The Rifleman

by Oliver North

  Within a half-hour Captain Morgan and Mr. Coolidge consummated an agreement to compensate Mr. Coolidge and his neighbors one eighth Spanish dollar1 for every 500 pounds of cargo they delivered from Fort Western to Fort Halifax. I wrote two copies of a “contract” to that effect and both Captain Morgan and Mr. Coolidge signed them.

  I gave one copy to Mr. Coolidge. The other I placed in an envelope with a brief note, a sketch map describing the places where we camped, spots found to be challenging, and addressed the wax-sealed envelope: “Please pass to Captain Febiger, Expedition Adjutant.”

  I then handed the package to Corporal Sullivan with instructions to take another of his Riflemen and one of the Indians in the canoe, paddle back down the river and pass the package to Lieutenant Colonel Greene with a request he relay the message downstream to Colonel Arnold’s Expedition Headquarters.

  While I was doing this, the Riflemen in each Company were removing gear from each batteau and loading it aboard the wagons and carts accompanying Mr. Coolidge. As this was being accomplished, he shared with Captain Morgan, 1st Lt. Humphrey, and me how his nineteen-year-old son was killed on Bunker’s Hill in June and his hope this sacrifice would not be in vain.

  Mr. Coolidge also gave us some good advice for the rest of our journey. “There is no road north of Fort Halifax, and the rapids upstream will require portaging the cargo and the batteaux. If you are not receiving reports back from Lieutenant Steele (we are not), I recommend you send some of your Indians and a few of your men to reconnoiter three or four miles ahead so you know what to expect. The few remaining Indians in this part of the country will do you no harm but are unlikely to be helpful.”

  After looking at the copy of the map Captain Febiger and I made back in Cambridge, he told us, “The distances on the route you have chosen seem to be way off. For example, the notation you have here indicates ten days to move from Fort Halifax to Lake Mégantic. That might be possible by foot, but with all the batteaux and cargo, it could be twice as long.”

  Tracing the route marked on the map with his finger, he continued, “I see here your final leg of movement to the St. Lawrence is down the Chaudière River. That would be challenging for canoes. Descending in heavy batteaux this time of year will be extremely dangerous. The English translation of the French word Chaudière is ‘cauldron.’ It is appropriately named.”

  By mid-afternoon we were all safely ashore on the east bank of the Kennebec, north of the confluence with the Sebasticook River, beside the decaying ruins of Fort Halifax.

  Though moving roughly half our cargo up the old military road on the carts and wagons of Mr. Coolidge and his friends allowed the batteaux to float higher, the currents and wind conspired against our still inexperienced boat crews. Most of us spent hours in the water pushing and pulling the boats along. Mr. Coolidge’s wheeled transports beat the batteaux to Fort Halifax by nearly two hours.

  We spent the remaining hours of daylight emptying the batteaux, packing what oakum we have left into leaks already apparent in the hulls and bottoms of our boats, and then re-packing and lashing down our cargoes.

  When 1st Lt. Humphrey ordered a group of our Virginia Riflemen to start gathering tinder, kindling, and firewood for yet another bonfire, one of them replied, “No need, sir. Let’s just burn the damnable ‘battoes’ and walk to Quebec!” He wasn’t joking.

  Ticonic Falls, Maine, on the Kennebec River

  Thursday, September 28th, 1775

  At dawn this morning Capt. Morgan dispatched Captain Hendricks, four Pennsylvania Riflemen, and an Indian guide in a canoe up the Kennebec to reconnoiter what the locals said would be our first portage. They were back in less than an hour to confirm the prognostication.

  “It’s a half-mile long cascade just a half mile north of here,” Hendricks reported. “But the only decent portage around it is on the west side of the river and the footpath for our men who are walking is on the east side of the river. That means the ‘walkers’ will have to go up, beyond the portage, cross at a ford to the west side, and come back down to help move the boats and cargo up above the falls.”

  On the advice of a local, Captain Morgan ordered the augmentation of each four-man boat crew with two additional “pole pushers” and sent everyone else in a single-file foot column up the narrow east-side trail behind an Indian guide who claimed to know the way to the ford.

