The Fort by Bernard Cornwell Page A

deficiencies in the supplies, and the ships now carried enough food to feed sixteen hundred men for two months. Why, there were six tons of flour alone! Six tons!
    Lovell, thinking of the extraordinary efforts that had been made to provision the expedition, slowly became aware that men were shouting at the Warren from other ships. The anchor was still not raised, but the bosun ordered the seamen to stop their chant and their work. It seemed the fleet would not leave after all. Commodore Saltonstall, who had been standing by the frigate’s wheel, turned and paced back to Lovell. “It appears,” the commodore said sourly, “that the commander of your artillery is not aboard his ship.”
    “He must be,” Lovell said.
    “Must?”
    “The orders were plain. Officers were to be aboard last night.”
    “The Samuel reports that Colonel Revere is not on board. So what shall we do, General?”
    Lovell was startled by the question. He had thought he was being given information, not being asked to make a decision. He stared across the sun-sparkling water as though the distant Samuel , a brig that was carrying the expedition’s cannon, might suggest an answer.
    “Well?” Saltonstall pressed, “do we sail without him and his officers?”
    “His officers?” Lovell asked.
    “It transpires,” Saltonstall appeared to relish delivering the bad news, “that Colonel Revere allowed his officers to spend a last night ashore.”
    “Ashore?” Lovell asked, astonished, then stared again at the distant brig. “We need Colonel Revere,” he said.
    “We do?” Saltonstall asked sarcastically.
    “Oh, a good officer!” Lovell said enthusiastically. “He was one of the men who rode to warn Concord and Lexington. Doctor Warren, God rest his soul, sent them, and this ship is named for Doctor Warren, is it not?”
    “Is it?” Saltonstall asked carelessly.
    “A very great patriot, Doctor Warren,” Lovell said feelingly.
    “And how does that affect Colonel Revere’s absence?” Saltonstall asked bluntly.
    “It,” Lovell began and realized he had no idea what he could answer, and so he straightened and squared his shoulders. “We shall wait,” he announced firmly.
    “We shall wait!” Saltonstall called to his officers. He began pacing his quarterdeck again, starboard to larboard and larboard to starboard, occasionally shooting a malevolent look at Lovell as though the general was personally responsible for the missing officer. Lovell found the commodore’s hostility uncomfortable and so turned to stare at the fleet again. Many ships had loosed their topsails and men now scrambled along the yards to furl the canvas.
    “General Lovell?” a new voice disturbed him and Lovell turned to see a tall marine officer whose sudden presence made the general take an involuntary step backwards. There was an intensity in the marine’s face, and a ferocity, that made the face formidable. Just to see this man was to be impressed. He was even taller than Lovell, who was not a short man, and he had broad shoulders that strained the green cloth of his uniform jacket. He was holding his hat respectfully, revealing black hair that was cropped short over most of his scalp, but which he had allowed to grow long at the back so he could wear a short pigtail that was hardened with tar. “My name is Welch, sir,” the marine said in a voice deep enough to match his hard face, “Captain John Welch of the Continental Marines.”
    “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain Welch,” Lovell said, and that was true. If a man must sail into battle then he would pray to have a man like Welch at his side. The hilt of Welch’s saber was worn down by use and, like its owner, seemed made for the efficient use of pure violence.
    “I’ve spoken to the commodore, sir,” Welch said very formally, “and he gave his consent that my men should be at your disposal when not required for naval duties.”
    “That’s most encouraging,” Lovell