, isn't it?” Wadsworth said, the name suddenly coming to him ”Marine Fifer Trask now, sir,” the boy said in his unbroken voice.

”You joined the marines!” Wadsworth said, smiling. The lad had been provided with a uniform, the dark green coat cut down to his diminutive size, while at his waist hung a sword-bayonet. He lacked the marine's distinctive leather collar and instead had a black scarf wound tight round his scrawny neck.

”We kidnapped the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, General,” a marine spoke from the dark.

”Then make sure you look after him,” Wadsworth said, ”and play well, Israel Trask.”

A rowboat banged against the Centurion Centurion's side and a harried militia lieutenant scrambled over the gunwale with a message from Colonel McCobb. ”Sorry, sir, it'll be a while yet, the Colonel says he's sorry, sir.”

”G.o.d d.a.m.n it!” Wadsworth could not help exclaiming.

”There still aren't enough boats, sir,” the lieutenant explained.

”Use what boats you have,” Wadsworth said, ”and send them back for the rest of the men. Send me word when you're ready!”

”Yes, sir.” The lieutenant, abashed, backed away to his boat.

”They call them minutemen?” Captain Welch appeared beside Wadsworth and asked with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Wadsworth was taken aback that the dour marine captain had even spoken. Welch was such a grim presence, so baleful, that his customary silence was welcome, yet he had sounded friendly enough in the darkness. ”Your men have food?” Wadsworth asked. It was an unnecessary question, but the tall marine made him nervous.

”They have their morsel,” Welch said, still sounding amused. General Lovell had sent a message that every man must take ”a morsel ash.o.r.e to alleviate hunger,” and Wadsworth had dutifully pa.s.sed the order on, though he suspected hunger would be the least of their problems. ”Have you ever been to England, General?” Welch suddenly asked.

”No, no. Never.”

”Pretty place, some of it.”

”You visited it?”

Welch nodded. ”Didn't plan on it. Our s.h.i.+p was captured and I was taken there as a prisoner.”

”You were exchanged?”

Welch grinned, his teeth very white in the dark. ”h.e.l.l, no. I strolled out of the prison and walked all the d.a.m.n way to Bristol. I signed as a deckhand on a merchantman sailing for New York. Got home.”

”And no one suspected you?”

”Not a soul. I begged and stole food. Met a widow who fed me.” He smiled at the memory. ”Glad I seen the place, but I won't ever go back.”

”I'd like to see Oxford one day,” Wadsworth said wistfully, ”and maybe London.”

”We'll build London and Oxford here,” Welch said.

Wadsworth wondered if the usually laconic Welch was talkative because he was nervous, and then, with a start, he realized that the marine was talking because Welch had divined Wadsworth's own nervousness. The general stared at the dark bluff, which, in the thickening mist, was being limned by a dull lightening of the eastern sky, just a hint of gray in the black. ”Dawn's coming,” Wadsworth said.

And then, suddenly, there were no more delays. Colonel McCobb and the Lincoln County militia were ready, and so the men clambered down into the boats and Wadsworth took his place in a longboat's stern. The marines were gray-faced in the wan light, but to Wadsworth they looked rea.s.suringly resolute, determined, and frightening. Their bayonets were fixed. The Centurion Centurion's sailors gave a low cheer as the boats pulled away from the transport.

A louder cheer sounded from the Sky Rocket Sky Rocket, and then Wadsworth plainly heard Captain William Burke shout at his crew, ”For G.o.d and for America! Fire!”

The Sky Rocket Sky Rocket split the dawn with its eight-gun broadside. Flame leaped and curled, smoke spread on the water and the first missiles crashed ash.o.r.e. split the dawn with its eight-gun broadside. Flame leaped and curled, smoke spread on the water and the first missiles crashed ash.o.r.e.

The rebels were coming.

Excerpt from a letter sent by the Ma.s.sachusetts Council to Brigadier-General Solomon Lovell, July 23rd, 1779: It is the Expression of the Council ... that you will push your Operations with all possible Vigor and dispatch and accomplish the business of the Expedition before any reinforcement can get to the enemy at Pen.o.bscot. It is also reported here and believed by many that, a Forty Gun s.h.i.+p and the Delaware Frigate sailed from Sandy Hook on Sixteenth Current and Stood to the Eastward; their destination was not known.

Excerpt from an Order by the State of Ma.s.sachusetts Bay Council, July 27th, 1779: Ordered that the Board of War be and they are hereby directed to furnish the two Indians of the Pen.o.bscott Tribe, now in the Town of Boston with Two Hats one of them laced two Blankets and two s.h.i.+rts.

Excerpt from Brigadier-General Solomon Lovell's daily orders, Majabigwaduce, July 27th, 1779: All Officers and Soldiers in the Army are strictly enjoin'd not to give or sell any rum to the Indians, except those who have the immediate command of them, under pain of the greatest displeasure. ... The Officers are desired to pay particular Attention that the men do not waste their Ammunition and that they keep their Arms in good Order.

