The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War - xaviantvision

Chapter EightMarine Captain Thomas Carnes and thirty men had been on the right flank of the marines who had fought their way up the bluff. Carnes's route lay up thesteepest part of the bluff's slope and his men did not reach the summit until after Welch was shot and after the sudden counterattack by a company ofredcoats who, their volley fired, had retreated as suddenly as they had arrived. Captain Davis had taken over command of Dyce's Head and hisimmediate problem was the wounded marines. "They need a doctor," he told Carnes."The nearest surgeon is probably still on the beach," Carnes said."Damn it, damn it," Davis looked harried. "Can your men carry them down? And we need cartridges."So Carnes took his thirty men back to the beach. They escorted two prisoners and, because they carried eight of their own wounded and did not wantto cause those casualties even more pain, they descended the bluff very slowly and carefully. The injured men were laid on the shingle, joining the othermen who waited for the surgeons. Carnes then led his two captives to where another six prisoners were under militia guard beside the big graniteboulder. "What happens to us, sir?" one of the prisoners asked, but the man's Scottish accent was so strange that Carnes had to make him repeat thequestion twice before he understood."You'll be looked after," he said, "and probably a lot better than I was," he added bitterly. Carnes had been taken captive two years earlier and hadspent a hungry six months in New York before being exchanged.The narrow strip of beach was busy. Doctor Downer, distinguished by his blood-soaked apron and an ancient straw hat, was using a probe to track amusket-ball buried in a militiaman's buttock. The injured man was held down by the doctor's two assistants, while the Reverend Murray knelt beside adying man, holding his hand and reciting the twenty-third psalm. Sailors were landing boxes of musket ammunition, while those wounded who did notrequire immediate treatment were waiting patiently. A number of militiamen, too many to Carnes's eyes, seemed to have no purpose at all on the beach,but were sitting around idle. Some had even lit driftwood fires, a few of which were much too close to the newly arrived boxes of musket cartridges thatwere stacked above the high-tide line. That ammunition belonged to the militia, and Carnes suspected the minutemen would not be generous if herequested replacement cartridges. "Sergeant Sykes?""Sir?""How many thieves in our party?""Every last man, sir. They're marines.""Two or three of those boxes would be mighty useful.""So they would, sir.""Carry on, Sergeant.""What's happening on the heights, Captain?" Doctor Eliphalet Downer called from a few paces away. "I've found the ball," he said to his assistants ashe selected a pair of blood-caked tongs, "so hold him tight. Stay still, man, you're not dying. You've just got a British ball up your American bottom. Did theredcoats counterattack?""They haven't yet, Doctor," Carnes said."But they might?""That's what the general believes."Their conversation was interrupted by a gasp from the wounded man, then the dull boom of a British cannon firing from the distant fort. When Carneshad left the heights to bring the wounded down to the beach all the American forces had been back among the trees, but the British gunners were stillsustaining a desultory fire, presumably to keep the Americans at bay. "So what happens now?" Eliphalet Downer asked, then grunted as he forced thetongs into the narrow wound. "Mop that blood.""General Lovell has called for artillery," Carnes said, "so I guess we batter the bastards before we assault them.""I've got the ball," Downer said, feeling the jaws of his tongs scrape and close around the musket-ball."He's fainted, sir," an assistant said."Sensible fellow. Here is comes." The ball's extraction provoked a spurt of blood which the assistant staunched with a linen pad as Downer moved tothe next patient. "Bone saw and knife," Downer ordered after a glance at the man's shattered leg. "Good morning, Colonel!" This last was to Lieutenant-Colonel Revere who had just appeared on the crowded beach with three of his artillerymen. "I hear you're moving guns to the heights?" Downer askedcheerfully as he knelt beside the injured man.Revere looked startled at the question, perhaps because he thought it was none of Downer's business, but he nodded. "The general wants batteriesestablished, Doctor, yes.""I hope that means no more work for us today," Downer said, "not if your guns keep the wretches well away.""They will, Doctor, never you fret," Revere said, then walked towards his white-painted barge, which waited a few paces down the shingle. "Wait here,"he called back to his men, "I'll be back after breakfast."Carnes was not certain he had heard the last words correctly. "Sir?" He had to repeat the word to get Revere's attention. "Sir? If you need help takingthe guns up the slope, my marines are good and ready."Revere paused at the barge to give Carnes a suspicious look. "We don't need help," he said brusquely, "we've got men enough." He had not metCames and had no idea that this was the marine officer who had been an artilleryman in General Washington's army. He stepped over the barge'sgunwale. "Back to the Samuel," he ordered the crew.The general wanted artillery at the top of the bluff, but Colonel Revere wanted a hot breakfast. So the general had to wait.Lieutenant John Moore accompanied his two wounded men to Doctor Calef's barn, which now served as the garrison's hospital. He tried to comfort thetwo men, but felt his words were inadequate, and afterwards he went into the small vegetable garden outside where, overcome with remorse, he sat onthe log pile. He was shaking. He held out his left hand and saw it quivering, and he bit his lip because he sensed he was about to shed tears and he didnot want to do that, not where people could see him, and to distract himself he stared across the harbor to where Mowat's ships were cannonading therebel battery on Cross Island.Someone came from the house and wordlessly offered him a mug of tea. He looked up and saw it was Bethany Fletcher and the sight of her provokedthe tears he had been trying so hard to suppress. They rolled down his cheeks. He attempted to stand in welcome, but he was shaking too much and thegesture failed. He sniffed and took the tea. "Thank you," he said."What happened?" she asked."The rebels beat us," Moore said bleakly."They haven't taken the fort," Beth said."No. Not yet." Moore gripped the mug with both hands. The cannon smoke lay like fog on the harbor and more smoke drifted slowly from the fort whereCaptain Fielding's cannons shot into the distant trees. The rebels, despite their capture of the high ground, were showing no sign of wanting to attack thefort, though Moore supposed they were organizing that attack from within the cover of the woods. "I failed," he said bitterly."Failed?""I should have retreated, but I stayed. I killed six of my men." Moore drank some of the tea, which was very sweet. "I wanted to win," he said, "and so Istayed." Beth said nothing. She was wearing a linen apron smeared with blood and Moore flinched at the memory of Sergeant McClure's death, then he