Charles Fort

As I walk through the ghostly remains of Charles Fort, I can imagine the footsteps of the soldiers once stationed there. I look out across the river and imagined seeing the British fleet moored in the docks of the river. I hear the cannon blasts of the attacking French, Jacobites, and IRA.

A feeling of adventure envelopes me. I imagine myself as a foot soldier, completely swept up in some battle that I did not fully understand. I may not understand the significance of what or whom I am fighting, but no matter. I must fight; my mother and sisters are living in the town of Kinsale. With my father gone it is up to me to protect them.

I can see the enemy coming up the hill. A cannon blast had just blown a hole into the right flank wall and they had begun to penetrate the fort. I abandon my post at the cannon on the parapets and grab my rifle. This is the first real battle I had ever seen. I shiver terribly as I load my rifle, forgetting to pour the powder before loading the musket ball. I can hear the yells of battle and my commanding officer yelling in my face. “Load faster!”

The pressure gets to me and I drop my ramrod. “Soldier, you are going to get yourself killed!” He pulls out his pistol and fires into the battle raging in the courtyard below us. I pick up the rod and load my gun correctly. “Do I have to teach you how to aim that thing too?” I tentatively bring my rifle up to my shoulder and look over the courtyard.

The officer turns and yells at some other frightened young soldiers. He looks back at me. “Fire, damn it, fire – ” A bullet rips through his chest and blood splatters on my face. I watch my commander fall. I turn and spot the enemy that had fired. I aim my rifle and fire. I might have hit him in the shoulder but I can’t be sure.

I duck back down and cower. I look at my now dead commander; the blood pours from his mouth and chest. His hand still clutches his pistol. This is madness. I try to reload my rifle, fumbling for a powder charge. Again I drop my ramrod. “Bayonets!” shouts some other officer. I grab mine from my belt and secure it to my rifle.

Screwing up the courage, I ran down the stairs. The chaos that I see on the ground astonishes me. Surely not all battles were so bloody, so gruesome? Where was the adventure, the chivalry? A gun butt slams me in the back and I fall to the ground. I look up to see a bayonet diving towards my chest. I throw up my rifle and am about to thrust my bayonet up when another rifle bashes into my knee.

“Jared, why did you just knee that wall?”

I look up. I am no soldier. I am a college student, a tourist. There is no battle, no adventure, only a ruined fort in a tourist town. I smile and shrug off the pain in my leg. Maybe some other day.