Ghosts of the Siege

by Steven Abernathy

  “Unknown to General Lincoln, the pompous d’Estaing had petitioned the British General Prevost to surrender his garrison and the city of Savannah to France!” Billy glanced at me with a look that may have been shock. “Please understand that the French fleet came to Savannah in response to a request for help from the American Army. Regardless of his station, d’Estaing was subordinate to General Lincoln. He should have consulted my general before making such a demand of the British commander, and he certainly should not have required the British to surrender to France. When General Lincoln learned of d’Estaing’s presumption he was consumed with anger, but gentleman that he was, did not level his wrath upon the Frenchman, at least not within hearing of any subordinates, who, of course, were everyone else on the battlefield.

  “D’Estaing was duped by the British general, who asked for twenty-four hours to consider the surrender. British Colonel Maitland had been summoned from Beaufort, South Carolina to reinforce the city with his command of four or five hundred men. Prevost, the British commander, was aware that Maitland had been able to slip through our blockade, and would be in the city before dawn. When d’Estaing agreed to the twenty-four hour truce, he provided Maitland time to enter Savannah and add his troops to the defense. The force Maitland brought into Savannah may well have been the tipping point that allowed the British to repel our attack. It was a staggering blow, and the self-absorbed French commander never even considered his complicity in the matter.

  “General Lincoln spent little of his time with D’Estaing, having formed a quick and certain dislike for the man which possibly exceeded my own. He ended the meeting with the French commander as quickly as decorum would allow, and returned to Cherokee Hill to oversee movement of his command into a more permanent camp south and west of the British defenses. The general ordered me to remain with D’Estaing’s entourage, but to remain in the background as unobtrusively as possible while gathering all possible information on the Frenchman’s movements and possible intentions for future action. It was not a difficult task, as the French scouting party, which was possibly a full company in strength, made no attempt at stealth during their surveillance of the British defenses. The cocky D’Estaing sat astride a white horse within three hundred yards of the large central redoubt, anchor to the British perimeter of the city, and shouted orders to subordinates to move closer on foot in attempt to assess British troop strength.

  “There is no doubt the British could hear our movements so close by even though the woods may have protected us from their sight. Had I been a British officer who heard such a force approaching the center of my defense, I should have ordered an immediate cannonade on their position to drive them back, but no such fire was forthcoming. At one point I did hear two muskets fire on my right, but have no idea of the meaning or result.

  “D’Estaing kept his reconnaissance company in the field until dusk, at which time he returned to camp. Most of the afternoon had been spent on the British left, and I learned from listening to snippets of conversation with his officers that the French were planning to dig a series of trenches as near to the British perimeter as possible for the placement of cannons in preparation for a siege of the city.

  “I left the French camp and rode west, expecting a trip of several miles to General Lincoln’s camp at Cherokee Hill, but was surprised to find Colonial Regulars within a mile of my position moving into new camps. There was a large spring about a mile due south of the British central redoubt that the French had used to define the extreme left of their camp. General Lincoln had decided to establish the American camp to the right of the spring, extending more than a mile to the west. I dismounted as the column of Regulars approached, knowing they might perceive me as a possible threat. Facing the muzzles of three muskets, I was questioned by a hawk-faced captain who was unconvinced of my story or of my claimed association with the American commander. While uncomfortable under the aim of the muskets, I understood the captain’s position. I could easily have been a Loyalist, a British spy, or a militiaman attempting to defect to the British Army. All such were common in those strange times.

  “The captain assigned two soldiers to guard me and guide me to the rear to find General Lincoln or one of his aids who might recognize me. ‘If no one knows you back there, we will tie you to a tree and shoot you,’ he growled with an evil smile, as if he might enjoy that duty. As I walked under guard against the constant stream of hundreds of troops moving to the east, I looked without success for a friendly or at least familiar face. When the moving soldiers regarded me at all, it was with sullen glances, as they assumed I was an enemy spy or worse being taken to the rear for whatever disposition I deserved.

  “After a few hundred yards into my journey I heard the sound of horses moving through the woods to our left. At first I could see only the faint outline of a small cavalry contingent moving toward me, but as they approached closer I was relieved to see General Pulaski at the head of the short column. The Count halted his column and dismounted when he saw me. He immediately descended upon the poor soldiers who had been assigned to guard me, berating them with an onslaught of harsh words in Polish of which they, understandably, understood nothing. All soldiers recognized Count Casimir Pulaski, however, and the tone of his words left little doubt of their meaning. I actually felt sorry for my guards as I watched them cower in fear before the great general. After forcing the men to endure his brief tirade, Pulaski sent them scurrying back to their captain, who would doubtless belittle their efforts and accuse them of disobeying his orders and shirking their duty as soldiers. I silently hoped he would not punish them too severely.

  “The general caused me to feel both pride and embarrassment as he referred to me loudly as Brevet Colonel Buckland in front of the American column. After hearing my brief explanation of recent events, he ordered one of his subordinates to assume command of the mounted column and said he would accompany me personally to find General Lincoln. He remained dismounted and led his horse as he walked with me against the flow of troops moving to their new camp.

