Much larger Albany, of course, was a more important British objective. The overall plan was to split the northern colonies by seizing the entire Lake Champlain–Hudson River corridor, a vital transportation network.
David and Jane had made certain plans despite the uncontrollable tides buffeting their shared homeland. For the moment, it appeared they could benefit from one minor eddy gently carrying them into a small and quiet cove. They could marry! Quickly, quietly…even safely.
Accounts vary and the facts slip and slide. It may have been the sudden notice from David telling Jane that he was so close by. It may have been a plan of longer moment. After all, they had been in correspondence, ever since David went off to join the British in Canada. No one knows for sure. Only the principals themselves knew the details.
In any case, it seems safe to say that Jane, in response to notice from David, left her brother’s farm to stay with a Mrs. McNeil, a widow who was related to David’s superior officer, General Fraser. As the British force edged ever closer to Fort Edward, Jane was to await the most important message of all: that David soon would be close enough to send for her. She would then rush to his side, and they would marry!
And the message did arrive. Saturday, July 26, was to be the day.
Breathless with excitement, she donned her wedding dress. David would be waiting for her in his army camp with a chaplain standing by, ready to marry them. All she had to do was walk the four miles through the woods into the camp, alone and unnoticed.
Well, not exactly alone. David had enlisted an escort for her—a band of Indians who would be creeping alongside her path, out of sight but ready to protect her. It was, after all, a time and place of war.
For Jane and David, both the moment and the place would prove unfortunate choices. Unknown to either young lover, a Patriot picket of several men was stationed in the wooded area near the widow McNeil’s home. And a second band of Indians was prowling the same woods.
It is not known today exactly how they all met. Clearly, Jane had set out on her trek to the awaiting David’s side, but after that…what? The second Indian band clashed with the rebel picket, killing some of the American militiamen, it seems fairly certain. The two Indian groups, both apparently allied with the British, then met near a stream or a spring in the woods, then fell to arguing over Jane, caught in the middle.
By one account, the maverick Indian band had murdered a nearby family of settlers, then seized both Jane and Mrs. McNeil. According to the widow herself, the American pickets had come in pursuit and killed Jane by mistake—with a badly aimed musket shot.
Another account is that of Samuel Standish, one of the American pickets and himself a prisoner of the maverick Indian band—he later said that the two Indian bands fell to arguing vehemently—apparently over possession of Jane—then used their muskets as clubs to hit one another. In the end, one Indian leader suddenly turned on the hapless Jane with his musket and shot her in the chest. She fell to the ground and he scalped her on the spot.
Most say her body was left in the woods, and all the Indians retreated to the British encampment where David Jones awaited his would-be bride. He saw the scalp. He recognized her hair. The story is, he never recovered from his shock and grief. By one account, he died young. Another says he deserted the British army the next day and fled to Canada.
Jane’s brother John was also deeply affected by his young sister’s senseless death.
But how, too, the previously unknown Jane McRae became a cause célèbre for the Patriots in death—a new symbol of the widespread rage over the British alliance with local Indians. American General Horatio Gates cited her murder in a letter of protest addressed to Burgoyne himself. In it, Gates complained that Indians had killed more than one hundred innocent settlers in the area, women and children included.
Burgoyne, for his part, denied an accompanying accusation of paying for scalps, but said his army did encourage its Indian allies to bring in prisoners—alive. He also explained Jane’s death as a terrible accident.
In fact, it is said that Burgoyne himself went to the Indians in an effort to identify Jane’s killer, but desisted when warned that pressing his demand would alienate his Native American allies, who were valuable scouts in unfamiliar American terrain. As events turned out, they soon left his army anyway.
Both the Indian-ally issue and the closely related murder of Jane McCrae only further enflamed the area’s American militia and strengthened their determination to defeat the British invaders. Jane’s name became a battle cry at Bennington, Vermont, shortly after her death. Her sad story soon became so widely known, it also is said, that the famous English parliamentarian and orator Edmund Burke cited it in one of his speeches. (He still is known for his stand against British use of Indians in the Revolutionary War.)
