Saratoga Page 9

  "You're forgetting what Ticonderoga means to us," said Proudfoot, standing up to reinforce his point. "It's our talisman. It has a powerful hold on the American mind. As long as this fortress survives, it will give hope and encouragement to our army. Let it fall or, even worse, hand it over to the enemy as a gift, and we inflict the most terrible wound on ourselves. That would be unforgivable."

  "We stay," St. Clair announced. "We defend the fort and trust in our own men to hold it. I expect you to abide by that decision, James."

  "Of course, sir."

  "Then let's have no more discussion of the matter."

  "If you wish," said Wilkinson, clearly disappointed. "All I ask you to bear in mind is one thing. Retreating from a position that you cannot expect to hold is not the action of a weak commander. It may sometimes be an indication of his strength."

  "I accept that."

  "Then remember the name of George Washington."

  "I always do," said St. Clair loyally, "but, in the circumstances, I must also keep another name in mind—that of Ezekiel Proudfoot. He'll tell the truth about what happens here."

  "Oh, I will," Proudfoot vowed. "You can be certain of that."

  Since he had carried out the reconnaissance of Mount Defiance, it was left to Jamie Skoyles to escort General Phillips, Brigadier Simon Fraser, and a detachment of light infantry to the spot. Skirting the fort so that they would not be seen by any of the sentries, the party arrived at the foot of the mountain. They studied the rocky incline of the southeastern face. William Phillips needed less than a minute to reach his decision.

  "We can do it," he said confidently.

  "Are you sure, sir?" asked Skoyles.

  "Didn't you say that you saw a goat up there, Captain?"

  "He was as close to me as you are."

  "Then I have no qualms at all about the enterprise," said Phillips. "Where a goat can go, a man can go, and where a man can go, he can drag a gun."

  "It will take a lot more than one man, General."

  "It will take hundreds, but we'll get a couple of twelve-pounders up there somehow." He stared up at the summit. "The ascent is almost perpendicular here. However did you manage to climb it, Skoyles?

  "Very slowly, sir."

  Fraser chuckled. "Don't blame you, Jamie."

  "You'll find it slightly easier on the northern face," advised Skoyles, "but that would put us within sight of the enemy."

  "It's a risk we'll have to take," said Phillips, turning to Fraser. "We need to build a road to the summit, Brigadier. We must use every possible expedition to get cannon to the top."

  "We will," Fraser promised. "I'll have an abatis constructed on the top. That's work for axmen."

  "They'll be kept busy clearing the side of the mountain," noted Skoyles, "and the approach from the camp. If you want oxen to drag guns up there, the road will have to be wide enough."

  "Sixteen feet at least," Phillips confirmed.

  "I don't foresee a problem," said Fraser.

  Skoyles did. "They'll have to work under fire, sir."

  "They're soldiers. It's what they expect to do."

  "Yes," Phillips added. "Better that we lose a few men now than a large number in a long and bloody siege."

  "Provided that the enemy don't see us hauling artillery up there," warned Skoyles. "That would give the game away."

  "Surprise is everything," Fraser agreed.

  Phillips rubbed his hands together. "And won't they be surprised when we start firing!" he said chirpily. "We'll be able to pick them off at will from up there. This is all due to you, Captain."

  "And to that goat," said Skoyles.

  Work on the road began immediately. Experienced woodsmen with sharpened axes began to clear a way through the undergrowth, working long hours in sweltering heat and supported by British troops pressed into service. Skoyles estimated that, in all, the road would need to be some three leagues long, and he admired the speed with which the men labored. There were early casualties. As soon as they began to build a track up the northern side of Mount Defiance, they came under fire from the fort and from Mount Independence. Three artillerymen had their heads blown clean off, and another man had his leg fractured, but the work continued regardless. It took a detail of some four hundred men to complete the road and to construct a battery on the summit.