  Capt. Morgan, 1st Lt. Humphrey, and I got in our canoe with two of our “Headquarters Team” and paddled across the fast-flowing stream ahead of the batteau flotilla to determine where we could beach the boats on the west side of the Kennebec and unload them. There is no such place.

  The closest we could get was ten yards from the riverbank. All thirty-one batteaux must be offloaded by hand in waist-deep water. The cargo is passed from one Rifleman to another in the same fashion as firemen pass water buckets to put out a fire.

  When each 400-pound vessel is finally empty, ten to twelve Riflemen drag it over the rocks to the riverbank. There, it is turned upside down and a six-man team carries it on their shoulders, staggering and stumbling, more than a half-mile up the portage where it can be put back in the water, and reloaded.

  Thirty-one times we did this. Every Rifleman in our three companies was soaked in the bone-chilling water and exhausted carrying the boats and cargo uphill for more than a half mile. I saw both women from the Pennsylvania Rifle Companies struggling up the slippery rocks with canvas-wrapped provisions. They did not stop until the men did.

  By the time the sun was dipping below the towering pines around us, we were encamped above Ticonic Falls close enough to hear the roaring water over the crackling of three huge bonfires. As I was lighting a lantern to make an entry in our official journal, Corporal Sullivan and his courier team arrived at the river’s edge.

  He jumped out of the canoe, walked over, and said, “Message delivered to Lieutenant Colonel Greene, sir. Does Captain Morgan want me to have our men set up his tent?”

  Out of the twilight we heard, “Not tonight, Sully.” It was Captain Morgan, accompanied by 1st Lt. Humphrey. “The Reconnaissance party we sent up the river a few hours ago just returned. They report our next challenge is just ahead. The Indians call it ‘Five Mile Ripples.’ The white men call it ‘Five Mile Falls.’

  “Whichever it is, we need to get through it tomorrow. That means we need to be moving at dawn.”

  Five Mile Falls, Maine, on the Kennebec River

  Friday, September 29th, 1775

  There was just a sliver of waxing moon when the “boatmen” reported to their batteaux this morning. The “walkers” were granted an extra half hour of rest, for the narrow path they are following along the riverbank is dangerous enough in daylight but treacherous in the dark.

  Captain Morgan, 1st Lt. Humphrey, the Indian we call “Luke” (because he can write), Corporal Sullivan, Privates Kilgannon and Eisenbach, and I loaded our rifles and haversacks into our canoe. The seven of us led the thirty-one batteaux to the base of the watercourse. The reconnaissance party we sent out yesterday afternoon recommended we try going through the rough water rather than around it because Thursday’s portage took all day to go little more than a half mile.

  It worked, but still required a herculean effort—and meant once again every one of us spent the entire day soaking wet. It was mid-afternoon by the time we had all the batteaux through the five-mile-long “Ripples.” Once we arrived at the top, the Kennebec was like a broad, smooth lake. For the first time since leaving Fort Halifax, the batteaux moved in the autumn splendor faster than the “walkers.”

  We poled and paddled for several miles, past two small settlements and some single structure farms until we could hear water roaring over the rocks of our next major obstacle—Skowhegan Falls. We pulled off for the night and set up a bivouac next to the river.

  Anticipating the challenge tomorrow would bring, Captain Morgan ordered the three companie
s to break out their tents and use batteaux hauling lines strung among the trees to dry our wet clothing. It was good he did because as the sun was going down, the air temperature dropped with it. By 9:00 p.m., when 1st Lt. Humphrey returned from a walk around the perimeter to check on security, the water bucket outside our tent was frozen solid.

  Skowhegan Falls, Maine, on the Kennebec River

  Saturday, September 30th, 1775

  If anything, this second portage is even worse than our first.

  The “walkers” were up and moving in early twilight, aided by a one-eighth waxing moon and a cloudless sky. Captain Morgan held the thirty-one batteaux with five crewmen apiece downstream of the narrow defile churning with white water until thirty “walkers”­—now designated “haulers”—fifteen on each side of the narrow gorge—are in position, ready to toss forty-foot long lines down to the boatmen as they enter the raging torrent below.