  “My stomach growled loudly during my report to Lincoln, reminding me it was late in the evening and I had not eaten at all that day. To my discomfiture and surprise, both Lincoln and Pulaski laughed at the noise. General Lincoln, with the great compassion for which he was known, asked me when I had last eaten. Hearing my reply of the previous day, he glanced at the Count, who immediately said with a chuckle, ‘Then I shall feed him, lest the sound of his hunger forewarn the enemy of our presence.’”

  “For the next several days I served primarily as a spy for General Lincoln, who made it very clear to me that he did not trust the French commander to follow his, that is Lincoln’s, orders or the plan for the siege of Savannah upon which the two leaders had agreed. It was a strange duty to which I was assigned. My general had informants who reported regularly to him of British movements within the city and on the Savannah River, but of the French, who were supposedly our allies, he knew little. My assignment was to travel between the French and American camps and to gather whatever information I could regarding D’Estaing’s movement and intent. I was lucky to meet at the spring on the second day of my clandestine endeavor two French sailors of about my own age who had been assigned to carry water to the far eastern edge of the French camp. I explained that I, too, had been relegated to the low post of water bearer by my sergeant, a small lie that immediately bound the three of us in a common misery and formed the beginnings of a friendship. Each of the two young men carried two rather large buckets. There were others scattered around the spring, so I offered to help them by carrying two additional buckets to their camp. They were happy for my assistance and, during our walk through the French camp, I was able to glean more information than I had thought would be possible from soldiers of their station.

  “French engineers had surveyed an area to their right of the British central redoubt and were planning a series of siege trenches to begin soon. There had been two or three naval skirmishes on the r
iver, resulting in loss of ships and life on both sides. My friends had no idea regarding what ships or how many men might have been lost. I did learn that the French cannon, having been designed for naval use, were all mounted on naval carriages with small wheels that were unsuitable to be drawn by horses over marsh or wooded terrain. This required them to load the cannon onto wagons and transport them to the French camp, a task that was taking far more time than had been considered at the onset of the siege campaign.

  “General Lincoln laughed when I reported this detail to him. ‘Only the French!’ he commented in an exasperated tone, but said no more.

  “On September 22 – I only remember the exact date because one of my new French friends, Luc by name, mentioned it was his birthday – French engineers began digging the siege trenches. The wet and relatively sandy soil made digging go quickly, and within only two days trenches were as close as three hundred yards to the abatis of the British central redoubt and extended to the French right of that fortification. I stayed late into the night on the twenty-third and saw with my own eyes that hundreds of French soldiers were thrown into the task of extending and widening the trenches and moving batteries into positions that would allow accurate firing into the city. After seeing the industry of the French engineers, I left the camp and rode quickly to report to General Lincoln. It was about three o’clock in the morning when I rode into camp and I was reticent to waken the general from his sleep, but finally decided the importance of the report outweighed his need for rest. As it happened, his eyes opened the moment I entered his tent, and he was immediately ready to hear my news.”

  Billy stopped for a moment as if reliving the early morning meeting with his commander before continuing, “The general was pleased to hear of the French progress. He advised me of the strategic placement of American Army batteries on hills surrounding Savannah on the enemy’s right, but also told me of British gun emplacements being fortified and increased in number within the city. He described the situation as one in which neither side was gaining a distinct advantage, and expressed his desire that the siege of the city would have a rapid effect of bringing the British to surrender. I drew him a map of the French trenches, at least as I thought them to be, and he studied the map for a long time, occasionally scribbling a note to himself along the margin of the paper. Finally he looked at me and said, ‘Billy, as always, you have done well. Get a few hours’ sleep if you can, then I have another job for you. I would like for you to return to the French camp and follow the progress of the trenches and gun emplacements. If you can get into the trenches and record exact details of location of each trench, distance from the British defenses, and numbers and types of guns the French are bring to bear on the city, it will be extremely valuable information to me. General D’Estaing is doing well to prepare for a proper siege, but he thinks only of himself and his own army’s position. I doubt he has given a single thought to we who are on his left, or to what preparations we should undertake to insure a coordinated effort. Placement of the French guns will dictate their reach into the city and the walls of defense. If I have a map of those placements, I can arrange the fire of our own cannons to achieve the most efficient coverage of enemy positions.’

  “The general was silent for a long moment, appearing to consider his next statement. Finally he said, ‘I hesitate to speak ill of another officer, especially to one as young as you, but I know one day you will be a great leader, and in order to learn leadership you must be aware of both the good and the bad traits of your superior officers. I know you have already formed a poor opinion of General D’Estaing. Temper that opinion somewhat by realizing what a masterful job he is doing in preparing his army for the siege, but also understand his failing. What I am trying to achieve, with your assistance and that of this great army,’ he waved his arm around to indicate the encampment, ‘is the defeat of the British and ultimate freedom of our new nation.’ He raised his arm once more and pointed to the east as he added, ‘What General D’Estaing is endeavoring to accomplish, I fear, is simply prevailing in a battle in order to add to his own stature and his perception of the esteem with which others hold him.’ Lincoln looked at me with a slight smile. ‘As long as we know what he is about, we can use his personal goals as well as his guns to our best advantage.’ The smile in his eyes changed to a questioning look as he asked, ‘Do you understand?’

