Prelude to Glory, Vol. 4

by Ron Carter

  Vergennes brokered the meeting. Formalities behind them, copies of the documents were laid before Franklin and the king at the same time. The king knew every word. Franklin took but thirty seconds to scan them, then raised his face, smiling.

  King Louis spoke first. “Firmly assure your Congress of my friendship. I hope that this will be for the good of the two countries.”

  Franklin bowed his head deeply. “Your Majesty may count on the gratitude of Congress and its faithful observance of the pledges it now makes.”

  Each took a quill in hand, dipped it, and carefully affixed their signatures to the documents before them. They exchanged the copies, and again dipped their quills to execute their names.

  They raised their heads, and it was done.

  France had joined with America in the war against England.

  Notes

  The morning of 19 September 1777 broke chill and extremely foggy. Burgoyne sent his army south, across the rolling hills straight toward the American fortifications on Bemis Heights. By about ten o’clock the fog lifted and the American scouts noticed activity that told them Burgoyne was coming. The news was sent on to Gates. And Gates did nothing! Arnold pleaded with him to take the initiative, since battles are not won by those who sit and wait for the enemy to take the offensive, but by those who seize the moment and attack. Gates refused, but finally relented, informing Arnold he could send Morgan’s riflemen out to scout. Arnold did so. Morgan’s corp reached Freeman’s farm before they met the oncoming British, and being the crack frontiersmen they were, disappeared instantly behind trees and bushes, and into an old barn. With their long Pennsylvania rifles, they caught the first company of British in the open, and in less than three seconds had more than two hundred of them on the ground.

  However, Morgan had unknowingly blundered right into the heart of Burgoyne’s army, and within minutes the center of the British army was charging him. Morgan’s corp took many casualties, but did not break. Morgan is reported to have had tears in his eyes at seeing his beloved riflemen going down.

  Thus began the Battle of Freeman’s Farm. It continued through most of the day, with the two opposing sides locked in an unending seesaw fight, first one taking the ground, then the other. General Arnold spent the day riding through the thickest parts of the battlefield, encouraging his men, directing them, ignoring the constant threat of being shot dead. Toward evening the Americans under Arnold were at the point of flanking Burgoyne’s army and defeating them, when a courageous charge by von Riedesel broke the American attack, and the battle ended with neither side clearly the victor. At the end of the day both sides withdrew to try to regroup for what was surely to come. In the four hours of intense, hand-to-hand combat, Burgoyne’s army had learned one great lesson: the Americans, for whom they had previously held no regard as fighting men, had stood up to the best troops the British and Germans had, and they had given them better than they’d got, and come within minutes of beating them before von Riedesel saved the day for the British. In the four hours of the Battle of Freeman’s Farm, something went out of Burgoyne’s army.

  It was generally conceded that if Arnold had not insisted on sending out Morgan’s corp of riflemen to make contact with the British, and then take the fight to the British, the outcome of the day’s battle would have been vastly different. It was noted that General Burgoyne was riding among his troops, ignoring the obvious danger, inspiring and directing them. Gates, however, never left his headquarters. When Gates wrote his report of the battle for Congress, he did not mention the name of Benedict Arnold. That fact became known to many, who could not believe Gates would do such a thing. It was becoming clear that Arnold, the warrior, was going to have difficulty with Gates, the politician.

  Baroness Frederika von Riedesel, beautiful and courageous wife of General von Riedesel, opened her dwelling to the wounded and spent the night tending them, as she did many times later. The men called her “Red Hazel” because of her beautiful, long red hair, and they came to nearly worship this great woman.

  Burgoyne planned another assault the next morning, 20 September 1777, but in the night received a message that led him to believe General Clinton might be coming up from Albany to reinforce him. The pertinent language of the message is set forth verbatim in this chapter. Burgoyne decided to wait about ten days, in the vain hope Clinton would arrive.

  While Burgoyne waited, his army built two great redoubts on the ground surrounding Freeman’s farm, about four miles north of Gates’s headquarters on Bemis Heights. The redoubts were named the Breymann Redoubt, which was the largest and the cornerstone of the British defenses, and the Balcarres Redoubt, smaller. They were named after the generals who were to command them. About two miles to the east, Burgoyne built strong breastworks where he established his headquarters.