  On each batteau, the lines are quickly cleated to the rails of the vessel so it can be held in place while the boatmen enter the icy, chest-deep water to push and pull the vessel close to shore where the cargo is off-loaded and carried up above the falls by a working party of fifty Riflemen and two women.

  As soon as each 400-pound boat is emptied, the “haulers” drag it up the rocks for the hard part: hoisting it twenty feet straight up the falls to an island along the western shore of the Kennebec.

  It took us more than an hour to get the first batteau up to the island. But as my mother taught my brothers and me: Uses promptos facit.2 By noon we were moving four of our boats an hour through the Skowhegan gauntlet.

  Because it was nearly dark and bitter cold by the time the last of our thirty-one batteaux arrived at our encampment, Capt. Morgan decided to send our reconnaissance canoe forward in the morning. Once again, we built huge bonfires to dry our clothing, set up our tents, and huddle close to share body heat as the temperature dropped so low, ice formed on the soaking wet cargoes in our batteaux.

  Norridgewock Falls, Maine

  Sunday, October 1st, 1775

  This ascent—our third portage since leaving Fort Western—is only a mile or so long, but very steep. At dawn, Captain Morgan dispatched 1st Lt. Humphrey, Corporal Sullivan, Private Kilgannon, and “Luke,” our Indian guide, to portage the canoe past the falls and offer to pay any settlers available to help haul our cargo around this cascade.

  While awaiting the return of our reconnaissance team, Captain Morgan ordered us to chip the ice off our batteaux, check all provisions for damage, and use the last of our oakum on vessels with the most serious leaks.

  What we discovered in this brief inspection was frightening. At least half our food is already spoiled by water leaking into improperly sealed casks. The salted beef, pork, mutton, venison, and fish we brought all the way from Virginia is still edible—because Captain Morgan bought and paid for it and ensured it was properly preserved and packed before we departed Virginia in July.

  That is clearly not the case with the meat, fish, beans, peas, and bread we bought in Cambridge, Newburyport, and Gardinerston.

  Worst of all, nearly all the powder kegs provided for us at Cambridge in the so-called “special allocation” are soaked through. We know the French powder kegs we brought with us from Virginia are still tightly sealed. But it appears that’s the only good gunpowder we have available to us in the Advance Force.

  As the boatmen commenced disposing of the spoiled and rotting provisions, Captain Morgan had me reduce this information to a note, which I sent back by relay to Captain Febiger. He then sent me to notify all three Rifle Companies we will be on “half rations” until we are re-supplied.

  It was nearly 10:00 a.m. by the time 1st Lt. Humphrey and Corporal Sullivan came climbing down the steep rocks beside the falls. They reported engaging the services of seven settlers upstream with wagons and teams of horses and oxen, now on the way to help us.

  We immediately began unloading the batteaux and hauling their now smaller cargoes almost a half mile so the wagoneers can load for the uphill portage. The first of the wagons arrived shortly after noon.

  It quickly became apparent the two-hour round-trip for the wagons meant we were going to run out of daylight before all the First Division boats and cargo could be above the cataract. By 4:30 p.m. only eighteen batteaux and roughly half our gear was transported to calm water above the waterfall.

  Captain Morgan summoned Lt. Humphrey, Captains Smith and Hendricks, and me to a quick meeting. “Ensign Newman, Corporal Sullivan, and I are going to climb up and inform everyone who has already made it to hold in place and encamp. We will then take our canoe and try to find more wagons. We will remain on top overnight. You three set up an encampment with the men here. Remind everyone about ‘half-rations.’

  “It will be very cold again tonight. Unfortunately, much of our tentage has already been moved up top. Have the Riflemen build good fires to dry out and stay as warm as possible. Have them ready to move right after first light in the morning. If you hear gunfire from up above, come running. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  Norridgewock Falls, Maine

  Monday, October 2nd, 1775

  It was a bitter cold night. I wrapped in my deceased brother’s cloak, but by dawn this morning I am colder than I have ever been. The good news is recorded in my journal:

  6:40 a.m. Sunrise.

