Prelude to Glory, Vol. 4

by Ron Carter

  Sometime after midnight, the lightning moved on to the northeast, to become a distant display in the clouds, and then it was gone. The thunder grumbled for a time before it, too, quieted. The rain slowed, and then stopped. By four o’clock in the morning, stars were reaching through small breaks in the clouds, and before five o’clock the heavens were alive with countless points of light.

  Inside the cave, Billy listened as the rain slowed, then stopped. The sounds of water dripping from the branches and needles of the trees in the forest came quietly to him, and he listened intently, waiting for the measured tread of moccasins approaching in the puddles and mud. They came shortly before five o’clock. Hunched over, Eli entered and sat down beside the fire, soaked, dripping, mud clinging to his side and back and hair. He gestured as he spoke.

  “Better get our things. We’ve got to go. They’ll be here sometime soon. We’ve got to get to Fort Stanwix to warn them.”

  “You saw Brant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Trouble?”

  “With a picket. Not with Brant.”

  “You killed the picket?”

  “No. Delivered him to Brant’s lodge. Brant came out. He saw me.”

  “How close?”

  “Six feet.”

  “Will he recognize you if he sees you again?”

  “Yes. He will.”

  Billy nodded, then both men rolled their blankets, tied them, and reached for their knapsacks and belongings. Billy picked up his musket, Eli his rifle, and they turned toward the entrance of the cave and walked up the incline into the dripping dawn.

  Notes

  During the last week of July 1777, preparatory to attacking Fort Stanwix, British Colonel Barry St. Leger moved his army from Oswego to a place called Three Rivers, where the Seneca River joined the Oswego River and the Oneida River to flow into Lake Oneida. There he was met by Captain Tice, Joseph Brant, Daniel Claus, Major John Butler, and a large number of Indian leaders. The purpose was to assemble them all to give them instructions, distribute arms and ammunition, and march as a body on Fort Stanwix, just east of Lake Oneida.

  While there they all participated in the Indian ritual of “taking up the hatchet,” which was the Indian mode of declaring war. The ceremony was not often seen by white men. In the ceremony, each leader takes the war belt, raises it, and accepts it in behalf of those he leads. Joseph Brant was the first to do so for the Mohawk, followed by Giengwahtoh for the Seneca, Juggeta for the Cayuga, Gahkondenoiya for the Oneida, and finally, Shegwoieseh for the Tuscarora. After the chiefs had taken up the war belt, the lesser chiefs followed, and finally the warriors. At the conclusion of the ritual, large quantities of gifts were delivered, and rum.

  The taking up of the hatchet at Three Rivers marked the end of one of the greatest periods of leadership and peace enjoyed by the Indians of the northeastern United States. For generations, the six Iroquoian tribes had remained unified, strong. With the taking up of the hatchet, their union was dissolved, and one tribe took up arms against another. The great work of Deganawida and Hiawatha was ended (see Graymont, The Iroquois in the American Revolution, pp. 125–28).

  Skenesborough

  Late July, early August 1777

  CHAPTER XXIV

  * * *

  Heavy, warm rain was falling from lead-colored clouds that locked the wilderness in a gray shroud. Major General John Burgoyne moved the delicate, handcrafted lace curtain aside to peer out the tall window in the second floor of the great stone mansion built by Philip Skene. Dressed in full uniform, service medals clustered on his left breast, Burgoyne’s face was a blank, eyes reflective and thoughtful as he looked west at the devastation that surrounded the house on all sides and extended past the docks into the waters of the southern tip of Lake Champlain. In his mind he was seeing Skenesborough as he saw it that unforgettable morning nearly three weeks ago, July 6, 1777.

  The Skene mansion was to be the crown jewel of Philip Skene’s dream of founding a grand and glorious settlement, destined to become a great metropolis in the forest, the chosen place where all travelers on the mighty Lake Champlain–Hudson River waterway would stop to marvel, and enshrine his name forever in praise. Obsessed by his vision, Skene had importuned his former commanding officer, General Amherst, to persuade the king to give Skene a grant of land strategically selected by Skene, and Amherst had succeeded. Jubilant, Skene moved to his newly acquired treasure on the southern tip of Lake Champlain, just ten miles from the Hudson River, to begin building his dream.

