The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War - xaviantvision

Lieutenant Fenwick had six men retrieving the spritsail yard and one of them suddenly turned with an astonished expression and no left arm, just a raggedbloody stump that was gushing blood. The wind of the ball buffeted Fenwick and spattered him with blood. "Put a tourniquet on that," he ordered,marveling that he sounded so calm, but the wounded man, before anyone could help him, fell sideways into the water and another six-pounder ballgouged along the gunwale to plow out long, sharp splinters that flickered across the deck. The ship shuddered again and blood oozed along the seamsbetween the deck planking. A shot struck the waterline, spraying the forecastle with cold seawater, and then Fenwick was aware that the Warren wasturning, turning so slowly, lumbering around to starboard so her larboard broadside could be brought to bear on the enemy. Marines were cheering thefrigate from Dyce's Head, but that was small consolation as two more shots ripped into her hull. One of the big elm pumps was working now, its crewworking the long levers so that water gushed rhythmically over the Warren's side. A man was whimpering somewhere, but Fenwick could not see him."Throw that overboard," he snapped, pointing to the severed arm.The frigate was turning with agonizing slowness, but her bows were at last pointed at the harbor's southern side and her powerful broadside couldreturn the British cannonade. The commodore ordered the frigate's big guns to open fire as soon as the slow turn brought the Half Moon Battery abreastof his broadside, and the noise of those cannons drowned the universe as they roared at the British emplacement. Smoke billowed as high as the furledmainyard. The guns recoiled, their trucks momentarily leaving the deck until the breech ropes took the strain. Water hissed into steam as gunnersswabbed barrels. A twelve-pounder shot slashed across the poop deck, miraculously doing no damage except to a bucket that was shattered into athousand pieces. "Fire as you bear!" Saltonstall called, meaning that his gunners should fire as soon as the ship had turned sufficiently to bring the gunsto bear on the enemy sloops, though the gunners were so obstructed by their own smoke that they could scarcely see the enemy, who, in turn, weresmothered by their own powder smoke, which constantly renewed itself as the flames spat through the cloud to punch more shots at the frigate."The carpenter says he'll look at the mainmast as soon as he can, sir!" Midshipman Fanning had to shout to make himself heard over the gunfire."As soon as he can?" Saltonstall repeated angrily."The bows are holed, sir, he says he's plugging it."Saltonstall grunted and a six-pounder shot, fired from HMS Albany, hit Fanning in the groin. He screamed and fell. Bone was showing ivory-white in themangled remnants of his hip. He was staring up at Saltonstall, teeth bared, screaming, and his blood was sticky on the ship's wheel. "Mother," Fanningwhimpered, "Mother!""Oh, for God's sake," Saltonstall muttered."You two!" the helmsman called to two crewmen crouching by the portside rail. "Take the boy below.""Mother," Fanning was crying. "Mother." He reached out a hand and gripped the lower wheel. "Oh, Mother!""Fire!" Saltonstall shouted at his gun crews, not because they needed the order, but because he did not want to listen to the boy's pathetic crying,which, thankfully and abruptly, faded to nothing."He's dead," one of the crewmen said, "poor little bastard.""Watch your tongue!" Saltonstall snarled, "and take Mister Coningsby away.""Take him away." The helmsman pointed at Fanning, realizing that the seamen had been confused by the commodore's order. He stooped and prisedthe dead boy's grasp from the wheel.The Warren's guns were firing at the enemy sloops now, but the frigate's crew was raw. Few of the men were regular sailors, most had been pressedfrom the wharves of Boston and they served the guns much more slowly than the British sailors. The frigate's fire did more damage because her gunswere heavier, but for every shot the Warren fired she received six. Another ball hit the bowsprit, almost splintering it into two long shards, then a twelvepounderhit the mainmast again and the long spar wavered dangerously before being held by the shrouds. "Furl the maintopsail!" Saltonstall called to thesecond lieutenant. He needed to take the pressure off the damaged mast or else it would go overboard and he would be a floating wreck under thepounding of the British guns. He saw smoke jet from the fort on the skyline and saw a rent appear in his foretopgallant sail. "Take in the foresails! MisterFenwick!" Saltonstall called through a speaking trumpet. The jibs and staysail would pull the damaged bowsprit to pieces unless they were furled. A roundshot from the Half Moon Battery thumped hard into the hull, shaking the shrouds.The two privateers had not followed the Warren into the harbor's mouth, but instead stood just outside the entrance and fired past the frigate at thedistant sloops. So the Warren was taking almost all of the British cannon-fire and Saltonstall knew he could not just stay and be shot to