Prelude to Glory, Vol. 4

by Ron Carter

  Fraser’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You’ve seen men who can follow a cannonball in flight?”

  “Yes. A few. Extremely sharp-eyed.”

  “I’ve never tried—”

  At that moment an errant cannonball whistled fifteen feet over their heads to drop behind them, plowing a furrow twelve feet long in the ground and coming to a stop, smoking. Both men ducked violently, then turned to survey the damage, relieved that there was none.

  Balcarres said, “That was a little too close. I trust General Burgoyne intends moving on Fort Ti in the very near future and stopping this irritating business. What do you suppose he’s waiting on?”

  Fraser replied, “I believe he wants all his cannon in position. Phillips is doing all he can, but there are places he has to build roads to move them across swampy ground. It won’t be long.”

  Fraser took a moment to study the terrain surrounding their huge, sprawling camp. To the east, across the lake, Mt. Independence. West, the rolling, forested mountains and valleys. To the south, hidden from sight, Fort Ticonderoga on its small peninsula. Behind the fort, Mt. Defiance, its peak rearing into the blue heavens. It was all familiar, unchanged. He had turned back toward his tent when a thought struck him with such force he came to an immediate stop and slowly turned back to stare south.

  Balcarres considered his erratic behavior. “Is something wrong?”

  For ten seconds Fraser did not speak nor move. Concerned, Balcarres walked toward him. “General, are you feeling well?”

  Slowly Fraser raised his arm high, pointing. “Do you see Mount Defiance?”

  Balcarres turned to look, and could see nothing remarkable—no smoke, no movement of troops, nothing. “Of course. What’s your point?”

  “Do I recall correctly? Isn’t Fort Ticonderoga just across that narrow neck of water at the Lake George outlet, about fifteen hundred yards from Mount Defiance?”

  “Correct. It’s been that way for a million years. Have I missed something?”

  Softly Fraser said, “What would happen if we were to get some heavy cannon up there?”

  Balcarres stared, and his mouth slowly dropped open. “We’d have the bloody fort in the palm of our hand, and Mount Independence with it!”

  “Exactly. The question is, can we get cannon up there?”

  For ten seconds Balcarres peered at the mountain. “Probably not, at least not from this side. I don’t recall what the maps say about the back side.”

  “Nor do I.” Fraser dropped his eyes. “I’ll look into it.”

  Eyes still locked on Mt. Defiance, Balcarres nodded. “Let me know the results.”

  Fraser turned and strode quickly to his tent. At the flap, he hesitated long enough to peer once more at Mt. Defiance, then ducked inside and hurried to the leather chest in which he stored his maps. With trembling fingers, he loosened the buckles, threw back the broad leather straps, and lifted the lid. Five seconds later he straightened and hurried to his desk to untie the heavy cord wrapped around a scrolled map.

  Billingsley rose from his desk in the corner. “Sir, can I be of service?”

  “Can you find my calipers?”

  “Yes, sir.” Billingsley walked to Fraser’s desk and began opening drawers.

  The general was scarcely breathing as he unrolled the heavy document, spread it on his worktable, shifted it to lie true with the compass, and anchored the four corners with leather pouches filled with sand. Quickly he located the five-sided figure of Fort Ticonderoga, then ran his finger southwest across the narrow neck of water that drained Lake George into Lake Champlain. Slowly he moved his finger to the top of Mt. Defiance, paused, then continued from the top of Mt. Defiance almost due east across the southern extreme of Lake Champlain, called South Bay, to the top of Mt. Independence.

  He turned to Billingsley, who handed him his calipers. He spread the two needle-pointed legs of the instrument, planted one point in the center of Fort Ti, the other at the top of Mt. Defiance, then read the scale. His eyes widened. “Fourteen hundred yards.” He spread the instrument once more, relocated the points on Mt. Defiance and Mt. Independence, and again read the scale. “Fifteen hundred yards.”

  He lowered the calipers and turned to Billingsley. “Our cannon on Mount Defiance can destroy every American defense at Fort Ti and Mount Independence in less than one day, and there isn’t a single American gun that could reach us.”

  “It appears so, sir.”

