Part 23 (1/2)

”My task?”

”Of capturing the enemy s.h.i.+ps, sir.”

”My task, Wadsworth, is to support your forces in the capture of the fort.”

”Thank you, sir,” Wadsworth said, hiding his exasperation, ”but might I a.s.sure General Lovell that you will attack their s.h.i.+pping if we mount an a.s.sault on the fort?”

”This presupposes that you have disposed of the enemy's sh.o.r.e battery?”

”It does, sir.”

”A joint attack, eh?” Saltonstall still sounded suspicious, but after a brief hesitation, nodded cautiously. ”I would consider a joint attack,” he said grudgingly, ”but you do realize, I trust, that the position of Mowat's s.h.i.+ps becomes untenable once the fort is taken?”

”I do, sir.”

”But that McLean's position is still formidable whether the s.h.i.+ps are taken or not?”

”I understand that too, sir.”

Saltonstall turned to glower at the waist of the Warren Warren, but saw nothing to provoke a complaint. ”The Congress, Wadsworth, has spent precious public money building a dozen frigates.”

”Indeed it has, sir,” Wadsworth said, wondering what that had to do with the fort on Majabigwaduce's peninsula.

”The Was.h.i.+ngton, Was.h.i.+ngton, the the Effingham Effingham, the Congress Congress and the and the Montgomery Montgomery are all scuttled, Wadsworth. They are lost.” are all scuttled, Wadsworth. They are lost.”

”Sadly, sir, yes,” Wadsworth said. The four frigates had been destroyed to prevent their capture.

”The Virginia Virginia, taken,” Saltonstall went on remorselessly, ”the Hanc.o.c.k Hanc.o.c.k, taken. The Raleigh Raleigh, taken. The Randolph Randolph, sunk. Do you wish me to add the Warren Warren to that sad record?” to that sad record?”

”Of course not, sir,” Wadsworth said. He glanced up at the snake-embossed flag flying at the Warren Warren's stern. It bore the proud motto ”Don't Tread on Me,” but how could the British even try if the snake's only ambition was to avoid battle?

”Capture the sh.o.r.e battery,” Saltonstall said in his most lordly voice, ”and the fleet will reconsider its opportunities.”

”Thank you, sir,” Wadsworth said.

He had been silent as he was rowed ash.o.r.e from the frigate. Saltonstall was right, Wadsworth did disagree with Lovell. Wadsworth knew the fort was the king on Majabigwaduce's chessboard, and the three British s.h.i.+ps were p.a.w.ns. Take the fort and the p.a.w.ns surrendered, but take the p.a.w.ns and the king remained, yet Lovell would not be persuaded to attack the fort any more than Saltonstall could be persuaded to throw caution to the southwest wind and destroy Mowat's three sloops. So now the battery must be attacked in hope that a successful a.s.sault would persuade the two commanders to greater boldness.

And time was short and it was shrinking, so Peleg Wadsworth would attack that night. In the dark.

James Fletcher tacked the Felicity Felicity south from Wasaumkeag Point where the rebels had taken over the remaining buildings of Fort Pownall, a decayed wooden and earth-banked fortress erected some thirty years before to deter attacks upriver by French raiders. There was no adequate shelter for wounded men on the heights of Majabigwaduce, so the house and storerooms of the old fort were now the rebels' hospital. Wasaumkeag Point lay on the far bank of Pen.o.bscot Bay, just south of where the river opened from being a narrow and fast-flowing channel between high wooded banks. James, when he was not needed by Wadsworth, used the south from Wasaumkeag Point where the rebels had taken over the remaining buildings of Fort Pownall, a decayed wooden and earth-banked fortress erected some thirty years before to deter attacks upriver by French raiders. There was no adequate shelter for wounded men on the heights of Majabigwaduce, so the house and storerooms of the old fort were now the rebels' hospital. Wasaumkeag Point lay on the far bank of Pen.o.bscot Bay, just south of where the river opened from being a narrow and fast-flowing channel between high wooded banks. James, when he was not needed by Wadsworth, used the Felicity Felicity to carry wounded men to the hospital and now he did his best to hurry back, eager to join Wadsworth before dusk and the attack on the British battery. to carry wounded men to the hospital and now he did his best to hurry back, eager to join Wadsworth before dusk and the attack on the British battery.

The Felicity Felicity's course was frustrating. She made good enough progress on each starboard tack, but inevitably the wind drove the small boat nearer and nearer the eastern bank and then James had to endure a long port tack, which, in the flooding tide, seemed to take him farther and farther from Majabigwaduce's bluff beneath which he wanted to anchor the Felicity Felicity. But James was used to the southwest wind. ”You can't hurry the breeze,” his father had said, ”and you can't change its mind, so there's no point in getting irritated by it.” James wondered what his father would think of the rebellion. Nothing good, he supposed. His father, like many who lived about the river, had been proud to be an Englishman. It did not matter to him that the Fletchers had lived in Ma.s.sachusetts for over a hundred years, they were still Englishmen. An old, yellowing print of King Charles I had hung in the log house throughout James's childhood, and was now tacked above his mother's sickbed. The king looked haughty, but somehow sad, as if he knew that one day a rebellion would topple him and lead him to the executioner's block. In Boston, James had heard, there was a tavern called the Cromwell's Head which hung its inn-sign so low above the door that men had to bow their heads to the king-killer every time they entered. That story had angered his father.