  With shrewd, hard, brutal dealings that left his neighbors hating him, he cleared the land for two miles, then began construction of his community. He built the wharves and docks on the lake, a blockhouse and barracks, a sawmill, guest houses for travelers, storehouses, an ironworks, dwellings for his servants, homes for farmers to feed the settlement, and finally, on a rise that dominated all else, he built his home. Two and one-half stories of stone, with a two-columned portico, and graced with luxuries previously unknown in the wilderness.

  Skene knew well the singular importance of the great western waterway, and when war erupted between the mother country and the rebellious states, Skene was paralyzed with fear, for one thing was certain: the war would eventually reach Fort Ticonderoga, and when it did, Skenesborough would be sucked into the conflict by one side or the other. Calculating the British would win, he declared his loyalty to the Crown and sailed to London, where he persuaded Lord North that all it would take to kill the rebellion before it spread was to establish a British presence on his land, and then openly threaten the rebels that should they provoke war, veterans of the French and Indian wars would be marshaled to quell it by force. Lord North agreed, and Skene sailed back to the colonies with the king’s appointment as lieutenant governor of Ticonderoga and Crown Point.

  The rebels caught him as he passed through Philadelphia, declared him to be a threat to the cause of freedom, and threw him into prison in Connecticut, where he remained until late in the year of 1776, when he became part of an exchange of prisoners.

  Again he sailed to England, learned Burgoyne was on his way to America with an army to reclaim control of the great western waterway, and instantly set out in pursuit. He intercepted Burgoyne at Crown Point, where Burgoyne immediately placed him in charge of the British commissary and granted him written authority “to assure Personal Protection and Payment for every species of Provisions &c to those who comply with the terms of his Manifesto.” The manifesto was Burgoyne’s order to leaders in every community within fifty miles of Skenesborough to meet with Skene at ten o’clock in the morning of the day selected by Burgoyne, to receive Burgoyne’s orders regarding how local inhabitants, including the rebels, could yet escape the wrath of the British onslaught by submitting to British domination.

  Then, in the early morning hours of July sixth, Skene had watched helplessly as a seemingly unending flotilla of American bateaux carrying the sick, wounded, women, and children from Fort Ticonderoga came sailing into his docks, together with tons of supplies and equipment, all under command of American General Long. Long sent the wounded, women, and children up the nearby entrance to Wood Creek, away from danger. American soldiers already at the blockhouse under command of Captain James Gray unloaded the bateaux on the Skenesborough docks, oblivious to the fact that General Burgoyne and most of his navy were hot behind them. By noon, hundreds of tons of goods and supplies were stacked on the wharves, with more than two hundred empty bateaux bobbing in the water, when one sweating American raised his head to look north. His face went white as he raised an arm to point.

  It seemed that the lower end of Lake Champlain was choked with British men-of-war and bateaux bearing down on them, cannon ports open, sailors standing at their guns with smoking linstocks. The instant the British guns came within range the air was filled with smoke and thunder and cannonballs.

  At the moment the first British cannon blasted, General Burgoyne and his entire staff were sitting down to their noon meal in
the ward room aboard the Royal George, and when the guns on the deck above them erupted, Burgoyne’s secretary, Sir Francis Carr Clerke, raised his glass triumphantly and toasted, “To the success of the evening.” Three minutes later the entire staff was on the main deck, leaning against the rail, gleefully watching the British gunboats systematically destroy everything that floated in front of them. In minutes the American ships Enterprise, Liberty, and Gates were reduced to burning, sinking hulks. The Trumbull and Revenge struck their colors, and the flat-bottomed bateaux were exploding as fast as the British gunners could reload. Frantically the Americans put the torch to everything—their own bateaux, the supplies stacked on the wharves, every building in Skenesborogh, except the mansion. Smoke and flame leaped to catch in the surrounding forest, and the burning of Skenesborough became a conflagration that was seen twenty miles away by men of the Forty-seventh British Regiment, marching overland to join the British fleet. To them, it appeared the entire southern quadrant of the compass was burning.