  Clinton never came. Burgoyne could wait no longer. Either he would fight his way through to Albany, or he and his army would perish in the oncoming winter, since their condition and lack of supplies would not let them retreat.

  The morning of 7 October 1777, the British attack began.

  Again Gates ordered the Americans to simply sit in their fortifications on Bemis Heights and let the British try to take them; however, he did send out Major Wilkinson to find the British and report their movements. Wilkinson did so, watching the British forces infiltrate a wheat field owned by a farmer named Barber. He saw General Burgoyne and other officers climb onto the roof of a barn and use their telescopes to study the American positions. Wilkinson reported back to Gates, who decided to continue waiting. Arnold instantly requested to be allowed to go look. Gates feared it, saying, “I am afraid to trust you, Arnold.” But Gates finally allowed him to go.

  Arnold returned in half an hour, advising that a large force of British was marching around the American left flank to take the headquarters fortifications. Gates said he would send Morgan and Dearborn to swing around the British. Arnold told Gates that was “nothing, you must send a strong force.” Gates became furious and told Arnold “I have nothing for you to do. You have no business here.” With that, Gates stripped Arnold of all command and confined him to his tent until further notice.

  The battle at Barber’s wheat field was under way. It raged back and forth as had the previous battle at Freeman’s farm. Sitting in his quarters, Arnold could hear the guns, and it tore at him. Finally he could take no more. Against orders, he strode from his tent and mounted his horse. Gates saw him and stood transfixed as Arnold looked him in the eye, said nothing, wheeled his horse, and left for the battle at a gallop. Gates sent Major Armstrong to bring him back, but for understandable reasons Armstrong did not follow Arnold as he rode into the hottest part of the battle. At Arnold’s arrival on the battlefield, suddenly everything became electric. He was riding first here, then there, assuming command of any who would follow him. And follow him they did! He rallied the Americans and charged the Balcarres Redoubt. The battle mired down, and when Arnold saw Morgan’s men further north attacking the Breymann Redoubt, which was the cornerstone of Burgoyne’s defenses, Arnold turned his horse and rode at stampede gait for half a mile past the British lines with half the British army firing at him. They hit his clothing, but not the man. He swept up before the Americans, shouting for them to follow him, and they did.

  To his left, General Simon Fraser was rallying the British to come to the rescue of the Breymann Redoubt when Arnold saw him. Pointing, he declared the Americans must stop that man, meaning Fraser. Morgan turned and shouted to Timothy Murphy, the finest shot among his riflemen. Murphy climbed a tree, and from his perch shot Fraser, mortally wounding him. Burgoyne saw Fraser fall, and at that moment something went out of Burgoyne. Baroness Frederika von Riedesel received the stricken Fraser into her quarters and nursed him overnight, but he died at eight o’clock the next morning.

  Arnold led the Americans around the left end of the Breymann Redoubt where desperate hand-to-hand fighting ensued. While leading them in, Arnold’s horse was shot out from
under him, and his left leg was badly broken by a musketball between the knee and the thigh. The men he had led to the brink of success at the redoubt went ahead and captured the redoubt, which gave the Americans easy access in behind Burgoyne’s headquarters. The Battle of Barber’s Wheat Field was essentially over.

  Then Burgoyne learned that General John Stark, with more than a thousand men from New Hampshire, had sealed off all roads to the north. It was obvious to Burgoyne that he had no chance of victory. He exchanged negotiations with Gates, terms of surrender were agreed upon, and on 17 October 1777, in formal proceedings at Fish Creek, near Saratoga, Burgoyne surrendered his sword, and what remained of his tattered army, to General Gates.

  This time, when Gates wrote his report to Congress, he had no choice but to give Benedict Arnold his due. Too many other generals, such as Dearborn, Learned, and Morgan, knew what had happened. The report was glowing with Arnold’s bravery and courage.

  The surrender of Burgoyne’s army was reported to King George on 2 December 1777, and Horace Walpole, famed London sage and newspaper writer, reported that “the king fell into agonies.”