  Again Fraser pored over the map, checking the contour lines to determine how steep the incline was on the face of the mountain. The map showed the lines were very close to each other, and he shook his head. “Too steep.” He shifted his gaze to the back side of the mountain. In places, the contour lines were more widely spaced. Quickly he seized his quill, and without dipping it in ink, he moved the tip of it from the flat land at the foot of the mountain to the top, following only contour lines that were separated. He straightened, wide-eyed, exultant. “It can be done!” he exclaimed. “We can move cannon up the back side of Mount Defiance.”

  Billingsley looked at the map for five seconds before the stunning significance of Fraser’s discovery struck home. “Astounding, sir. Absolutely astounding!”

  Hardheaded military discipline asserted itself, and Fraser forced himself to sit down at the table and check his work, with Billingsley poring over the map in utter fascination. There was no question—it was there to be done if Fraser had men daring enough to make the attempt. He rose from his chair and walked rapidly to the flap before he turned.

  “Major, do you know where I can find Captain James Craig?”

  Billingsley concentrated for a moment. “I think his company is assigned to dig a powder magazine. Northwest edge of camp, sir.”

  “Good. Wait here for further orders.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Officers and regulars alike paused in their work to watch General Simon Fraser as he worked his way quickly through the uproar and muddle of officers, regulars, and camp followers hustling in all directions on their assigned duties. He was sweating profusely when he slowed near a great mound of fresh, dank earth, bordering a gigantic hole thirty feet square, with men inside, stripped to the waist, sweat running as they worked with shovels, steadily sinking the hole to the desired ten-foot depth. Others stood around the top with more shovels, moving the dirt away with wheelbarrows, past a mountain of earth on the west side of the hole.

  Fraser stopped at the nearest man, breathing heavily, sweat dripping. “Can you direct me to Captain James Craig?”

  For a moment the man stared. He could not recall ever seeing a general move fast enough on a sweltering hot day to raise a sweat. “Yes, sir. Cap’n Craig’s just past that dirt pile with some wagons.”

  “Thank you.” Fraser rounded the great mound of fresh dirt and slowed at the sight of twenty men shoveling dirt into two huge freight wagons. Eight yoked oxen stood with their eyes closed against the mosquitoes and brulies, patiently chewing their cud while the wagons filled. Captain Craig was standing with his back to the general, giving orders to a lieutenant.

  “When they’re loaded, drive them down to Captain Alexander Fraser’s breastworks facing the rebel French Lines. He needs the dirt for fill in front of the timbers.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Craig turned and all but bumped into General Fraser. “Oh! Excuse me, sir. I didn’t expect you.”

  Fraser wasted no words but drew Craig aside. “Captain, I have a critical mission for you and twenty of your men, with perhaps a few Indians.”

  Craig straightened, eyes narrowed in question. “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you to work your way up the back side of Mount Defiance and determine two things: first, can we transport cannon up there; and, if we can, is there a place up there to build gun emplacements? Then report back to me, no matter the time.”

  “When do you want this done, sir?”

  “Now.”

  Craig’s mouth dropped open. “You mean pick twenty me
n and a few Indians for advance scout and leave right now?”

  Fraser bobbed his head. “Precisely.”

  Craig rounded his lips to blow air while his brain raced to catch up with Fraser’s order. He turned on the spot and called, “Dugan, come here!”

  A lean, raw-boned, bearded sergeant straightened, wiped at the sweat on his face, and rammed his shovel blade into the dirt. “Yes, sir.” He walked rapidly to face Craig and saluted both officers.

  “Get your men into uniform as fast as you can and wait here. I’m going to get five Indian scouts and a map. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  Dugan’s face clouded in shocked surprise. “Exactly what does the captain have in mind?”

  Craig pointed. “We’re going up that mountain.”

  Dugan followed his point. “Now, sir?”

  “Right now. Get your men into their tunics, in marching formation, with muskets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fraser paced impatiently, watching Dugan bawl out his orders. Men dropped their shovels and scrambled. Minutes later Craig returned with five confused Indians and spent ten seconds inspecting Dugan’s men. They were sweating in their woolen tunics, faces a blank at being ordered to throw down their shovels, grab their muskets, and fall into marching order without the slightest explanation of why. But they were ready. Craig strode to the young lieutenant in charge of loading the dirt into the freight wagons, who stood at bewildered attention while Craig curtly turned command of digging the powder magazine over to him.