  Two days later, July 8, 1777, standing amid the still-smoldering ashes of Skenesborough, Burgoyne had commandeered Philip Skene’s luxurious mansion house—the only building left standing at Skenesborough—as his headquarters, and moved the base of operations for the British army inside.

  Now, with more than two weeks having passed, General Burgoyne stood at the second floor window, lost in remembrance and reverie as he gazed out at the bleak, charred wreckage of Skenesborough. Masts of burned, sunken vessels thrust high out of the water surrounding the docks, and the wrecked hulls of scuttled and destroyed bateaux were scattered as far as he could see. The blockhouse, sawmill, barracks, guest and servant houses were blackened skeletons with their roofs collapsed inward, while ragged portions of the walls were still standing.

  Abruptly he turned away and strode back to the desk to take his seat in the ornately carved, upholstered chair behind Skene’s heavy oak desk in the huge second floor library. He selected one paper from many and leaned back to reread it, then looked at the large clock on the mantel—ten minutes before seven o’clock. His scheduled war council would convene in ten minutes. He carried the document to the large, oak conference table, laid it in front of his chair next to a stack of documents, paused to review his handwritten notes, then drew a huge breath and released it as the rap came at his door. He called, “Enter,” and his aide, Major Andrew Culhane, opened the heavy door.

  “The officers have arrived, sir.”

  Burgoyne stood, and instantly became the charismatic, theatrical Gentleman Johnny, the consummate actor. “Show them in, Major.”

  They filed in, General Phillips leading, followed by generals Fraser, von Riedesel, Hamilton, and von Specht. Burgoyne walked to greet them warmly, cordially, showing them to their chairs arranged about the polished conference table. He took his place at the head and drew himself to his full height. “Thank you for attending, gentlemen. I trust you all slept well.” His smile was charming as he reached for the document he had laid on the table only moments earlier.

  “Gentlemen, I think it appropriate to share with you the message I drafted and sent to Lord George Germain. May I read it to you.” He waited for silence, read the salutation, paused for a dramatic moment, then read on:

  “I have the honour to inform your Lordship that the enemy were dislodged from Ticonderoga and Mount Independence, on the sixth instant, and were driven, on the same day, beyond Skenesborough on the right, and to Hubbardton on the left, with the loss of one hundred twenty-eight pieces of cannon, all their armed vessels and bateaux, the greatest part of their baggage and ammunition, provision, and military stores.”

  Modest. Humble. Unassuming. He continued:

  “The victory resulted from the superb performance of all officers, the exemplary obedience of all enlisted men, and the superior quality of all equipment. Indeed, the rebels fled before our troops in such manner as to leave clothing, personal effects, even chests of money behind, so desperate was their retreat.”

  Again he paused, then went on—the taking of Fort Ti without firing a shot or losing a man—the lightning strikes and quick, fierce battles at Hubbardton and Fort Anne—the destruction of the American fleet at Skenesborough—the terror inflicted on the surrounding countryside while loyalists came flocking to join his army—retaking the northern lakes for the British empire—establishing control of the territory between the St. Lawrence River and Fort Anne—taking the major road running from Mt. Independence eastward to Castle Town and Skenesborough.

  He finished reading and lowered the document, eyes glowing at how cleverly his words conveyed becoming modesty and humility, while painting a picture of spectacular heroics beyond the wildest dreams of Germain or the king. The document was not written for Germain. It was written for publication in The Gazette, the most powerful newspaper in all of England. Gentleman Johnny was without peer when it came to the games played by the high and the mighty. He knew that Germain would pounce on the document, write his own brief entre in which he would very diplomatically let it be known that the unparalleled victories were the result of the rare wisdom and vision he, Germain, had shown in selecting Burgoyne to command the expedition, and it would all be delivered to the newspaper instantly. When that edition of the Gazette hit the streets of London, Germain would receive a strong nod of approval, while Burgoyne would be the instant toast of the town, the envy of every man who dreamed of glory, and the desire of every eligible woman in the British empire.