  When the news reached Benjamin Franklin in Passy, the small town where he lived, near Versailles, he used it effectively in a meeting on 12 December 1777 with Comte de Vergennes, the French foreign minister, to persuade Vergennes, and then King Louis, to enter the war on the side of the Americans. On 6 February 1778, the long awaited treaty between the United States and France was signed, bringing France into the war with a promise of men and ships to fight the British. On 13 March 1778, France declared war on England, and on 13 June 1778, open shooting warfare occurred between a French ship and two British ships near Ushant, a small island off the Brittany coast.

  France had become America’s ally in America’s quest for liberty (see Ketchum, Saratoga, pp. 336–448; Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 389–426; Mackesy, The War for America, pp. 130–41; Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, pp. 193–97).

  The reader will recall the incident after the battle was over wherein Billy spoke with young Oliver Boardman. Oliver Boardman was an American soldier who did write the letter to his mother. The letter as it appears in this book is quoted verbatim from that actual letter. The American soldiers believed with all their hearts that “the Hand of Providence” had “work’d wonderfully in Favour of America” (see Ketchum, Saratoga, pp. 436–37).

  Northern Vermont

  October, 1777

  CHAPTER XXXII

  * * *

  The three men rolled their blankets while the morning star faded in the east. They built a low fire and ate cold strips of mutton with hard bread while they sipped steaming coffee from wooden cups. At dawn Eli shot a spike buck deer at a salt lick. He poured water over the head and quietly thanked the deer for its sacrifice, assured it that it had honorably filled its purpose on earth and that its spirit would dwell forever in heaven. They cleaned the carcass at a small stream, washed the liver and heart and put them in the chest cavity, then tied the forelegs together, followed by the hind legs. They cut and stripped a ten foot pine, slipped it through the tied legs, and Billy and Eli shouldered the pole as they continued north with Ben Fielding leading through the forest on trails he knew.

  At midmorning they stopped to drink cold water from a stream and to peer for a moment at the astounding beauty of a forest caught in the resplendent kaleidoscope of colors that mark the midpoint in its change from summer to winter. Fat squirrels and chipmunks were everywhere, chattering, cheeks bulging with acorns and pinenuts, hair growing for the long, cold months ahead. A badger waddled across the trail, heavy from gorging on the nuts and berries ripened in the fall. It stopped and thrust its nose into the air, testing the scent of the men that its weak eyes could only see as a blur, then disappeared in the foliage.

  “One more hour,” Ben said. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and picked up his rifle. His face was a study of anticipation and concern. It had been six weeks since the reverend from Hennings and two men from the church knocked on his door with the heart-wrenching stories of the murders and scalpings done by the Indians with Burgoyne’s command. He had looked at Lydia, and she had handed him his rifle and a small sack of food. She had three-year-old Hannah on one arm, and one-year-old Samuel on the other as she watched the men leave the clearing.

  Were they all right? Had anyone come to harm them? Indians? The British? Sickness? Accident? Had she gotten some of the crops in? Were the cow and the calf all right? Would the weaner pigs be big enough for winter meat?

  He remembered the feel of Lydia close to him, and the clinging of Hannah’s small arms tight around his neck. In his mind he saw Samuel with his thatch of stubborn brown hair, asleep in his arms as he sat at night before the fireplace. He was unaware that he had picked up the pace.

  Fifty minutes later he said, “Just around the bend,” and then they were there. The square log cabin stood at the head of the clearing, with outbuildings on either side. The cowshed and pen were there, with the pigpen adjoining. Trenches were in place for adding a room to the cabin. Smoke rose from the stone chimney, and clothes hung on a line moved in the soft breeze.

  Ben cupped a hand and called, “Hello in the house!”

  A moment later later Lydia rounded the corner of the cabin. She was tall for a woman, square-shouldered, her long, honey-colored hair pulled behind her head with a leather thong. Her face was striking. She carried a woven reed basket on one hip, partially filled with string beans. Beside her, leaning against the corner of the cabin, was a Pennsylvania rifle. A sturdy three-year-old girl with one long French braid peeked from behind her skirts. Lydia shaded her eyes with one hand, then dropped the basket and came running. Ben ran to meet her, and Billy and Eli slowed to give them their time together. They threw their arms about each other, and stood thus for a time, saying nothing, lost in the feel and the wonder.

