XIII.
LINCOLN'S RAID IN BURGOYNE'S REAR
Much to Burgoyne's chagrin, he had been obliged to garrison Ticonderoga with troops taken from his own army, instead of being allowed to draw upon those left in Canada, under command of General Carleton. About a thousand men were thus deducted from the force now operating on the Hudson.
Ever since the battle of Bennington, Lincoln had been most industriously gathering in, and organizing the militia, at Manchester. All New England was now up, and her sons were flocking in such numbers to his camp, that Lincoln soon found himself at the head of about two thousand excellent militia.
Guided by the spirit of Washington's instructions, he now determined on making an effort to break up Burgoyne's communications, capture his magazines, harass his outposts, and, perhaps, even throw himself on the British line of retreat. There is a refreshing boldness and vigor about the conception, something akin to real generalship and enterprise. It was a good plan, undertaken without Gates's knowledge or consent.
Sept. 13.
On the same day that Burgoyne was crossing the Hudson, Lincoln sent five hundred men to the head of Lake George, with orders to destroy the stores there; five hundred more to attack Ticonderoga; and another five hundred to Skenesborough, to support them in case of need. Unknown to Lincoln, Burgoyne had now wholly dropped his communications with the lakes, but these movements were no less productive of good results on that account.
The first detachment, under command of Colonel Brown,47 reached Lake George landing undiscovered. The blockhouse and mills there were instantly taken. Mount Defiance and the French lines at Ticonderoga48 were next carried without difficulty. In these operations, Brown took three hundred prisoners, released over one hundred Americans from captivity, and destroyed a great quantity of stores.
The second detachment having, meantime, come up before Mount Independence, Ticonderoga was cannonaded, for some time, without effect. Unlike St. Clair, the British commander would neither surrender nor retreat, even when the guns of Mount Defiance were turned against him.
Failing here, the Americans next went up Lake George, to attack Burgoyne's artillery depot, at Diamond Island. They were not more successful in this attempt, as the enemy was strongly fortified and made a vigorous defence. After burning the enemy's boats on the lake, Brown returned to Skenesborough.
General Lincoln was about to march from Skenesborough to Fort Edward, with seven hundred men, when he received a pressing request from Gates, dated on the morning of the battle, to join him at once.
Abandoning, therefore, his own plans, Lincoln retraced his steps with so much speed, that he arrived in Gates's camp49 on the twenty-second. Gates immediately gave him command of the right wing50 of the army.
The road between Skenesborough and Fort Edward was now constantly patrolled by parties of American militia; so that it was truly said of Burgoyne, that the gates of retreat were fast closing behind him.
XIV.
SECOND BATTLE OF FREEMAN'S FARM
(October, 1777.)
Convinced that another such victory would be his ruin, Burgoyne now thought only of defending himself until the wished-for help should come. To this end, he began intrenching the ground on which he stood. The action of September 19 had, therefore, changed the relative situation of the antagonists, in that from being the assailant, Burgoyne was now driven to act wholly on the defensive.
On the day following the battle, a courier brought Burgoyne the welcome news that forces from New York would soon be on the way to his relief. Word was instantly sent back that his army could hold its ground until the 12th of October, by which time it was not doubted that the relieving force would be near enough at hand to crush Gates between two fires.
At Wilber's Basin.
Burgoyne, therefore, now threw his bridge across the Hudson again, posted a guard on the farther side, made his camp as strong as possible, and waited with growing impatience for the sound of Sir Henry Clinton's51 cannon to be heard in the distance. But Clinton did not move to Burgoyne's assistance until too late. The blundering of the War
Oct. 4.
Office had worked its inevitable results. By the time Clinton reached Tarrytown, thirty miles above New York, Burgoyne's army had been put on short rations. With the utmost economy the provisions could not be made to last much beyond the day fixed in Burgoyne's despatch. Foraging was out of the question. Nothing could be learned about Clinton's progress. All between the two British armies was such perilous ground, that several officers had returned unsuccessful, after making heroic efforts to reach Clinton's camp.