  “I answered slowly in the affirmative, not completely understanding whether I did or not.

  “After being dismissed I was leading my horse to a place I had noticed several yards behind the general’s tent where I thought to roll out my blanket and get a little sleep. While picketing the sorrel I had borrowed from the general’s own stable, I heard a noise behind me and turned to find Count Pulaski walking my way. His eyes were downcast and his countenance bespoke melancholy as he approached on foot. I had heard from others that he suffered from bouts of despondency and unassailable sadness, but had never before encountered the man in such a state. Without speaking to me, the Count helped me unsaddle the horse and spread my blanket on the ground, placing the saddle in a position where I could use it as a pillow if I so chose. After the arrangement was complete, he sat on the ground facing me with his back against a tree. His silence was protracted, and when I became uncomfortable with his taciturnity and took a breath as if to speak, he held out his hand in a gesture to make me stop.

  “After a few more seconds of silence he finally said, ‘I have seen a spirit, Master William, a vision that foretold my end.’ He raised his eyes from the ground to look into my own eyes. ‘Have you ever seen a spirit…a ghost?’ he asked most sincerely. I thought to tell him of my recent encounter with the little girl at the well, but thought better of it and simply shook my head. ‘It is a chilling thing…a frightful thing,’ he said. ‘I have faced men and muskets, sabers and cannon fire, and done so with bravery and aplomb, but I fell to my knees and shed tears like a baby when I faced the terrifying visage that materialized before me only an hour ago. When it spoke, my body shook to such a degree that I could not maintain balance even on my knees, and found need of placing my hands upon the ground to keep from falling on my face. What manner of poor wretchedness can stand before brave men and lead them into battle knowing he shakes with fear when faced with a mere insubstantial vapor?’

  “He seemed inclined to speak no more, and the extreme forlorn on his face caused me to divert my eyes to staunch the flow of my own tears. When I looked back at him, his eyes were unfocused in such a way as to look through me into a realm far away. ‘What did it say, sir?’ I whispered, uncertain of whether or not I wanted to hear the answer.

  “The Count did not answer directly, but continued to stare into that far-away place. When he finally spoke, it was with a timid and uncertain cadence, so dissimilar to the usual timbre of his voice, that I scarcely believed it to be him. ‘I was scouting out on the left,’ he began, ‘verifying the best point of egress from cover of the woods onto the battlefield for my column’s charge. I also was making note of last minute changes the British were making to their line of defense. It seems each day they add more artillery to their right, and I had need to record the placement of the new guns. I had picketed my mount at the woods’ edge and proceeded on foot toward the British line. Perhaps I approached too close to the abatis, but at a point between the Carolina and Spring Hill Redoubts, I began to see the vision. At first it seemed as a distant cloud, but as it grew near it became ominous in nature and caused a tremendous cold to form within me.’ For the first time since he had begun the story, General Pulaski looked into my eyes. ‘Take note, Master William,’ he said, ‘I said the cold formed within me. It was not a cold of discomfort, requiring only another layer of clothing, but a cold borne of fear, a cold that started in the heart and could not be assuaged even with fire!’ He was silent for a long moment before continuing, ‘My wits were still about me then, and I wondered what would make me feel such a fright when faced with only a dark cloud. As I wondered, and tried pull
ing my tunic tight around me, the cloud transformed into a face, a horrible face that language is not equipped to describe. It was a gargoyle, a Medusa, a visage straight from Hell…but it was also a cloud, an insubstantial puff of vapor rising from the cold ground. I could have passed my hand through it without encountering resistance of any kind, but I dared not raise my arm.’ The Count ceased speaking once more, and I had the distinct impression that he did not wish to continue. The questioning look in my eyes, however, encouraged him to continue the story. ‘When the vision spoke,’ he began anew with a visible shudder, ‘its voice boomed within my head as if it were the voice of Satan himself. It said simply, ‘Follow!’ and dragged me to a place just to the north of the Spring Hill Redoubt. The devil released its grasp and I fell to the ground, paralyzed with fear. When I looked up at the horrible vision, it was pointing to the ground. ‘You will fall here,’ it said, ‘and I shall scrape your pathetic soul from the ground and transport it to the darkest place in creation.’

  “My friend stared into my eyes with abject terror in his own. ‘Master William,’ he said with pleading in his tone, ‘Can such evil really exist? You are young but you know much. Your grandfather is a minister of note. Has he taught you anything of evil or its devices? I do not fear death, you know, but death at the behest of such an evil being? I pray that my mind has departed me, and that what I have seen is not real. I am lost, Master William…lost.’ The Count’s eyes assumed a vacant stare and his chin dropped to his chest in a posture of defeat.