  Hannah jerked at Lydia’s skirt, and Lydia broke from Ben to sweep her up. “Your father’s home.”

  Hannah took one look at him and buried her face in Lydia’s shoulder. Lydia laughed. “It’s been too long. She’ll remember soon.”

  Ben turned, eyes alive with anticipation. “Lydia, I don’t know how to tell you. I’ve brought someone home.”

  Billy and Eli lowered the pole to the ground and stood waiting. Lydia looked at them, saw the tomahawk in Eli’s belt, the Iroquois beadwork in his moccasins. She turned inquiring eyes to Ben.

  Ben gestured. “This is Eli. Your brother.”

  Lydia gasped. For several moments she stared at him without moving, not daring to hope, to believe. Her forehead furrowed, and she murmured, “Eli?”

  Eli had not taken his eyes from his sister since she appeared from behind the cabin. Billy took his rifle.

  Eli said, “Iddi?”

  In that instant Lydia saw in Eli’s face the stout little two-year-old she had lost eighteen years before. She rushed to him and threw her arms about his neck and the dam burst. She sobbed, tears flooding as she held him, and Eli wrapped his arms about her and he held her close for a long time.

  Hannah stood looking up at three men she could not remember or didn’t know, with her mother sobbing as she clung to one of them, and suddenly her lower lip began to tremble, and then she also burst into tears. Ben reached for her, and she pushed at his hands and sat down on the ground, howling. Lydia pushed away from Eli and picked her up and suddenly began to laugh through her own tears.

  “She’s frightened. And here I stand, crying, and I don’t know why—I’m so happy, I don’t know what to do. Oh, Eli! I’ve waited so long.” She reached to touch his face with her free hand, then suddenly pulled her brother to her again, nearly smothering Hannah between them.

  After a time, she released him, and drying her eyes with her apron, said, “Goodness, where’s my manners? You men are tired and thirsty. Come on to the house. I’ve got apple cider in the well and ham in the root cellar.”

  Eli gestured toward Billy, who ha
d stood without speaking, watching the reunion. “Lydia, this is my friend Billy Weems.”

  Lydia put Hannah back down and reached to shake Billy’s hand. “Welcome, Billy,” she said, then with her arm around Eli’s waist and with Ben’s arm around her shoulder, they walked toward the house, Billy following, carrying the weapons.

  “Is Samuel asleep?” Ben asked.

  Lydia’s chin dropped, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I forgot! He’s in the back, by the garden.”

  They hurried around the house, where Samuel sat in the dirt. A fifteen-foot cord was tied, one end to the house, the other to the back of his overalls. His hair moved slightly in the breeze as he looked up at them, mud covering his chin. He had been eating a dirt clod.

  Lydia snatched him up and instantly wiped at his chin, then thrust her little finger into his mouth, probing for stones. “This child loves dirt.” Ben’s eyes glowed as he reached for his son and held him close while Lydia untied the tether. Then they all walked to the back door.

  Lydia cleaned up the children. Billy and Eli went back for the deer, and hung the carcass in the barn while Ben went to the well to pull up the jug of apple cider. Lydia set it on the table with half a ham, and bread and butter, and fresh tomatoes. Talk and laughter and exclamations and stories flowed. Time was forgotten.

  Ben heaved a sigh. “It’s getting on. I better go look at the animals.” He stood, and offering to help Billy followed him out the door. Lydia sat down at the table facing Eli.

  The sun was low in the western sky when Ben and Billy returned, and Ben spoke to Lydia. “You did fine. Half the grain’s in, the calf’s grown, and most of the pigs will be ready for winter meat. Chickens are good, most of them laying. We still have to make soap, but we can do that after harvest.” He dropped his eyes for a moment. “I wish I could have brought you and the children something—a gift—but there was no time, no place to get one.”