  For a brief moment Burgoyne stood before his officers, flushed with the certain knowledge that he had succeeded, not merely in conquering the Americans, but rather, in securing a place in the annals of English history that would enshrine his name forever.

  Then, casually, he laid the document on the table and turned to his notes.

  “Now, gentlemen, there are a number of matters we must address. First, at eight o’clock this morning we will participate in a ceremony, which I believe will introduce a plan that will succeed in silencing all the rebels within hundreds of miles. More of that later.”

  The generals moved restively in their chairs, speculating on the meaning of “a plan.”

  Burgoyne moved on. “I have drafted letters of highest commendation for the actions taken by each of you that have so successfully brought us to our current condition of victory. Of particular note are the actions of General Fraser and General von Riedesel, however, scarcely behind them are the actions of each of you. These letters have gone on to Lord Germain, and I’m sure, the king. I deliver copies of them to you now for your own purposes.”

  He sorted out the documents and handed them to the men, glowing with the knowledge that they would be enthralled with the praise the letters heaped on their heads. He waited as they read them, assumed their humblest attitude and countenance, folded them, and slipped them inside their tunics, then turned their attention back to Burgoyne.

  “Gentlemen, a minor problem has arisen that you should know about. I have written to General Carleton in Montreal twice, requesting enough men—about twelve hundred—to occupy and hold Fort Ticonderoga while we complete our plan to meet General William Howe and Colonel St. Leger in Albany.” He raised a document for a moment. “General Carleton has answered. He states that his authority is now limited to Quebec, which prevents him from sending any of the few men he has left, south to occupy Fort Ti.”

  Burgoyne stopped, and every general at the table understood perfectly. More than a year before, while he was in London using every waking hour to wangle command of this expedition from Germain and the king, Burgoyne had very subtly undercut General Carleton. Carleton had been stripped of more than half his Montreal command, and those men had been given to Burgoyne. Worse, Carleton’s authority had been reduced to Montreal and Quebec, and no further. While the faithful and disciplined Carleton had been supportive of Burgoyne’s every wish until Burgoyne left Canada, he was absolutely not willing to further reduce his army and his local authority in order to rescue Burgoyne from his o
wn folly. Burgoyne had been ruthless in stealing both Carleton’s army and his authority over the great Lake Champlain–Hudson River waterway, now let him learn the price of his politics.

  Burgoyne shrugged it off. “No matter. We will manage.” He stopped to organize his thoughts. The generals diverted their eyes to glance at the table, and the clock on the mantel, but did not look at Bugoyne.

  Clearing his throat, he went on. “I am aware that some of you had reservations about my decision to stop here after we drove out the Americans nearly three weeks ago. May I repeat to you my reasons: First, we were too far removed from our source of supply. And second, we did not have our cannon.”

  Fraser dropped his eyes. We didn’t need cannon to catch St. Clair and annihilate him, and we had enough supplies to mount a lightning strike force that could have done it in days. He said nothing as he raised his eyes, and Burgoyne continued.

  “In the three weeks we have stockpiled supplies and moved some of General Phillips’s cannon from Fort Ticonderoga. In short, we are once again connected to our supply line. Remember, everything we eat, everything we wear, everything we fire at the enemy, comes from England, across the Atlantic, to Quebec, Montreal, then Fort Ti, before it comes here. No army can survive once it loses control of its support system.”

  He reached to wipe at his mouth before continuing.

  “We have learned a valuable lesson. Moving supplies south from Fort Ticonderoga has turned out to be a serious challenge. Every bateau, every cannon, every man, and every pound of our supplies must be portaged overland at points along the route. We were promised carts and two thousand horses to handle it, but received only one third of that number. Those few carts and animals have been used so severely they are nearly broken down. They must be replaced, and our supply line must become more efficient if we are to complete the expedition to Albany.”