While Burgoyne was thus anxiously looking forward to Clinton's energetic coöperation, that officer supposed he was only making a diversion in Burgoyne's favor, a feint to call off the enemy's attention from him; and thus it happened that in the decisive hour of the war, and after the signal had been given, only one arm was raised to strike, because two British commanders acted without unison; either through misconception of the orders they had received, or of what was expected of them in just such an emergency as the one that now presented itself.
Perhaps two armies have seldom remained so near together for so long a time without coming to blows, as the two now facing each other on the heights of Stillwater. The camps being little more than a mile apart, brought the hostile pickets so close together, that men strayed into the opposite lines unawares. Day and night there was incessant firing from the outposts, every hour threatened to bring on a battle. Half Burgoyne's soldiers were constantly under arms to repel the attack, which – in view of the desperate condition they found themselves placed in, of the steady progress from bad to worse – was rather hoped for than feared.
Two weeks passed thus without news of Clinton. Burgoyne's provisions were now getting alarmingly low. If he staid where he was, in a few days, at most, he would be starved into surrendering. Again the ominous word "retreat" was heard around the camp-fires. The hospital was filled with wounded men. Hard duty and scant food were telling on those fit for duty. Lincoln's raid announced a new and dangerous complication. It was necessary to try something, for Gates's do-nothing policy was grinding them to powder.
A council was therefore called. It is a maxim, as old as history, that councils of war never fight. Some of Burgoyne's generals advised putting the Hudson between themselves and Gates, as the only means now left of saving the army; none, it is believed, advocated risking another battle.
Burgoyne could not bring himself to order a retreat without first making one more effort for victory. He dwelt strongly upon the difficulty of withdrawing the army in the face of so vigilant and powerful an enemy. He maintained his own opinion that even in order to secure an honorable retreat it would be necessary to fight, and it was so determined.
It is evident that Burgoyne nourished a secret hope that fortune might yet take a turn favorable to him; otherwise, it is impossible to account for his making this last and most desperate effort, under conditions even less favorable than had attended his attack of the 19th of September.
Fifteen hundred men and ten guns were chosen for the attempt. In plain language, Burgoyne started out to provoke a combat with an enemy greatly his superior in numbers, with less than half the force his former demonstration had been made with. His idea seems to have been to take up a position from which his cannon would reach the American works. After intrenching, it was his intention to bring up his heavy artillery, and open a cannonade which he was confident the enemy could not withstand, as their defensive works were chiefly built of logs. And out of this state of things, Burgoyne hoped to derive some substantial benefit.
This plan differed from that of the 19th of September, in that it looked chiefly to obtaining a more advantageous position; while on the former occasion it was attempted to force a way through or around the American left. The lesson of that day had not been lost on Burgoyne, who now meant to utilize his artillery to the utmost, rather than risk the inevitable slaughter that must ensue from an attempt to carry the American lines by storm.
Everything depended upon gaining the desired position before the Americans could make their dispositions to thwart the attempt.
The importance to the army of this movement induced Burgoyne to call his three best generals to his aid; so that nothing that experience could suggest, or skill attempt, should be left undone. It was kept a profound secret till the troops who were going out to fight were actually under arms. The rest of the army was to remain in the works; so that, if worst came to worst, the enemy might not reap any decided advantage from a victory gained over the fighting corps.
Oct. 7.
It was near one o'clock, on the afternoon of the seventh, when Burgoyne marched out from his own right, toward the American left. He had reached an eminence rising at the right of the late battle-ground, and not far removed from Frazer's position on that day, when the pickets of Arnold's division discovered his approach, and gave the alarm. Having gained a favorable position for using his guns, Burgoyne halted, and formed his line.
Upon hearing that the British had advanced to within half a mile of his left, and were offering battle, Gates decided to accept the challenge, as he now felt strong enough to do so without fear for the result, and the behavior of his own troops in the previous battle had been such as to put an end to his doubts about their ability to cope with British soldiers. Morgan was therefore ordered to make a détour through the woods, and fall on the British right flank, while other troops were attacking on its left.