Burgoyne, in the meantime, was defeated in the Battle of Saratoga, New York, just weeks later, in October of 1777. It was a signal victory for the Americans, not only because it ended the British threat of splitting the northern colonies but also because it helped to convince Europe—France, in particular—that the American revolutionaries were to be taken seriously…and just might win in their cause.
Hero’s Path to Betrayal
NEVER MIND THAT HE HAD OFFICIALLY BEEN CLEARED OF ANY WRONGDOING IN the affair, calumnies in some corners still persisted.
“Money is this man’s god, and to get enough of it he would sacrifice his country,” said the scurrilous handbill circulated in early 1777 by Benedict Arnold’s enemy John Brown, still agitated over the mysterious loss of supplies that Arnold’s withdrawing Continentals had taken from Montreal in the spring of 1776.
Arnold could shrug off such slander, but he still, in 1777, burned over the refusal of Congress to restore his seniority in rank. Never mind that his ally George Washington reported to Congress that Benedict Arnold “has always distinguished himself, as a judicious, brave officer, of great activity, enterprize [sic] and perserverance.” Congress still balked, and Arnold resigned his commission in the Continental Army.
Aside from the personal slights, however, the war was moving on—with great things in store, both for Arnold and the still-a-birthing nation. He could thank “Gentleman Johnny” Burgoyne of His Majesty’s redcoated forces for a fresh lease on life, for it was General Burgoyne’s advance southward into upper New York from Canada that set the stage for Arnold’s next round of heroics, but also for yet another painful injury to his bad leg (a legacy of his heroics at Quebec)…and a round of fresh controversy.
First, though, learning of the events to the north and receiving orders to join General Philip Schuyler in upper New York, Arnold had to ask for a suspension of his letter of resignation. He then found himself, a New Englander, serving under a New York general at a time when New Englanders in general didn’t get along with New Yorkers. But Arnold, quite used to controversies and embarrassments of various kinds by now, ignored all that and, in one of the most ingenious ruses of the war, proceeded to rescue an American fort besieged by a force of four hundred British redcoats, Germans, and Tories, plus a thousand Indians led by the notorious Joseph Brant (Indian name, Thayendanegea)…all without firing a shot.
The American stronghold was Fort Schuyler (sometimes also called Fort Stanwix), an obstacle on British Colonel Barry St. Leger’s path from Oswego down the Mohawk Valley toward Albany, where St. Leger hoped to link up with Burgoyne’s much larger force. A militia column under General Nicholas Herkimer, ambushed and cut to pieces at nearby Oriskany, already had failed to relieve the Americans holding out in the vital post on the portage between the Mohawk River and a creek leading into Lake Oneida. With the brave Herkimer stopped, and even bleeding to death from a leg wound, Arnold, backed by fewer than a thousand men, was the only officer—New Yorker or New Englander—volunteering to take over the rescue mission.
And then, in mid-August of 1777, came pure inspiration in the unlikely persona of a supposedly half-witted prisoner who, although related to General Sc
huyler, was a Tory and, in fact, was under a death sentence for having helped to plan a Tory uprising in nearby Tryon County. As Willard M. Wallace reported in his biography of Benedict Arnold in the book George Washington’s Generals and Opponents, the Indians regarded Hon-Yost Schuyler (alternate name, John Joost Schuyler) with fear and superstition; they thought he was “under the protection of the Great Spirit.”
It may be that Hon-Yost was a good deal shrewder than most people thought. Wouldn’t he have been aware that his relatives begged Arnold to spare his life, that they “made a deal” whereby he would be spared if he played a difficult and dangerous role for Arnold? That his own brother would be held hostage to guarantee his faithful compliance with the American plan? That he, in essence, was being asked to betray his old allies in the War for American Independence?
