The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War - xaviantvision

General McLean had convinced himself that the rebel attack would be launched across the neck and so was surprised by the dawn's assault on the bluff.At first he was pleased with their choice, reckoning that Archibald Campbell's picquet was heavy enough to inflict real damage on the attackers, but thebrevity of the fight told him that Campbell had achieved little. McLean could not see the fighting from Fort George because fog shrouded the ridge, but hisears told him all he needed to know, and his heart sank because he had readied the fort for an attack from the north. Instead the assault would come fromthe west, and the intensity of the musket-fire told McLean that the attack would come in overwhelming force. The fog was clearing quickly now, coalescinginto tendrils of mist that blew like gunsmoke across the stumps of the ridge. Once the rebels gained the bluff's summit, and McLean's ears told him thatwas already happening, and once they reached the edge of the trees on that high western ground, they would see that Fort George was merely a nameand not yet a stronghold. It had only two guns facing the bluff, its rampart was a risible obstacle and the abatis was a frail barricade to protect theunfinished work. The rebels would surely capture the fort and Francis McLean regretted that. "The fortunes of war," he said."McLean?" Lieutenant-Colonel Campbell, the commanding officer of the highlanders, asked. Most of Campbell's regiment, those who were not on thepicquet line, now stood behind the rampart. Their two colors were at the center of their line and McLean felt a pang of sadness that those proud flags mustbecome trophies to the rebels. "Did you speak, McLean?" Campbell asked."Nothing, Colonel, nothing," McLean said, staring west through the thinning fog. He crossed the rampart and walked towards the abatis because hewanted to be closer to the fighting. The crackling noise of musketry still rose and fell, sounding like dry thorns burning and snapping. He sent one of hisaides to recall Major Dunlop's picquet, which had been guarding the isthmus, "and tell Major Dunlop I need Lieutenant Caffrae's company! Quick now!"He leaned on his blackthorn stick and turned to see that Captain Fielding's men had already moved a twelve-pounder from the fort's northeastern cornerto the northwestern bastion. Good, he thought, but he doubted any effort now would be sufficient. He looked back to the high ground where smoke and fogfiltered through the trees, and from where the sound of musketry grew louder again and where the redcoats were appearing at the edge of the far trees.So his picquet, he thought regretfully, had not delayed the enemy long. He saw men fire, he saw a man fall, and then the redcoats were streaming backacross the cleared land, running through the raw tree stumps as they fled an enemy whose coats made them invisible among the distant trees. The onlyevidence of the rebels was the smoke of their muskets, which blossomed and faded on the morning's light breeze.There was a small gap in the abatis, left there deliberately so the defenders could negotiate the tangled branches, and the fleeing redcoats filed throughthat gap where McLean met them. "Form ranks," he greeted them. Men looked at him with startled expressions. "Form in your companies," he said."Sergeant? Dress the ranks!"The fugitives made three ranks, and behind them, summoned from their picquet duty on the ground overlooking the neck, Major Dunlop and LieutenantCaffrae's company arrived. "Wait a moment, Major," McLean said to Dunlop. "Captain Campbell!" he shouted, indicating with his stick that he meantArchibald Campbell, who had retreated just as precipitously as his men.Campbell, nervous and lanky, fidgeted in front of McLean. "Sir?""You were driven back?" McLean asked."There are hundreds of them, sir," Campbell said, not meeting McLean's gaze, "hundreds!""And where is Lieutenant Moore?""Taken, sir," Campbell said after a pause. His eyes met McLean's and instantly looked away. "Or worse, sir.""Then what is that firing about?" McLean asked.Campbell turned and stared at the far trees from where musketry still sounded. "I don't know, sir," the highlander said miserably.McLean turned to Major Dunlop. "Quick as you can," he said, "take Caffrae's company and advance at the double, see if you can discover youngMoore. Don't tangle with too many rebels, just see if Moore can be found." Major Dunlop, the temporary commander of the 82nd, was an officer of rareverve and ability and he wasted no time. He shouted orders and his company, with their muskets at the trail, started westwards. It would have beensuicide to advance along the cleared spine of the ridge and thus straight towards the rebels who were now gathering at the edge of the trees, so insteadthe company used the low ground by the harbor where they were concealed by the scatter of houses and by small fields where the maize had grown tallerthan a man. McLean watched them disappear, heard