The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War
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“The most prolific and successful historical novelist in the world today.” —Wall Street Journal
“Readers who haven’t discovered Bernard Cornwell don’t know what they are missing.” —New York Times bestselling author Vince Flynn
From the New York Times bestselling author of Agincourt, the Saxon Tales, and the beloved Richard Sharpe series, Bernard Cornwell’s The Fort plunges prow-first into the largest naval clash of the Revolutionary War. Fans of the Nathaniel Starbuck Chronicles and The Burning Land will thrill to Cornwell’s triumphant return to American historical fiction in this gripping story of courage, strength and patriotism.
prisoners!” Wadsworth shouted. There was no need for more killing. The gun emplacement was taken and, with a fierce joy, Wadsworth understood that the battery was too low on the shore to be hit by the fort’s guns. Those guns were trying, but the shots were flying just overhead to splash uselessly into the harbor. “Let’s hear your drum now, John Freer!” Wadsworth shouted. “You can sound the drum as loud as you like now!” But John Freer, aged twelve, had been clubbed to death by a redcoat’s
said, “but let me say a word or two to the men first?” Lovell wanted to inspire them. He knew spirits were dangerously low, he heard daily reports of men deserting the lines or else hiding in the woods to evade their duties, and so he stood before McCobb’s men and told them they were Americans, that their children and children’s children would want to hear of their prowess, that they should return home with laurels on their brows. Some men nodded as he spoke, but most listened with
discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly at the dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning . . . The poem, of course, is The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna. Lieutenant John Moore went on to revolutionize the British Army and is the man who forged the famed Light Division, a weapon that Wellington used to such devastating effect against the French in the Napoleonic Wars. Lieutenant-General Sir John Moore died in 1809 defeating
marines shouting, they saw the reflected sunlight glinting from the long blades, and the artillerymen ran. They had longboats beached close to the battery, and they abandoned the guns, abandoned everything, and sprinted for their boats. They shoved the three boats off the shingle and scrambled aboard just as the American marines burst from the trees. One boat was slow. It was afloat, but when the two men who had been pushing its bows tumbled over the gunwale, the boat grounded again. A gunner
warriors judged him and found him wanting, but he forced a welcome smile in the dark night. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told Johnny Feathers, who was apparently the Indian’s leader. Feathers, who had been given his name by John Preble, who negotiated for the State with the Penobscot tribe, neither answered nor even acknowledged the greeting. Feathers and his men, he had brought sixteen this night, squatted at the edge of the trees and scraped whetstones over the blades of their short axes.