  7:15 a.m. Four more sturdy wagons appear at our encampment above the waterfall shortly after sunrise.

  8:30 a.m. All eleven wagons have descended the rough track to load the remainder of our provisions. Six more batteaux are being manhandled up the slope.

  9:45 a.m. All wagons have arrived atop Norridgewock Falls. Gear is being re-packed in the batteaux.

  10:30 a.m. More good news. Eight of the wagons are sturdy enough to carry an empty 400-pound batteau, properly tied in it and supported by two Riflemen walking behind.

  11:10 a.m. 1st Lt. Humphrey, having climbed up the rocks from our downstream encampment, informs Captain Morgan, “Colonel Arnold has just arrived below in a canoe.”

  11:15 a.m. Captain Morgan challenges me to race him down the steep, mile-long portage to meet with Col. Arnold.

  Capt. Morgan won because I slipped on a moss-covered rock only a few yards from the bottom of the waterfall and landed on my haversack containing three volumes of our Rifle Company’s official journals and correspondence carefully wrapped in waterproof oilcloth.

  Capt. Febiger saw it all, found it very amusing, and said I let Capt. Morgan win. I didn’t, but I did get to pass the journals to him for relay back to Fort Western.

  Colonel Arnold told us, “I have been paddling my canoe up and down the column since we left Fort Western. We’re now spread out for twelve miles or more. Once we get the other three divisions to the top of this portage, I’m going to hold up here for a day or two and have Captain Colburn’s boat-repair crew fix the batteaux most in need. Do you have any boats that have to be repaired?”

  Captain Morgan’s response was surprising, “None that we can’t fix ourselves if we have more oakum and screws instead of nails.”

  Colonel Arnold promised to send some of each forward and they spoke for a few minutes about the spoiled provisions and the effect on the Riflemen of Captain Morgan’s decision to go on half-rations for the entire First Division. The colonel also stressed the urgency of getting to The Great Carrying Place where we are to widen a twelve-mile-long Indian path so all the Expedition’s batteaux can be portaged around a completely unnavigable stretch of the Kennebec River.

  While the two commanders talked about the possibility of buying provisions and acquiring powder from French settlers once we arrived in Canada, Captain Febiger told me two good pieces of news: his official promotion to Major in the Continental Army was included in dispatches from General Washington’s headquarters, and he found both the messages I relayed back to b
e helpful and he encouraged me to relay messages and correspondence back to him more frequently.

  It was not yet noon when Captain Morgan and I saluted Colonel Arnold and Major Febiger and began our climb back up to the top of the waterfall.

  Carritunk Falls, Maine

  Wednesday, October 4th, 1775

  Had it not been so cold, yesterday would have been a perfect day. The late autumn foliage was in full color. The river was wide and without a ripple. For more than ten hours we rowed the batteaux almost effortlessly up the Kennebec.

  Ashore, the terrain revealed not a hint of human habitation. It occurred to many of us we might be the first white men to traverse this part of our planet. This morning, as we approached Carritunk Falls—our fourth portage—we realized why that could well be true.

  Lt. Humphrey, leading our reconnaissance party, walked back around the falling water to report, “We got out of the canoe and tried to push through these rapids. About fifty feet upstream, we stepped into a deep hole, the canoe flipped over, nearly killing Luke who cannot swim. I can swim, but I barely made it out alive. We lost two paddles and I nearly lost my rifle. Don’t try that with the batteaux. We will lose someone.

  “After recovering our nearly submerged canoe, we dragged it to the west side, emptied it and portaged around on the west side. It’s about a quarter-mile ‘carry’ and far safer than trying to push through these devilish falls.”

  We took his advice and by mid-afternoon we had all thirty-one batteaux above the rapids and were again paddling north toward the twelve-mile long “shortcut” trail between the Kennebec and the Dead River known to the Indians as “The Great Carrying Place.”

  The Great Carrying Place, Maine

  Saturday, October 7th to Monday, October 18th, 1775

  It was nearly dark last night when we located the trailhead where we are to begin the longest portage we have made since departing Fort Western.