Whatever Hon-Yost may have thought, he carried out his part of the plan with a display of consummate acting ability. He burst upon St. Leger’s camp outside Fort Schuyler, his clothing thoughtfully shot full of holes at Arnold’s order. He appeared out of the forest with breathless warning that he had just escaped his own hanging, that the Americans were approaching in absolutely overwhelming force, and there would be no standing up to them. In support of his story, and also by prearrangement, a friendly Oneida soon appeared to “warn” Joseph Brant’s Indians of their pending “peril.” And soon after him, still another carefully coached Indian emerged from the forest with the same dire tidings.
Already stung by their losses to General Herkimer’s militiamen at nearby Oriskany, the Indians refused St. Leger’s entreaties to stay and rebuffed his transparent attempt to ply them with liquor. They left in such disorder and anger, says Wallace, that they even scalped a few of their Tory allies who straggled behind in the general retreat. And general it was, even a rout, since St. Leger’s more traditional soldiers saw no reason to remain behind, either. Indians and white men, all kept going until they reached the shores of Lake Oneida.
Benedict Arnold’s relief column, in the meantime, marched into Fort Schuyler triumphant and totally unscathed.
But now there loomed what many consider the most crucial battle of the American Revolution. General John Burgoyne’s main column of some six thousand men still remained in the upper reaches of the Hudson River Valley, even though his lieutenants had been turned aside at Fort Schuyler and, thanks to New Hampshire’s John Stark, at Bennington, Vermont. These ominous events meant that Burgoyne must press on to Albany by himself. Then came word that General Sir William Howe in New York would not be moving up the Hudson to meet Burgoyne, as once planned, but would shift his forces to Philadelphia instead. Now “Gentleman Johnny” really would be left alone—in a hostile territory, with winter approaching, his foraging prospects limited by an American scorched-earth policy, and the settler population aroused by rumors of atrocities committed by his Indian allies.
He wouldn’t be alone for long, since General Horatio Gates, taking over the Continental Army’s Northern Department from Schuyler, was moving north from Albany with 7,000 men to confront Burgoyne and his 6,000. The British general, for his part, stubbornly clung to the plan he personally had presented to King George III in London the previous winter—rather than retreat back into Canada, Burgoyne moved south, toward Albany. The two generals collided on September 19 at Bemis Heights, ten miles south of Saratoga, New York, in what would be Round One of a two-round fight.
The issue in this round was settled when the British attacked the American left wing in the Battle of Freeman’s Farm, only to run into troops commanded by Benedict Arnold and his subordinate, Virginia’s General Daniel Morgan. While the Americans suffered 319 casualties, the British lost twice that, then stood off for more than two weeks.
During the fracas, Arnold had been nettled that Gates refused to reinforce him and ordered him to remain at headquarters in the rear, rather than lead further attacks beyond the American defensive breastworks. Later, Arnold would be absolutely furious to learn that his division was given no credit for the outcome at Freeman’s Farm in Gates’s battle report to Congress. Seething, he confronted Gates, his superior officer, so angrily that he was removed from command.
When Burgoyne again moved against the Americans on October 7, this time with a force of 1,600 men, Arnold was still in a military limbo, with no men under his command. Stuck pacing restlessly at a headquarters in the rear, he could hear the sounds of distant battle…but he could see nothing and do nothing. Finally unable to stand it any longer, he took to his horse and galloped off to the sound of guns.
There is no doubt that the Americans, 11,000 strong by now and fighting well, would have prevailed in this Round Two, but the sudden appearance of Arnold on his flying mare absolutely electrified his compatriots. “Regiment after regiment broke into cheers as the bay mare with its blue-coated rider dashed to the front,” reported historian Wallace.
To the astonishment of all, Arnold took over the American left wing and led the troops in one attack after another. When the British stiffened in response, “Arnold now swung his horse to the left and spurred between the two armies under a hail of British lead,” wrote Wallace. He rallied a Connecticut brigade and Daniel Morgan’s riflemen for an assault on a German-defended redoubt to the British right, a key to uncovering Burgoyne’s right flank. He pointed with his sword, his mount surged forward, and in short order the Americans had broken through the German line. Here was sweet victory…Burgoyne backed off a mile that night, and a few more miles the following night. On October 17, he surrendered—a thunderclap event to onlooking Europe.