the fighting continue, and prayed that Moore survived. The general reckoned that young John Moorehad promise, but that was not sufficient reason to rescue him, nor was it reason enough that Moore was a friend of the regiment's patron, the Duke ofHamilton, but rather it was because Moore had been given into McLean's charge. McLean would not abandon him, nor any other man under his care, andso he had sent Dunlop and the single company into danger. Because it was his duty.Solomon Lovell landed on the narrow beach an hour after Captain Welch's marines had spearheaded the American attack. The general arrived withLieutenant-Colonel Revere and his eighty artillerymen who, today, were armed with muskets and would serve as a reserve force to the nine hundred andfifty men who had already landed, most of whom were now at the top of the bluff. A few had never made it and their bodies lay on the steep slope, whileothers, the wounded, had been carried back to the beach where Eliphalet Downer, the surgeon general of the Massachusetts Militia, was organizing theirtreatment and evacuation. Lovell crouched beside a man whose eyes were bandaged. "Soldier?" Lovell said. "This is General Lovell.""We beat them, sir.""Of course we did! Are you in pain, soldier?""I'm blinded, sir," the man said. A musket-ball had spattered razor-sharp splinters of beechwood into both eyes,"But you will see your country at liberty," Lovell said, "I promise.""And how do I feed my family?" the man asked. "I'm a farmer!""All will be well," Lovell said and patted the man's shoulder. "Your country will look after you." He straightened, listening to the staccato rattle of musketryat the bluff's summit, which told him that some redcoats must still be fighting on the heights. "We'll need to bring artillery ashore, Colonel," he said toRevere."Soon as you release us, General," Revere said. There was an edge of resentment in his voice, suggesting that he thought it demeaning for his men tocarry muskets instead of serving cannons. "Just as soon as you release us," he said again, though more willingly this time."Let's first see what we've achieved," Lovell said. He patted the blinded man's shoulder a second time and started up the bluff, hauling himself onsaplings. "It'll be a hard job to get cannon up this slope, Colonel.""We'll manage that," Revere said confidently. Taking heavy artillery up a bluff's steep face was a practical problem, and Lieutenant-Colonel Revere likedovercoming such challenges."I never did congratulate you on the success of your gunners at Cross Island," Lovell said. "You've hurt the enemy ships! A splendid achievement,Colonel.""Just doing our duty, General," Revere said, but pleased all the same at the compliment. "We killed some damned Britons!" He went on happily. "I'vedreamed of killing the damned beasts!""And you drove the enemy's ships back! So now there's nothing to stop our fleet from entering the harbor.""Nothing at all, General," Revere agreed.The stutter of musketry still sounded from Lovell's right, evidence that some redcoats yet remained on the high ground above the bay, but it was clearthat most of the enemy had retreated because, as Lovell reached the easier slope at the top of the bluff, he found grinning militiamen who gave him acheer. "We beat them, sir!""Of course we beat them," Lovell said, beaming, "and all of you," he raised his voice and lifted his hands in a gesture of benediction, "all of you have mythanks and my congratulations on this magnificent feat of arms!"The woods at the top of the bluff were now in rebel hands, all but for a stand of pines above Dyce's Head, which was far to the general's right and fromwhere the musketry still sounded. Lovell's militia were thick in the woods. They had climbed the precipitous slope, they had taken casualties, but they hadshot the British off the summit and all the way back to the fort. Men looked happy. They talked excitedly, recounting incidents in the fight up the steepslope, and Lovell enjoyed their happiness. "Well done!" he said again and again.He went to the edge of the trees and there, in front of him, was the enemy. The fog had quite gone now and he could see every detail of the fort that layonly half a mile to the east. The enemy had made a screen of branches between the woods and the fort, but from his high ground Lovell could easily seeover that flimsy barricade and he could see that Fort George did not look like a stronghold at all, but instead resembled an earthen scar in the ridge's soil.The nearest rampart was thickly lined with redcoats, but he still felt relief. The fort, which in Lovell's imagination had been a daunting prospect of stonewalls and sheer ramparts, now proved to be a mere scratch in the dirt.Colonel McCobb of the Lincoln County militia hailed the general cheerfully. "A good morning's work, sir!""One for the history books, McCobb! Without doubt, one for the history books!" Lovell said. "But not quite done yet. I think, don't you, that we shouldkeep going?""Why not, sir?" McCobb answered.