splinters. "MisterFenwick! Launch two longboats! Tow the bows round!""Aye aye, sir!""We kept their marines busy," Saltonstall muttered. That had been the arrangement, that his ships would threaten the British line and so keep the RoyalMarines away from the fort, which, he assumed, General Lovell was even now attacking. It should all be over by midday, he reckoned, and there was smallpoint in taking any more casualties and so he would retreat. He needed to turn the frigate in the narrow space and because the wind was fitful he had mentow the Warren's head around. British cannon-balls exploded great spouts of water about the heaving oarsmen, but none of the shots struck thelongboats, which at last succeeded in turning the Warren westwards. Saltonstall dared not set the jib, flying jib, or staysail because even this small windwould exert enough pressure on those sails to pull his damaged bowsprit to pieces, and so he relied on the longboats to tow the frigate to safety. The menhauled on their oars and slowly, persistently hammered by British round shot, the Warren edged her way back into the wider bay.Saltonstall heard a cheer from the three British sloops. The commodore sneered at the sound. The fools thought they had beaten his powerful frigate,but he had never planned to engage them closely, merely to keep their marines aboard while Lovell assaulted the fort. A last shot slashed into the water tospray the quarterdeck, then the Warren was towed north under the lee of Dyce's Head and so out of sight of the impudent enemy. The two forrard anchorswere let go, the oarsmen in the longboats rested, and the guns were housed. It was time to make repairs.Peleg Wadsworth crouched opposite the captured highlander who was sitting with his back against a bullet-scarred beech tree. The prisoner had beenfound hiding in a thick stand of brush, perhaps hoping to sneak his way back to Fort George, but he would have found any escape difficult because hehad been struck in his calf by a musket-ball. The ball had mangled his flesh, but it had missed the bone and the doctor with the Lincoln County militia hadreckoned the man would live if the wound did not turn gangrenous. "You're to keep the wound bandaged," Wadsworth said, "and keep the bandage damp.You understand that?"The man nodded. He was a tall youngster, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, with raven-black hair, pale skin, dark eyes, and an expression ofbefuddlement, as if he had no comprehension of what fate had just done to him. He kept looking from Wadsworth to James Fletcher, then back toWadsworth again. He had been stripped of his red coat and wore nothing but shirt and kilt. "Where are you from, soldier?" Wadsworth asked.The man answered, but his accent was so strong that even when he repeated the name Wadsworth did not understand. "You'll be properly looked after,"Wadsworth said. "In time you'll go to Boston." The man spoke again, though what he said was impossible to tell. "When the war is over," Wadsworth saidslowly, as if he was talking to someone who did not speak English. He assumed the Scotsman did, but he was not sure. "When the war is over you will gohome. Unless, of course, you choose to stay here. America welcomes good men."James Fletcher offered the prisoner a canteen of water which the man took and drank greedily. His lips were stained by the powder from the cartridgeshe had bitten during the fight, and tearing the cartridges open with the teeth left a man's mouth dry as dust. He handed back the canteen and asked aquestion that neither Fletcher nor Wadsworth could understand or answer. "Can you stand?" Wadsworth asked.The man answered by standing up, though he winced when he put any weight on his injured left leg. "Help him down to the beach," Wadsworth orderedFletcher, "then find me up here again."It was midday. Smoke rose all along the height of the bluff where men had made campfires to brew tea. The British cannon still fired from the fort, buttheir rate of fire was much slower now. Wadsworth reckoned there were at least ten minutes between each shot, and none did any damage because therebels were staying out of sight among the trees, which meant the enemy had nothing to aim at and their fire, Wadsworth supposed, was a meremessage of defiance.He walked southwards to where the marines held Dyce's Head. The gunfire in the harbor had died, leaving long skeins of smoke drifting slowly acrossthe sun-rippled water. The Warren, her bows scarred by round shot, was seeking shelter west of the bluff where the three captured British cannon werenow pointing at the fort under the guard of Lieutenant William Dennis.Dennis smiled when his old schoolmaster appeared. "I'm delighted to see you unscathed, sir," he greeted Wadsworth."As I am you, Lieutenant," Wadsworth said. "Are you thinking of using these cannon?""I wish we could," Dennis said, and pointed to a fire-scarred pit. "They exploded their ready magazine, sir. They should have spiked the guns, but theydidn't. So we've sent for more powder bags.""I'm sorry about Captain Welch," Wadsworth said."It's almost too hard to believe," Dennis said in a puzzled tone."I didn't know him well. Hardly at all! But he inspired confidence."