These movements were gallantly executed. At three o'clock, Burgoyne's artillery opened the battle; at four, the Americans charged the British position under a heavy fire of cannon and musketry. Again and again, the Continentals met the British bayonet without flinching. Never was a battle more manfully fought. Burgoyne faced death like the meanest soldier in the ranks. After some discharges, the British cannoneers were shot down at their pieces, and the hill on which they stood was carried at the point of the bayonet.
On his part, Morgan grappled with the British right, overthrew it after a fierce struggle, and drove it back upon the centre. In vain Frazer52 tried to stem the tide of defeat by throwing himself into the thickest of the fight. "That man," said Morgan, pointing him out to his marksmen, "must die." A rifle bullet soon gave the gallant Scot his death wound, and he was led from the field.
The combat had lasted scarce an hour. All Burgoyne's guns were taken. Of the fifteen hundred soldiers he had led into action, four hundred lay dead or dying around him. Frazer's fall had carried dismay among those who were still stubbornly yielding the ground to the victorious Americans. A retreat was sounded. The Americans followed on with loud shouts. For a few moments a rearguard fight was kept up, then the retreat became a rout, the rout a race, to see who should first reach the British lines.
Thus far the action had been maintained on our part, by the same troops who had fought the battle of September 19, and in part on the same ground. It was now to be transferred to the enemy's own camp.
Hardly had the British gained the shelter of their works, when the Americans, led on by Arnold, stormed them with reckless bravery. Gates had held Arnold back from the field from motives of envy and dislike; but Arnold, to whom the sound of battle was like the spur to the mettled courser, at last broke through all restraint. Leaping into the saddle, he spurred into the thickest of the fight before Gates could stop him.
The point of attack was strongly defended by artillery, and the Americans here suffered their first repulse. Other troops came up. The assault soon began again all along the British line. Beaten off in one place, Arnold spurred over to the enemy's extreme right, where Breyman was posted behind a breastwork of logs and rails, that formed a right angle with the rest of the line. Calling on the nearest battalion to follow him, Arnold leaped his horse over the parapet. The Germans fired one volley and fled. Our troops took guns and prisoners. By this success they had gained an opening on Burgoyne's right and rear, precisely as he had meant to do by them. In this last assault Breyman was killed, and Arnold wounded.
The day was now too far spent for further efforts to be made on either side. Little by little, the angry roll of musketry sunk into silence. The battle was over.
XV.
RETREAT AND SURRENDER
Burgoyne had been everywhere foiled by the battle of the seventh. Instead of turning Gates's flank his own had been turned. Instead of thrusting Gates back upon the river, he would surely be forced there himself, in a few hours, at most. Instead, even, of dealing Gates such a blow as would favor a retreat, Burgoyne's situation was now more precarious than ever: it was more than precarious; it was next to hopeless.
It is again but too plain that Burgoyne had not taken defeat – such a defeat – seriously into account, or he would never have led out that gallant little column of fifteen hundred men; first, for victory, then, for an honorable retreat. His army was now like the wounded lion, whose expiring struggles the hunter watches at a distance, without fear, and without danger. All had been lost but honor.
The first and only thing to be done now was promptly to form a new line of defence, behind which the army could mask its retreat. This was skilfully and quietly done on the night after the battle, our troops not attempting to do more than hold the ground already won. In the morning they occupied the deserted works.
Burgoyne's new position stretched along the heights next the river, so as to cover the road to Saratoga. He had merely drawn back his centre and right, while his left wing remained stationary; and he now stood facing west, instead of south, as before the battle.
Oct. 8.
The day passed in skirmishing, reconnoitring, and artillery firing. The Americans were feeling their way along the enemy's new front, while Burgoyne's every effort was limited to keeping them at a distance, with his superior artillery, till night. On our side, his intentions were rather guessed than certainly known. His great problem was how to get his army over the Hudson undiscovered. It was supposed that he would attempt to retreat across his bridge as soon as it was dark. Our artillery, therefore, tried to destroy it with shot. Moreover, fourteen hundred men were crossed over to the east bank, and now stood ready to dispute Burgoyne's passage from that side of the river.