  Map crammed inside his tunic, Craig marched back to Dugan and called out orders. Dugan gave the cadence, and the command marched out the south end of camp, Fraser striding along beside them, keeping step. Officers, regulars, women—everyone who saw them—paused to wonder at the strange sight of a brigadier general marching an officer, a sergeant, five Indians, and twenty sweating men out of camp in full uniform, muskets over their shoulders.

  One hundred yards beyond the pickets at camp’s edge, Fraser stopped, watching until the red tunics of the last rank disappeared into the forest. Then he turned on his heel and strode rapidly back to his tent, mind racing as he worked with a plan. Billingsley met him at the entrance and stepped aside as Fraser entered. The general stopped and faced him directly.

  “I believe the regimental engineering officer is Lieutenant William Twiss. Get him here as fast as you can. If I’m not here, have him wait.”

  Billingsley masked his surprise. “Yes, sir.” He turned on his heel and hurried out the door. Fraser stepped to the washstand in the corner and poured water from a large, blue-figured porcelain pitcher into the matching basin. He quickly washed his hands, then the perspiration from his head and face, straightened his hair, set his tricorn squarely on his head, and walked briskly back out into the oppressive heat. Minutes later he was standing beneath the limp pennants that decorated the roofline of the great command tent, facing the picket at the flap.

  “General Fraser to see General Burgoyne,” he said, eyes snapping.

  “One moment, sir.” The picket disappeared, to return in thirty seconds and hold the flap open. Fraser entered instantly, stopped in the heat of the unventilated room, and stood at attention while his eyes adjusted to the muted color created by the sun on the canvas.

  Instantly Burgoyne was on his feet, striding toward Fraser, displaying his dazzling smile—the ever-cordial, always charismatic Gentleman Johnny.

  “Simon! Good to see you. What brings you here in the heat of the morning?”

  Fraser spent no time playing the game of charm. “Sir, I spent part of the morning proving to myself that we can transport cannon to the top of Mount Defiance.”

  Fraser stopped. It took Burgoyne two seconds to grasp Fraser’s drift. In an instant the bon vivant social toast of London vanished, and the brilliant, tough-minded general took over. Burgoyne’s smile was gone, and his eyes bored into Fraser as he uttered one word.

  “How?”

  “Up the back side.”

  Without hesitation, Burgoyne cut straight to the stand-or-fall proposition. “Show me.” In less than two minutes he had his scaled map on his worktable, corners weighted down, standing beside Fraser in silence, waiting.

  Fraser shifted the map to square it with the compass, then placed a finger on Fort Ticonderoga, moving his hand as he spoke. He wasted no words.

  “From Fort Ti to the top of Mount Defiance is fourteen hundred yards. From the top of Mount Defiance to the top of Mount Independence, fifteen hundred yards.”

  “How do you know?” Burgoyne’s eyes were intense, narrowed.

  “Calipers.”

  “Go on.”

  He returned his finger to Mt. Defiance. “The front is too steep, but the back is not. We can get cannon up the back side.”

  “On what authority?”

  “The contour lines.”

  Instantly Burgoyne hunched forward to study the curving contour lines, and as he worked with his finger his breathing quickened, while his eyes began to shine. “Maybe. Has anyone gone to look?”

  “I sent Captain James Craig with twenty men and five Indian scouts. They should be back with their report sometime after dark.”

  “If his report is favorable, what do you propose?”

  “If Craig agrees, I’m going up there myself with our engineering officer, Lieutenant William Twiss. My aide’s gone to get him now.”

  “When will you go?”

  “Tonight, after Craig gets back. We can be far up before morning, maybe on top. If Twiss agrees, it’s possible we can have guns up there by noon tomorrow.”

  Burgoyne’s brow knitted in question. “Noon? That soon? How?”

  “Start tonight. Have a company of men move them as far as they can in the dark. If Twiss and I are successful, we can signal, and they can proceed.”

