‘Indeed, sir,’ Wadsworth agreed, though privately he suspected that Solomon Lovell found Commodore Saltonstall’s company difficult. Lovell was a gregarious man while Saltonstall was reticent to the point of rudeness. ‘Though the men do worry me, sir,’ Wadsworth added.
‘They worry you!’ Lovell responded jovially. ‘Now why should that be?’ He had borrowed Captain Carver’s telescope and was gazing seawards at Monhegan Island.
Wadsworth hesitated, not wanting to introduce a note of pessimism on a morning of bright sun and useful wind. ‘We were expecting fifteen or sixteen hundred men, sir, and we have fewer than nine hundred. And many of those are of dubious usefulness.’
The Reverend Murray, clutching a wide-brimmed hat, made a gesture as if to suggest Wadsworth’s concerns were misplaced. ‘Let me tell you something I’ve learned,’ the reverend said, ‘in every endeavour, General Wadsworth, whenever men are gathered together for God’s good purpose, there is always a core of men, just a core, that do the work! The rest merely watch.’
‘We have enough men,’ Lovell said, collapsing the telescope and turning to Wadsworth, ‘which isn’t to say I could not wish for more, but we have enough. We have ships enough and God is on our side!’
‘Amen,’ the Reverend Murray put in, ‘and we have you, General!’ He bowed to Lovell.
‘Oh, you’re too kind,’ Lovell said, embarrassed.
‘God in His infinite wisdom selects His instruments,’ Murray said effusively, bowing a second time to Lovell.
‘And God, I am sure, will send more men to join us,’ Lovell went on hurriedly. ‘I’m assured there are avid patriots in the Penobscot region, and I doubt not that they’ll serve our cause. And the Indians will send warriors. Mark my words, Wadsworth, we shall scour the redcoats, we shall scour them!’
‘I would still wish for more men,’ Wadsworth said quietly.
‘I would wish for the same,’ Lovell said fervently, ‘but we must make do with what the good Lord provides and remember that we are Americans!’
‘Amen for that,’ the Reverend Murray said, ‘and amen again.’
The waist of the Sally was filled with four flat-bottomed lighters commandeered from Boston harbour. All the transports had similar cargoes. The shallow-draught boats were for landing the troops, and Wadsworth now gazed at those militia men who, in turn, watched the coast from the Sally’s portside rail. Tall plumes of smoke rose mysteriously from the dark wooded hills and Wadsworth had the uncomfortable feeling that the pillars of smoke were signal fires. Was the coast infested by loyalists who were telling the British that the Americans were coming?
‘Captain Carver was grumbling to me,’ Lovell broke into Wadsworth’s thoughts. Nathaniel Carver was the Sally’s captain. ‘He was complaining that the state commandeered too many transports!’
‘We anticipated more men,’ Wadsworth said.
‘And I said to him,’ Lovell went on cheerfully, ‘how do you expect to convey the British prisoners to Boston without adequate shipping? He had no answer to that!’
‘Fifteen hundred prisoners,’ the Reverend Murray said with a chortle. ‘They’ll take some feeding!’
‘Oh, I think more than fifteen hundred!’ Lovell said confidently. ‘Major Todd was estimating, merely estimating, and I can’t think the enemy has sent fewer than two thousand! We’ll have to pack two hundred prisoners into each and every transport, but Carver assures me the deck hatches can be battened down. My! What a return to Boston that will be, eh Wadsworth?’
‘I pray for that day, sir,’ Wadsworth said. Did the British really have fifteen hundred men, he wondered, and if they did then what possible reason could Lovell have for his optimism?
‘It’s just a pity we don’t have a band!’ Lovell said. ‘We could mount a parade!’ Lovell, a politician, was imagining the rewards of success: the cheering crowds, the thanks of the General Court and a parade like the triumphs of Ancient Rome where the captured enemy was marched through jeering crowds. ‘I do believe,’ the brigadier went on, leaning closer to Wadsworth, ‘that McLean has brought most of Halifax’s garrison to Majabigwaduce!’
‘I’m certain Halifax is not abandoned, sir,’ Wadsworth said.
‘But under-defended!’ Lovell said warmly. ‘My word, Wadsworth, maybe we should contemplate a raid!’
‘I suspect General Ward and the General Court might want to discuss the matter first, sir,’ Wadsworth said drily.
‘Artemas is a good, brave man, but we must look ahead, Wadsworth. Once we’ve defeated McLean what’s to stop us attacking the British elsewhere?’
‘The Royal Navy, sir?’ Wadsworth suggested with a wry smile.
‘Oh, we’ll build more ships! More ships!’ Lovell was unstoppable now, imagining his victory at Majabigwaduce expanding into the capture of Nova Scotia and, who knew, maybe all Canada? ‘Doesn’t the Warren look fine?’ he exclaimed. ‘Just look at her! Can there be a finer vessel afloat?’
At twilight the fleet turned into the vast mouth of the Penobscot River where it anchored off the Fox Islands, all except the Hazard and Tyrannicide, which were ordered to make a reconnaissance upriver. The two small brigs, both from the Massachusetts navy, sailed slowly northwards, using the long evening’s gentle light to probe closer to Majabigwaduce, which lay a full twenty-six nautical miles from the open sea.
Commodore Saltonstall watched the two brigs until the gathering darkness hid their sails, then he took his supper on the quarterdeck beneath a sky bright with stars. His crew left him alone until one tall figure crossed to the commodore. ‘A pot of wine, sir?’
‘Captain Welch,’ Saltonstall greeted the tall marine, ‘I’m obliged to you.’
The two officers stood side-by-side at the Warren’s taffrail. A violin sounded from the foredeck of the brig Pallas, which was anchored closest to the frigate. For a time neither the commodore nor the marine said anything, but simply listened to the music and to the gentle sound of waves slapping against the hull. ‘So,’ Saltonstall broke their companionable silence, ‘what do you think?’
‘The same as you I reckon, sir,’ Welch said in his deep voice.
The commodore snorted. ‘Boston should have demanded a Continental regiment.’
‘That they should, sir.’
‘But they want all the credit to go to Massachusetts! That’s their idea, Welch. You mark what I say. There won’t be many thanks offered to us.’
‘But we’ll do the work, sir.’
‘Oh, we’ll have to!’ Saltonstall said. Already, in his brief tenure of command, the commodore had earned a reputation as a difficult and daunting figure, but he had struck up a friendship with the marine. Saltonstall recognized a fellow soul, a man who strove to make his men the best they could be. ‘We’ll have to do their work,’ Saltonstall went on, ‘if it can be done at all.’ He paused, offering Welch a chance to comment, but the marine said nothing. ‘Can it be done?’ Saltonstall prompted him.
Welch stayed silent for a while, then nodded. ‘We have the marines, sir, and I dare say every marine is worth two of the enemy. We might find five hundred militiamen who can fight. That should suffice, sir, if you can take care of their ships.’
‘Three sloops of war,’ Saltonstall said