At sunset, General Frazer was buried53 inside a battery, on the brow of the heights, according to his dying wish. Chaplain Brudenell read the burial service, with our balls ploughing up the earth around him, and our cannon thundering the soldier's requiem from camp to camp.
At nine o'clock, the British army began its retreat along the river road, leaving its camp-fires burning behind it; profound silence was enjoined. To avoid confusion, the different corps simply moved off in the order in which they stood on the lines, or by their right. Upon finding that his crossing would be opposed by the troops who had passed over to the east bank, Burgoyne had decided to go back the way he came as far as Saratoga, and on fording the river at that place. Orders were therefore given to destroy the bridge. Just before day, his rearguard set fire to it, and marched off without interference. All the sick and wounded were left behind.
In view of the fact that all of the enemy's movements announced a rapid retreat, the Americans seem to have shown a want of vigor in pushing the advantages they had won by the late battles. This hesitation may be in part accounted for by the other fact that both Arnold and Lincoln were disabled. Lincoln had been wounded while reconnoitring the enemy's right, on the eighth, with a view of passing a force round in his rear. Gates was thus deprived of his most efficient lieutenants at the moment when they were most needed. The British army could hardly have been placed in a more critical position; but, by keeping up a bold front, it managed to extricate itself without the loss of a man.
Oct. 9.
Dovegat, now Coveville.
Rain began falling early the next morning. Burgoyne had marched but six miles, yet dallied till afternoon on the spot where he had halted early in the day. He then saw, to his inexpressible dismay, the same body of Americans54 whom he had seen opposite his encampment at Stillwater, now marching abreast of him, with the evident design of seizing the Saratoga ford before he could get to it. The road he meant to take was, therefore, already as good as in the enemy's hands.
The discovery that he was being everywhere hemmed in hastened Burgoyne's departure. Much baggage and many wagons and tents were burned, in order that the army might march the faster. Like a ship, laboring with the gale, it was relieving itself of all unnecessary burdens.
Pelted by the storm, in silence, and with downcast looks, the soldiers plodded wearily on, through mud and water, ankle deep. No tap of drum or bugle-call put life into their heavy tread. The sense of defeat and disgrace brooded over the minds of officers and men, as they stole away in darkness and gloom from an enemy for whom they had but lately felt such high disdain. Grief, shame, and indignation were the common lot of high and low. No word was spoken, except when the curt "Forward" of the officers passed along the ranks. All knew instinctively, that this retreat was but the prelude to greater disaster, which, perchance, was not far off.
The same evening, the bedraggled and footsore soldiers waded the Fishkill55 where the bridge had been, but was now destroyed, and bivouacked on the heights of Saratoga.56 Too weary even to light fires, to dry their clothing, or cook their suppers, they threw themselves on the wet ground to snatch a few hours' sleep; for, dark as it was, and though rain fell in torrents, the firing heard at intervals throughout the night told them that the Americans were dogging their footsteps, and would soon be up with them. It seemed as if the foe were never to be shaken off.
Oct. 10.
It was not till after daylight that the British artillery could ford the Fishkill with safety. The guns were then dragged up the heights and once more pointed toward the advancing enemy. Numbness and torpor seem to have pervaded the whole movement thus far. Now it was that Frazer's loss was most bitterly deplored, for he had often pledged himself to bring off the army in safety, should a retreat become necessary. He had marked out, and intrenched this very position, in which the army now found its last retreat. Almost twenty-four hours had been consumed in marching not quite ten miles, or at a much slower rate of progress than Burgoyne had censured Breyman for making to Baum's relief, at Bennington. Burgoyne seemed to find satisfaction in showing that he would not be hurried.
