The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War - xaviantvision

Chapter ThirteenA Royal Marine at the taffrail of HMS North fired his musket at the small group of Americans who had gathered at the top of the beach. The musket-ballfluttered close above their heads to bury itself in the trunk of a spruce. None of the Americans seemed to notice, but kept gazing fixedly towards the harborentrance. A marine sergeant shouted at the man to save his ammunition. "The range is too long, you stupid bastard.""Just saying hello to them, Sergeant.""They'll be saying hello to you soon enough."Captain Selby, the commanding officer of HMS North, was watching the approaching rebel ships. His view was veiled by wisps of fog and sheets ofrain, but he recognized the meaning of the enemy's furled mainsails. The rebels wanted a clear view forrard, they were ready for battle. He walked alongthe sloop's deck, talking to his gunners. "You'll hit them hard, lads. Make every shot count. Aim at their waterline, sink the bastards before they can boardus! That's the way to beat them!" Selby doubted the three sloops could sink an enemy warship, at least not before the rebels opened fire. It wasastonishing how much punishment a ship could take before it began to sink, but it was his duty to sound confident. He could see five enemy shipsapproaching the harbor entrance and all of them looked bigger than his sloop. He reckoned the enemy would try to board and capture the North and sohe had readied the boarding pikes, axes, and cutlasses with which his crew would fight the attackers.He stopped at the North's bows beside a great samson post which held one of the seventeen-inch hawsers linking his sloop to the Albany. He couldsee Captain Mowat at the Albany's stern, but he resisted the temptation to make small talk across the gap. A fiddler was playing aboard Mowat's sloopand the crew was singing, and his own men took up the song.We'll rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,We'll range and we'll roam over all the salt seas,Until we strike soundings in the Channel of old EnglandFrom Ushant to Scilly 'tis thirty-five leagues.Was it thirty-five leagues, he wondered? He remembered the last time he had beat up northwards from Ushant, the sea a gray monster and the Atlanticgale singing in the shrouds. It had seemed further than thirty-five leagues. He watched the enemy and distracted himself by converting thirty-five landleagues to nautical miles. The numbers fluttered in his head and he forced himself to concentrate. A touch under ninety-one and a quarter nautical miles,say an easy dawn-to-dusk run in a sloop-of-war given a fresh wind and a clean hull. Would he ever see Ushant again? Or would he die here, in this foghaunted,rain-drenched, godforsaken harbor on a rebel coast? He still watched the enemy. A fine dark-hulled ship led them, and close behind her was thelarger bulk and taller masts of the Warren. The thought of that frigate's big guns gave Selby a sudden empty feeling in his belly and, to disguise hisnervousness, he leveled his glass towards the approaching ships. He saw green-jacketed marines in the frigate's fighting tops and he thought of themusket-fire that would rain onto his deck and then, inexplicably, he saw some of the enemy's sails flutter and begin to turn away from view. He lowered theglass, still staring. "Good God," he said.The American frigate was turning. Had she lost her rudder? Selby gazed in puzzlement and then saw that all the rebel ships were following the frigate'sexample. They were falling off the wind, their sails shivering as the crews loosened sheets. "They surely aren't going to open fire from there?" hewondered aloud. He watched, half-expecting to see the hull of the leading ship vanish in a sudden cloud of powder smoke, but none showed. She justturned sluggishly and kept on turning."The bastards are running away!" Henry Mowat called from the Albany. The singing on the sloops faltered and died as men stared at their enemyturning away. "They've got no belly for the fight!" Mowat shouted."Dear God," Selby said in astonishment. His telescope showed him the name on the stern of the ship that had been leading the attack, and which wasnow the rearmost vessel of the retreating fleet. "General Putnam," he read aloud. "And who the devil is General Putnam?" he asked. But whoever hewas, the ship named for General Putnam was now sailing away from the harbor, as was the rebel frigate and the three other ships. They were allstemming the flooding tide to return to their anchorage. "Well, I'll be damned," Selby said, collapsing his glass.On board the North and on board the Albany and on the sanded deck of the Nautilus the seamen cheered. Their enemy had run away without firing ashot. Mowat, usually so grim and purposeful, was laughing. And Captain Selby ordered an immediate extra issue of rum.Because it seemed he might see Ushant again.The Americans on the beach were Generals Lovell and Wadsworth, Lieutenant Downs of the Continental Marines, and the four majors who would lead themilitia companies uphill. Only now it seemed there was not going to be any attack because Commodore Saltonstall's ships were turning away. GeneralLovell stared openmouthed as the ships slowly wore around just beyond the harbor entrance. "No," he protested to no one in particular.Wadsworth said nothing. He just stared through his telescope."He's turned away!" Lovell said in apparent disbelief."Attack now, sir," Downs urged."Now?" Lovell asked, bemused."The British will be watching the harbor mouth," Downs said."No," Lovell said, "no, no, no." He sounded heartbroken."Attack, please!" Downs pleaded. He looked from Lovell to Wadsworth. "Avenge Captain Welch, attack!""No," Peleg Wadsworth supported Lovell's decision. He closed the telescope and stared bleakly at the harbor mouth. He could hear the British crewscheering aboard the sloops."Sir," Downs began to appeal."We need every man to attack," Wadsworth explained, "we need men attacking along the ridge and we need cannon-fire from the harbor." The signalfor Colonel Mitchell and Colonel McCobb to begin their advance was the sight of the American ships engaging the British and it seemed that signal wasnot going to be sent now. "If we attack alone, Captain," Wadsworth went on, "then McLean can concentrate his whole force against us." There was a timefor heroics, a time for the desperate throw that would write bright glory on a new page of American history, but that time was not now. To attack now wouldbe to kill men for nothing and give McLean another victory."We must go back to the heights," Lovell said."We must go back," Wadsworth echoed.It began to rain even harder.* * *It took over two hours to get the men and the pair of four-pounder cannons back to the heights by which time dark had fallen. The rain persisted. Lovellsheltered under the sail-canvas tent that had replaced his earlier shelter. "There must be an explanation!" he complained, but no news had come from thefleet. Saltonstall had sailed towards the enemy and then, at the last moment, had turned away. Rumor said that strange ships had been sighted on theriver's sea-reach, but no one had confirmed that report. Lovell waited for an explanation, but the commodore sent none and so Major William Todd wassent in search of the answer. A longboat was hailed from the nearest transport and Todd was rowed southwards to where the lanterns of the warships