The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War - xaviantvision

"Plug it!" Little shouted at the man, "because we're going around again. Double-shot the guns!" He called the last command down the deck, then turnedan angry face on the helmsman. "I want to get closer next time!""There are rocks off the entrance," the helmsman warned."Closer, I said!""Aye aye, sir, closer it is, sir," the helmsman said. He knew better than to argue, just as he knew better than to steer the ship any closer to Cross Islandthan he already had. He shifted a wad of tobacco in his mouth and spun the wheel to take the brig back southwards. A British round shot whipped justforrard of the Hazard's jib-boom, skipped off a small wave, and finally splashed and sank a couple of hundred paces short of the anchored Warren.Lieutenant John Moore watched from the height of Dyce's Head. The battle seemed very slow to him. The wind was brisk, yet the ships seemed to crawlacross the smoke-shrouded water. The guns jetted smoke in huge billows through which the big ships moved with a stately grace. The noise wasfearsome. At any one moment thirty or forty guns were being served and their reports elided into a rolling concussion louder and more prolonged than anythunder. The flames made the smoke momentarily lurid and Moore was suddenly besieged by the thought that hell itself would appear thus, yet for all thesound and fury there seemed to be little damage on either side. Mowat's three ships were immovable, their broadsides undiminished by the enemy fire,while the American ships sailed serenely through the splashes of the British bombardment. Some balls struck their targets; Moore distinctly heard thecrash of splintering timber, yet he saw no evidence of damage and the scrubbed decks of the enemy ships appeared unstained by blood.One enemy ship, larger than the rest, sailed close beneath Dyce's Head and Moore allowed his men to shoot their muskets down onto the enemy,though he knew the range was extreme and their hopes of hitting anything other than water were slim to nothing. He distinctly saw a man on the ship'safterdeck turn and gaze up at the bluff and Moore had the absurd instinct to wave at him. He checked himself. A sudden gust of stronger wind cleared thesmoke from about the three Royal Navy sloops and Moore could see no injury to their hulls, while their masts still stood and their flags yet flew. A gun firedfrom the Albany and, just before the smoke obscured the ship again, Moore saw the water ahead of the gunport flatten and flee outwards in a fan pattern.Nine enemy ships were attacking Mowat's line, yet, to Moore's surprise, none tried to break that line. Instead they were circling and taking turns tohammer their broadsides at the sloops. Just behind Mowat's sloops, and anchored in a similar line, were the three big transport ships that had helpedcarry McLean's men to Majabigwaduce. Their crews leaned on their gunwales and watched the cannon smoke. Some enemy round shot, passingbetween the sloops, crashed into the transports, whose job was to wait and see if any American ship succeeded in breaking through Mowat's line, thenattempt to entangle that ship, but no enemy appeared willing to sail straight through the harbor mouth.Lieutenant George Little wanted to sail into the harbor, but his orders were to stay west of the entrance and so he circled the Hazard, her sails banginglike cannon-fire as he wore ship, then ran the small brig straight towards Cross Island. A cannon-ball, fired from the island's battery, screamed down thedeck, just missing the helmsman. "Waste of damned powder," Little grumbled. "Keep her steady.""Rock ledges ahead, sir.""Damn the ledges, damn you and damn the British. Get closer!"The helmsman spun the wheel anyway, trying to take the Hazard north so her broadside could spit iron and defiance at the British sloops, but Littleseized the wheel and turned it back. "Get closer, I said!""Sweet Jesus Christ," the helmsman said, surrendering the wheel.Another round shot, heavy by its sound, smashed into the Hazard's bows, then the ship shuddered and there was a grating sound as her hull struck asubmerged rock. Little grimaced, then turned the wheel and the Hazard hesitated. The grinding noise continued deep below, but then the brig lurched andloosed herself from the rock and settled on her new course. "Hands to the pumps!" Little called. "And gunners! Aim well!" The guns crashed back againsttheir breech ropes and the smoke blossomed, and a British ball struck the belaying pins aft of the forward mast and splintered them, and Little wasbellowing at his gunners to reload.High on the bluff Moore watched the small brig. For a moment he thought its captain intended to ram the Nautilus, but then the brig turned to sail into thesmoke left by the guns of the Black Prince, a big privateer. The brig spat its fire and iron. "A brave little ship," Moore said."He gets any closer and he'll be selling his hull for firewood, sir," Sergeant McClure said.Moore watched the Hazard sail down the line. He saw