The army took up its old positions along the heights into which the Fishkill cuts deeply, as it runs to the Hudson. Being threatened in front, flank, and rear, Burgoyne had to form three separate camps, facing as many different ways. One fronted the Fishkill and commanded the usual fording-place. A second looked east at the enemy posted across the Hudson; a third faced the west, where the ground rose above the camps, and hid itself in a thick forest.
Though he secured his camps as well as he could, Burgoyne meant to make no delay here. But it was no longer in his power to control his own acts. The want of energy shown in the retreat had given the Americans time to close every avenue of escape against him.
Let us note how the fate of armies is decided. Active pursuit did not begin until the morning of the ninth, when the retreat was first discovered. A start of ten hours had thus been gained by the British. Their artillery had so cut up the roads as to render them next to impassable for our troops. Frequent halts had to be made to mend broken bridges. From these causes, even so late as the morning of the tenth, our army had advanced but three miles from the battle-ground. But Burgoyne had marched, when he marched at all, like a general who means to be overtaken. Four thousand men were being pushed around his right; an equal number followed in his rear; while fourteen hundred more menaced with destruction any attempt he might make to ford the river.
No choice being left but to continue the retreat by the west bank, pioneers were sent out, under a strong escort, to make the road passable.
But the golden moment had already flown. By this time Gates's van had come up with Burgoyne. Morgan's corps had crossed the Fishkill at a point above the British camps, had taken post within rifle-shot, and had thus fastened upon the enemy a grip never more to be shaken off.
As a last resort, the British general decided to attempt a night retreat, leaving behind the artillery he had so persistently dragged after him when the fate of his army was hanging on its speed alone. Before this desperate venture could be put to trial, worse news came to hand. It was learned that Stark, with two thousand men, was in possession of Fort Edward, and of all the fords below it. Turn what way he would, Burgoyne found a foe in his path.
Oct. 13.
Even General Burgoyne now saw no way open but surrender; either he must do this, or let his soldiers be slaughtered where they stood. Cannon and rifle shot were searching every corner of his camp; retreat was cut off; his provisions could be made to last but a day or two longer at most; the bateaux were destroyed; his animals were dying of starvation, and their dead bodies tainting the air his soldiers breathed; water could only be had at the risk of life or limb, as the American sharpshooters picked off every one who attempted to fetch it from the river; and no more than thirty-five hundred men could be mustered to repel an assault; – a crisis had now been reached which loudly called on the British general, in the name of humanity, to desist from further efforts to maintain so hopeless a struggle.
Burgoyne called his officers together in council. The absence of such men as Frazer, Baum, Breyman, Ackland, Clarke, and others from the meeting, must have brought home to the commanding general, as nothing else could, a sense of the calamities that had befallen him; while the faces of the survivors no less ominously prefigured those to come. A heavy cannonade was in progress. Even while the council was deliberating, a cannon-ball crashed through the room among them, as if to enjoin haste in bringing the proceedings to a close. The council listened to what was already but too well known. Already the finger of fate pointed undeviatingly to the inevitable result. A general lassitude had fallen upon the spirits of the soldiers. The situation was manifestly hopeless to all.
There could be but one opinion. Enough had been done for honor. All were agreed that only a surrender could save the army.
Oct. 14.
Without more delay, an officer was sent to General Gates. At first he would listen only to an unconditional surrender. This was indignantly rejected. Two days of suspense followed to both armies. Indeed, the vanquished seemed dictating terms to the conqueror. But if the British dreaded a renewal of hostilities, the Americans knew that Clinton's forces57 were nearing Albany from below. Gates lowered his demands. The British army was allowed the honors of war, with liberty to return to England, on condition of not serving against the United States during the war. These terms were agreed to, and the treaty was duly signed on the seventeenth.
Burgoyne's situation when gathering up his trophies, and issuing his presumptuous proclamation at Ticonderoga, compared with the straits to which his reverses had now brought him – a failure before his king and country, a captain stripped of his laurels by the hand he professed to despise, a petitioner for the clemency of his conqueror – affords a striking example of the uncertain chances of war. It really seemed as if fortune had only raised Burgoyne the higher in order that his fall might be the more destructive at last.