  “How do you propose getting a two-ton gun up there without roads?”

  “Block and tackle, and ropes. Build a road later.”

  Burgoyne’s breathing accelerated to keep pace with his racing thoughts. “It might be possible. We’ll have to talk with General Phillips about cannon. He has every gun assigned, and I doubt he’ll be amenable to changing his mind.”

  “Get cannon from the ships out on the lake. The Thunderer can spare a few.”

  Burgoyne turned away from the table and began to pace, working with the thoughts that were coming in a flood. “Fifteen hundred yards? We would have total command of a field of fire, both on Ticonderoga and Mount Independence.” He stopped in his tracks as the next thought impacted. His eyes grew large. “I doubt their guns could reach us.”

  “They could not.”

  “Do you mean to say that we could reduce Fort Ti and their Mount Independence defenses to rubble without a single American shot reaching our guns?”

  Fraser bobbed his head emphatically. “That’s exactly what I mean, sir.”

  “This could all be over in one day, then, without the loss of a single man.” He caught his breath at the thought. “Unbelievable! Take Fort Ti in one day with no casualties. That would stand Whitehall and Parliament on their heads! And the king! Brilliant!”

  Fraser masked his reaction at how quickly Burgoyne had jumped from the possibility of a stunning military victory, to how he was going to use it to rise to the pinnacle in British military and political circles, let alone the whirl of London’s high society. While it was he, Fraser, who had recognized the staggering possibility and formed the plan to bring it to reality, it would somehow be Burgoyne who would have all England at his feet when it was finished. Fraser accepted it, and waited for Burgoyne’s response.

  “I’ll have General Phillips brought here at once. I want his opinion on the question of our cannon reaching them, while theirs cannot reach us. Go bring Lieutenant Twiss here for the conference.”

  Fifteen minutes later, with all four men hunched around the table, Fraser quickly laid his conclusions and his plan before them. Phillips recoiled at the thought, then leaned forward to t
race distances and locations, making silent calculations, with Twiss intently tracking. Phillips glanced at Burgoyne and asked, “Do you have calipers?” Two minutes later he stood erect, chin thrust out. “On paper, it can be done, but I will not approve the plan until a competent person has walked the ground to prove it. I cannot assign one cannon to the project, but I agree that a few guns can be spared from the Thunderer.”

  Burgoyne turned to Twiss.

  Twiss drew a deep breath. He had never been in such an intense, do-or-die war council in his life. He spoke firmly, without hesitation. “From the best information we have, Mount Defiance is just short of eight hundred feet in height. From the top, cannon should reach all defenses, including Fort Ti. The proposal to put cannon up there appears to be feasible, however, it would be a mistake to commit troops without a visual inspection of the ground. I presume that’s why I was called here. If you wish, I will be happy to climb that mountain and give it my best appraisal.”

  Fraser interrupted. “I planned to accompany you, starting tonight, the minute Craig returns with a favorable report.”

  Twiss responded. “Good. I’ll be ready when you are.”

  Fraser turned to Burgoyne. “As soon as we have reached the mountaintop, and Lieutenant Twiss has made his decision, he and I will signal to the men bringing the cannon up behind us. One pistol shot means they abandon the project. Two pistol shots means bring the guns to the top. Is that understood?”

  Burgoyne nodded. “Understood. By that time I’ll have a large force of men halfway to the top with the cannon.”

  At twenty minutes before nine o’clock, Fraser checked his watch, then settled back in the chair beside the worktable in his tent. Six lanterns cast their yellow light in the muggy air, with mosquitoes, moths, and night insects drawn buzzing to the glowing, hot glass chimneys. The curled bodies of insects that had come too close to the blistering glass littered the table and floor beneath the lanterns.

  Across from Fraser, Lieutenant Twiss leaned back, one arm hooked over the back of his chair. Billingsley sat quietly at his small desk in one corner. Locked in a tense, disciplined silence, the men had not spoken in more than half an hour, as they waited for the return of Captain James Craig, to learn what would be the fate of thousands of Americans and British who were poised for the battle at Fort Ticonderoga.