He tacked the Felicity Felicity in the cove just north of the bluff. The sound of the cannonade between the fort and the rebel lines was loud now, the smoke from the guns drifting like a cloud above the peninsula. He was on a port tack again, but it would be a short one and he knew he would reach the sh.o.r.e well before nightfall. He sailed under the stern of the in the cove just north of the bluff. The sound of the cannonade between the fort and the rebel lines was loud now, the smoke from the guns drifting like a cloud above the peninsula. He was on a port tack again, but it would be a short one and he knew he would reach the sh.o.r.e well before nightfall. He sailed under the stern of the Industry Industry, a transport sloop, and waved to its captain, Will Young, who shouted some good-natured remark that was lost in the sound of the cannons.

James tacked to run down the Industry Industry's flank where a longboat was secured. Three men were in the longboat while above them, at the sloop's gunwale, two men threatened the trio with muskets. Then, with a shock, James recognized the three captives: Archibald Haney, John Lymburner, and William Greenlaw, all from Majabigwaduce. Haney and Lymburner had been friends of his father, while Will Greenlaw had often accompanied James on fis.h.i.+ng trips downriver and had paid court to Beth once or twice, though never successfully. All three men were Tories, Loyalists, and now they were evidently prisoners. James let his sheets go so that the Felicity Felicity slowed and s.h.i.+vered. ”What the devil are you doing with the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?” Archibald Haney called. Haney was like an uncle to James. slowed and s.h.i.+vered. ”What the devil are you doing with the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?” Archibald Haney called. Haney was like an uncle to James.

Before James could say a word in response a sailor appeared at the gunwale above the longboat. He carried a wooden pail. ”Hey, Tories!” the sailor called, then upended the bucket to cascade urine and t.u.r.ds onto the prisoners' heads. The two guards laughed.

”What the h.e.l.l did you do that for?” James shouted.

The sailor mouthed some response and turned away. ”They put us here one hour a day,” Will Greenlaw said miserably, ”and pour their slops on us.”

The tide was taking the Felicity Felicity north and James tightened the jib sheet to get some way on her. ”I'm sorry,” he called. north and James tightened the jib sheet to get some way on her. ”I'm sorry,” he called.

”You'll be sorry when the king asks who was loyal to him!” Archibald Haney shouted angrily.

”The English treat our prisoners far worse!” Will Young bellowed from the Industry Industry's stern.

James had been forced onto a port tack again and the wind took him away from the sloop. Archibald Haney shouted something, but the words were lost on the breeze, all but one. Traitor.

James tacked the boat again and ran her towards the beach. He dropped her anchor, furled her mainsail, and stowed the foresails, then hailed a pa.s.sing lighter to give him a dry-ride ash.o.r.e. Traitor, rebel, Tory, Loyalist? If his father were still alive, he wondered, would he dare be a rebel?

He climbed the bluff, retrieved the musket from his shelter and walked south to Dyce's Head to find Peleg Wadsworth. The sun was low now, casting a long shadow over the ridge and along the harbor's foresh.o.r.e. Wadsworth's men were gathering in the trees where they could not be seen from the fort. ”You look pensive, young James,” Wadsworth greeted him.

”I'm well enough, sir,” James said.

Wadsworth looked at him more closely. ”What is it?”

”You know what they're doing to the prisoners?” James asked, then blurted out the whole tale. ”They're my neighbors, sir,” he said, ”and they called me traitor.”

Wadsworth had been listening patiently. ”This is war, James,” he said gently, ”and it creates pa.s.sions we didn't know we possessed.”

”They're good men, sir!”

”And if we released them,” Wadsworth said, ”they'd work for our enemies.”

”They would, yes,” James allowed.

”But that's no reason to maltreat them,” Wadsworth said firmly, ”and I'll talk to the general, I promise,” though he knew well enough that whatever protest he made would change nothing. Men were frustrated. They wanted this expedition finished. They wanted to go home. ”And you're no traitor, James,” he said.

”No? My father would say I am.”

”Your father was British,” Wadsworth said, ”and you and I were both born British, but that's all changed now. We're Americans.” He said the word as though he were not used to it, but felt a pang of pride because of it. And tonight, he thought, the Americans would take a small step towards their liberty. They would attack the battery.

In the dark.

The Indians joined Wadsworth's militia after sunset. They appeared silently and, as ever, Wadsworth found their presence unsettling. He could not lose the impression that the dark-skinned warriors judged him and found him wanting, but he forced a welcome smile in the dark night. ”I'm glad you're here,” he told Johnny Feathers, who was apparently the Indian's leader. Feathers, who had been given his name by John Preble, who negotiated for the State with the Pen.o.bscot tribe, neither answered nor even acknowledged the greeting. Feathers and his men, he had brought sixteen this night, squatted at the edge of the trees and sc.r.a.ped whetstones over the blades of their short axes. Tomahawks, Wadsworth supposed. He wondered if they were drunk. The general's order that no liquor was to be given to the Indians had met with small success, but so far as Wadsworth could tell these men were sober as churchwardens. Not that he cared, drunk or sober the Indians were among his best warriors, though Solomon Lovell was more skeptical of their loyalties. ”They'll want something in exchange for helping us,” he had told Wadsworth, ”and not just wampum. Guns, probably, and G.o.d knows what they'll do with those.”

”Hunt?”

”Hunt what?”

But the Indians were here. The seventeen braves had muskets, but had all chosen to carry tomahawks as their primary weapon. The militia and marines had muskets with fixed bayonets. ”I don't want any man firing prematurely,” Wadsworth told his militiamen and saw, in the small light of the waning moon, the look of incomprehension on too many faces. ”Don't c.o.c.k your muskets till you need to shoot,” he told them. ”If you stumble and fall I don't want a shot alerting the enemy. And you,” he pointed to a small boy who was armed with a sheathed bayonet and an enormous drum, ”keep your drum silent till we've won!”

”Yes, sir.”

Wadsworth crossed to the boy who looked scarcely a day over eleven or twelve. ”What's your name, boy?”

”John, sir.”