round shot strike her hull, but her rate of fire never diminished. She turned west beneath him andMoore saw her gunners reloading. "A terrier, that one," he said."But we're not rats, sir, are we?""We are not rats, Sergeant," Moore said, amused. Pearce Fenistone's small guns just behind the picquet fired, their balls slashing down at the enemyships and their smoke filling the trees. The sun was low in the west now and made the smoke glow."Captain Campbell coming, sir," McClure muttered in a low warning to Moore.Moore turned to see the tall, kilted figure of Captain Archibald Campbell approaching from the north. Campbell, a highlander of the 74th, commandedall the picquets on the bluff. "Moore," he greeted the Lieutenant, "I think the Yankees plan to inconvenience us.""It's why they came, sir," Moore replied happily.Campbell blinked at the younger man as if suspecting he was being mocked. He flinched as the nearest cannon recoiled, its noise huge among thetrees. The three guns' breech ropes had been seized to the pine trees and every shot provoked a rain of needles and cones. "Come and look," Campbellordered, and Moore followed the lanky highlander back along the bluff's top to a place where a gap in the trees offered a view of the wider bay.The enemy's transport ships were anchored in the bay, which was being whipped into white scudding waves by the brisk wind. The gaggle of ships waswell out of range of any cannon McLean might have positioned on the high ground. "See?" Campbell pointed at the fleet, and Moore, shading his eyesagainst the setting sun, saw longboats nestling against the hulls of the transports.Moore took a small telescope from a pocket and opened its tubes. It took a moment to train and focus the glass, then he saw men in green coatsclambering down into one of the longboats. "I do believe," he said, still gazing at the sight, "that they plan to call on us.""I don't have a glass," Campbell said resentfully.Moore took the hint and offered the glass to the captain who took an age to adjust the lenses. Campbell, like Moore, saw the men filling the small boats.He saw too that they were carrying muskets. "You think they'll attack us?" he asked, sounding surprised at such a thought."I think we'd best assume so," Moore suggested. It was possible that the men were being redistributed among the transport ships, but why do that now?It seemed far more likely that the Americans planned a landing."Bring your fellows here," Campbell ordered.venturing close tothe harbor mouth. Two of the attacking ships had already sailed out of range and dropped their anchors. Moore brought his men to join the rest ofCampbell's picquets just as the longboats left the shelter of the transports' hulls and pulled towards the shore. The sun was very low now, dazzling theredcoats among the bluff's trees. "They're coming!" Captain Campbell sounded astonished."Are the men's muskets loaded, Sergeant?" Moore asked McClure."Aye, sir.""Leave the muskets uncocked," Moore ordered. He did not want a shot wasted by a careless man accidentally pulling the trigger."Ensign Campbell, John Campbell!" Captain Campbell shouted, "run back to the fort and tell the brigadier the rascals are coming!"The kilted ensign left and Moore watched the approaching boats, noting that they were having a hard time in the rising wind. The bay's waves wereshort and sharp, smacking hard against the big rowboats to smother their oarsmen and passengers with spray."McLean had best send reinforcements," Campbell said nervously."We can see those fellows off," Moore responded, surprised at how confident he felt. There were some eighty redcoats on the bluff and the enemy, heguessed, numbered at least two hundred men, but those two hundred had to clamber up the bluff and the first fifty or sixty feet were so steep that no mancould climb and use a musket at the same time. After that the slope flattened somewhat, but it was still precipitous, and the redcoats, positioned at thesummit, could fire down at men struggling up the hill. A last flurry of cannon-fire sounded from the south, the thunder echoing briefly, and Moore, withoutasking for orders from Campbell, leaped a few paces down the upper slope to a place where he could see the attackers more clearly."We'll wait for the brigadier's reinforcements," Campbell called reprovingly."Of course, sir," Moore said, hiding his disdain for the tall highlander. Campbell had sent the ensign back to the fort, but that was a journey of almostthree quarters of a mile, much of it through tangling undergrowth, and McLean's reinforcements had to make the same journey back. By the time theyarrived the Yankees would long have landed. If the Americans were to be stopped then Campbell's men must do the job, but Moore sensed hiscommander's nervousness. "Bring the men down here, Sergeant," he called to McClure and, ignoring Archibald Campbell's plaintive inquiry as to what hethought he was doing, led McClure and the other Hamiltons north along the bluff's shoulder. They were at the place where the easier upper slope ended,