  The two heavy artillery pieces were dragged up Mount Defiance under cover of a morning mist and concealed among the trees. They were joined by a detachment of troops under the command of Jamie Skoyles. Alongside him was the excited Lieutenant Charles Westbourne.

  "That was a splendid gesture of General Burgoyne's," he observed.

  "But well deserved," Skoyles commented.

  "No question about that, Captain. Those men worked like Trojans to build the road and get those twelve-pound cannon up here. I can see why the General would have rewarded them with a refreshment of rum, but he ordered it for the entire army."

  "Everybody gained that way, Lieutenant. The axmen and the laborers not only got what they'd earned, they also got the respect and thanks of everyone else. It was a wise move by General Burgoyne."

  "He makes nothing but wise moves," said Westbourne.

  Skoyles did not reply. Privately, he had questioned more than one of their commander's decisions—not least Burgoyne's readiness to linger in Canada after his arrival—but he knew that Westbourne would never agree with him. To the impressionable lieutenant, there was an air of infallibility about Gentleman Johnny, and he could never bring himself to offer any criticism of him. Skoyles was pleased to have Westbourne with him. Naïve in other respects, the lieutenant was nevertheless a good officer, tireless, committed, and cool in an emergency.

  In addition to their men, they had a number of Indians with them, all of them given strict instructions to remain out of the sight on the summit of Mount Defiance until the moment for attack came. It was Charles Westbourne who first noticed that the order had been disobeyed, and he took immediate steps to remedy the situation.

  "Look!" he cried, pointing toward the Indian camp. "The idiots have lit a fire! What, in God's name, do they think they're playing at?"

  Followed by Skoyles, he ran off in the direction of the smoke. When he reached the Indian tents, Westbourne kicked the blazing embers apart, then stamped on them in an attempt to extinguish the flames. Skoyles did the same, chastising the Indians as he did so. Both men used the sides of their boots to push earth over the flames but smoke continued to rise up into the blue sky. Westbourne was alarmed.

  "Do you think they saw anything at the fort?" he asked.

  "Probably," said Skoyles, glaring at the Indians with annoyance. "So much for the element of surprise! We were supposed to wait until General Riedesel was in position at the rear of Mount Independence."

  "We might still be lucky, Captain."

  "I doubt it."

  "You never know."

  "They were told to stay in the trees and keep their heads down."

  "The Indians can be a menace at times."

  "That's what I said to General Burgoyne."

  "We'd be far better off without them," said Westbourne.

  At that moment, from somewhere behind them, there was a deafening explosion as one of the twelve-pound cannon fired its first shot and made the ground tremble. Seconds later came the sound of a huge splash as the shot hit the water. The suddenness and the sheer volume of the noise startled them all. Skoyles was absolutely livid.

  "Hell and damnation!" he yelled, swinging angrily round. "Whatever made those imbeciles do that?"

  General Arthur St. Clair was standing near the rampart with Ezekiel Proudfoot when he heard the commotion. The two men looked up at Mount Defiance. Smoke from the fire was still curling up into the sky, but it was the reverberations of the gunfire that claimed their attention. Horrified that the British had somehow got cannon on top of the mountain, the general could see why one of the guns had been used. A small boat was sailing through the narrows toward the fort.
An eager British gunner had tried to blow an enemy vessel out of the water.

  "God defend us!" cried St. Clair.

  "We agreed that I'd be sketching a battle here tomorrow, General," said Proudfoot, trying to restore the other man's confidence, "because we believe in our hearts that we can hold out against the enemy attack. That may be still the case, sir."

  "Not if they have cannon on top of Mount Defiance."

  "Ticonderoga has thick walls."

  "Yes, but Major Phillips can shoot over them, Ezekiel."

  "Send men up there to disable his artillery."

  "They'd be mown down before they'd gone ten yards," said St. Clair, chewing his lip with anxiety. "We've been outflanked. The British have done what we found impossible. They've turned Mount Defiance into a virtually impregnable redoubt. Nothing we can do will shift them from there."

  "That doesn't mean we should cut and run, General."