Based in large part on the British defeat at Saratoga, France at last saw real prospect of an American victory and jumped into the fray as an ally in the war against Britain. In a short time, so did Holland and Spain. The Revolution suddenly had taken on the aspects of a world war.
Arnold, in the meantime, probably could take greater credit for the victory than any other single American…but he was left in no mood or condition to enjoy any such laurels. While storming the key German-held redoubt, he had been severely wounded in his previously injured leg. This time he would end up a cripple, one leg shorter than the other.
As double reward for his latest, if unauthorized, heroics, however, Congress finally acted to grant his seniority in rank, and Washington would name him commandant of Philadelphia, which would be evacuated in the spring of 1778 by General Howe. Here, as his leg slowly healed, Arnold would meet and woo his future bride, Peggy Shippen, a young socialite who had spent a fair amount of time during the British occupation of the city on the arm of handsome British staff officer John André.
When she, eighteen, and Benedict Arnold, thirty-eight, were married in April 1779, his wounded leg was still not strong enough to allow him to stand for the ceremony without the support of a fellow soldier. Even so, for the sentimentalist, they made a romantic picture: the handsome, not-quite-so-old war hero still recovering from his wounds and the blushing, ever-so-young bride.
Rather than a rosy future, however, Philadelphia would present Arnold with his greatest dangers yet, and one of them was money, or the lack thereof. As Wallace reports, Arnold had to “live far beyond his means” to keep pace with the Shippens and their socially prominent ilk. “Hardpressed, he developed a number of moneymaking schemes, most of them of a dubious character.”
Speculating in real estate, he looked for property abandoned by the city’s now-absent Tories. But the real trouble came from a pass he granted to a ship in which he had a financial interest, and from his personal use of government wagons. Facing charges on the last two items from the civilian Council of Pennsylvania, he asked for a court-martial, a strategy that resulted in an official reprimand in April 1780 from his old friend and ally, George Washington.
It was not long after these events that Arnold, vain, resentful of all his accumulated slights and still hurting financially, gladly assumed command of the American fortress overlooking the Hudson at West Point. He took over the command with his
traitorous pact already made—for ten thousand pounds, he would surrender the fort to the British.
He, in fact, had been in touch with the British for a year, since the spring of 1779, about the time of his marriage to Peggy Shippen…whose old friend and dancing partner, John André, was destined to be Arnold’s chief intermediary among the British.
“Push Along, Old Man!”
IT WAS A FIGHT TO REMEMBER, ALL RIGHT. “A MOST INFERNAL FIRE OF CANNON and musketry,” recalled a British officer. “The musket balls ploughing up the ground; the trees cracking over one’s head, the branches riven by the artillery; the leaves falling as in autumn by the grape shot.”
Among those present, quite naturally, were George Washington and his British counterpart, Sir William Howe. But there were other major—or colorful—figures, too. Among the Americans were “Mad Anthony” Wayne, the “Fighting Quaker” Nathanael Greene, America’s own “Lord Stirling” (also known as William Alexander), the Marquis de Lafayette (wounded, by the way), and the “Boy Hercules” of the Revolution, Peter Francisco.
All told, the engagement drew a combined turnout of an estimated 27,500 to 33,000 troops—17,000 British and 10,500 to 16,000 American, depending upon whose numbers we can accept today. Thus, it may have been the largest battle fought in North America until the American Civil War nearly a century later.
True, it does have close rivals for such grandiose claim. The Battle of Long Island (1776), with an estimated 27,000 troops in the field, is one. Another is the Battle of Monmouth, New Jersey (1778), with its estimated 26,400 men on hand.
Best Little Stories from the American Revolution Page 27