Chapter Seven

The first shots crashed into the trees, exploding twigs, pine needles, and leaves. Birds screeched and flapped into the dawn. The rebels were using chain and bar shot that whirled and slashed through branches to punch gouts of earth and shards of stone where they struck the bluff's face. ”Dear G.o.d alive,” Captain Archibald Campbell said. He was the highlander who commanded the picquets on the bluff and he stared aghast at the scores of longboats that were now emerging from the fog and pulling towards his position. In their center, clumsily rowed by men wielding extra-long sweeps, a schooner crept towards the beach, her deck crowded with men. Two enemy wars.h.i.+ps had anch.o.r.ed close to the sh.o.r.e and those s.h.i.+ps, still just dark shapes in the smoke and fog, were now shooting into the bluff. The Hunter Hunter had nine four-pounders bearing on the redcoats, while the had nine four-pounders bearing on the redcoats, while the Sky Rocket Sky Rocket had eight of the small cannon in her broadside, but though the guns were small their scything missiles struck home with mind-numbing brutality. Campbell seemed frozen. He had eighty men under command, most of them scattered along the face of the bluff where the steep slope gave way to the gentler rise. ”Tell the men to lie down, sir?” a sergeant suggested. had eight of the small cannon in her broadside, but though the guns were small their scything missiles struck home with mind-numbing brutality. Campbell seemed frozen. He had eighty men under command, most of them scattered along the face of the bluff where the steep slope gave way to the gentler rise. ”Tell the men to lie down, sir?” a sergeant suggested.

”Yes,” Campbell said, scarcely aware that he was speaking. The s.h.i.+ps' guns were firing more raggedly now as the faster gun crews outpaced the slower. Each gunshot was a percussive blow to the ears, and each illuminated the bluff with a sudden flash of light that was smothered almost instantly by powder smoke. Campbell was shaking. His belly was sour, his mouth dry, and his right leg quivering uncontrollably. There were hundreds of rebels coming! The fog-smothered sea was shadowed dark by the bluff, but he could make out the glimmer of oar blades beneath the gunsmoke and see the gray light reflecting from bayonets. Twigs, shattered bark, leaves, pinecones, and needles showered on the picquet as the shots tore through the bluff's trees. A chain shot shattered a rotted and fallen trunk. The highlanders closest to Campbell looked nervously towards their officer.

”Send word to General McLean, sir?” the sergeant suggested stoically.

”Go,” Campbell blurted out the command, ”yes, go, go!”

The sergeant turned and a bar shot struck his neck. It severed his powdered pigtail, cut head from bod, and, in the gray gloom and darkness of the dawn, the spray of blood was extraordinarily bright, like ruby drops given extra brilliance by the fog-diffused sunlight that filtered through the eastern trees. A jet of blood spurted upwards and appeared to lift the head, which turned so that the sergeant seemed to be staring reproachfully at Campbell who gave a small cry of horror, then involuntarily bent double and vomited. The head, soaked in blood, thumped to earth and rolled a few feet down the slope. Another chain shot slashed overhead, scattering twigs. Birds shrieked. A redcoat fired his musket down into the cannon-smoke and fog. ”Hold your fire!” Campbell shouted too shrilly. ”Hold your fire! Wait till they're on the beach!” He spat. His mouth was sour and his right hand was twitching. There was blood on his jacket and vomit on his shoes. The sergeant's headless body was shuddering, but at last went still.

”Why in G.o.d's name hold our fire?” Lieutenant John Moore, posted on the Scottish left, wondered aloud. He led twenty-two Hamiltons positioned at Dyce's Head where the slope was the steepest. His picquet lay directly between the approaching boats and the small British battery at the bluff's top and Moore was determined to protect that battery. He watched the enemy approaching and also watched himself with a critical inward eye. An enemy chain shot slammed into a tree not five paces away and slivers of bark spattered Moore like the devil's hail, and he knew he was supposed to be frightened, yet in all truth he did not notice that fear. He sensed apprehension, yes, for no man wants to die or be wounded, but instead of a debilitating fear Moore was feeling a rising exhilaration. Let the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds come, he thought, and then he realized that his self-examination was consuming him so that he was standing in silent absorption while his men looked to him for rea.s.surance. Forcing himself to walk slowly along the break of the bluff, he drew his sword and flicked the slender blade at the thick undergrowth. ”Nice of the enemy to trim the trees for us,” he said. ”It improves the view, don't you think?”

”b.u.g.g.e.rs want to trim more than the trees,” Private Neill muttered.

”I don't know if you've noticed something, sir,” Sergeant McClure said quietly.

”Tell me, Sergeant. Brighten my morning.”

McClure pointed at the approaching boats that were clarifying as they emerged from the smoke-thickened fog. ”Yon b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are in uniform, sir. I reckon they're sending their best against us. While the scoundrels up yonder, he pointed at the more northerly longboats, ”are in any old clothes. Bunch of vagabonds, they look like.”

Moore peered westwards, then looked at the northern boats. ”You're right, Sergeant,” he said. In the nearer boats he could see the white crossbelts against the dark green coats of the marines and he a.s.sumed that the uniforms belonged to a regiment of General Was.h.i.+ngton's Continental Army. ”They're sending their best troops right here,” he said loudly, ”and you can't blame them.”

”You can't?”

”They're up against the most formidable regiment in the British Army,” Moore said cheerfully.