  "What's the alternative?"

  "Fight to the last man and show them our true character."

  "Fine rhetoric, Ezekiel, but poor leadership. If we stay here, we're all doomed. The British have the upper hand. Taking the fort will be like shooting fish in a barrel."

  "As one of those fish," said Proudfoot, alarmed by the vacillation of his commander, "I'm still ready to put up some resistance—and so are the men. That's why they're here. We'll be judged by our deeds, General."

  "Yes," said St. Clair, "I know. But I'm not sure that I want to be remembered as a man who allowed a whole garrison to be wiped out. Loath as I am to admit it, I'm coming to see the wisdom of Colonel Wilkinson's argument."

  "What's happened to your resolve?"

  "It's tempered by discretion, Ezekiel."

  "Discretion!"

  "It's the better part of valor."

  "I don't see anything remotely discreet or valiant about abject surrender, because that's what it would amount to, General. Abandon the fort and you'd be betraying our cause."

  "That's a dreadful accusation!"

  "I speak as I find."

  "Then it's my fault for listening to you," said St. Clair crisply. "You're entitled to your opinion, Ezekiel, but I have to remind you that you have no military authority here. You are merely an artist, nothing more. Since I agreed to defend the fort, the situation has altered radically. That calls for a change of plan."

  Proudfoot was bitter. "The only thing that's changed is you, General," he said. "Yesterday, you were full of courage and determination to withstand whatever the enemy could throw at us. Today—because of one shot fired from a cannon—you've lost your nerve."

  "Don't you dare accuse me of that!"

  "Why else are you even considering a retreat?"

  "Because I have a duty of care for my soldiers," retorted St. Clair, bolt upright and quivering with rage, "and I do not choose to have them blown to pieces by artillery that can pick us off at will. Now let's have no more carping from you, Ezekiel, or I'll have you put under restraint."

  "For being honest?"

  "For being insubordinate."

  "I'm only saying what you said yourself earlier."

  "That's enough!" the other barked. "You've exceeded your latitude. I give the orders here—you simply obey them."

  "Yes, General."

  "I've been far too indulgent with you."

  "If you say so, sir."

  St. Clair heard the faint note of insolence in his voice. He was fond of the artist and respected his work immensely. Not wishing to lose his friendship, he adopted a more conciliatory tone.

  "One day, Ezekiel," he said, "you'll thank me for saving your life."

  "All that I'll remember," Proudfoot returned, still smoldering visibly, "is how you lost your reputation as a soldier at Ticonderoga. You also threw away a golden opportunity to show just how bravely American patriots will fight for their independence. You let this country down, sir. Don't expect any gratitude from me on that account."

  CHAPTER SIX

  When night came, a full moon lent Fort Ticonderoga a ghostly quality. It floated like an apparition on the brilliant waters of Lake Champlain, surrounded by the phantom peaks of Mount Independence, Mount Defiance, and Mount Hope, three giant silhouettes that seemed at once to protect and threaten the beleaguered fortress. Under cover of darkness, the evacuation began in earnest, the speed and secrecy with which it was conducted leading to all manner of confusion. It was less of a controlled departure than a headlong flight.

  Hustled without warning onto a series of bateaux, the sick and wounded were rowed away from the dock, escorted by armed ships and galleys that carried the female members of the garrison, as well as six hundred soldiers under the command of Colonel Pierce Long. They sailed due south at a leisurely pace toward Skenesborough. The vast majority of the soldiers, however, crossed the bridge from the fort and assembled on top of Mount Independence so that they could make their escape overland. With a collection of sketches in his satchel, a reluctant Ezekiel Proudfoot went with them.

  Two serious blunders were made by the departing troops. They failed to destroy the bridge behind them and—thanks to the French commander on Mount Independence—they let the cat out of the bag. General Roche de Fermoy, a colorful but erratic adventurer, was a seasoned tippler. While the rest of the army was on the move, the slothful Frenchman was still sleeping off his latest drinking bout. Awakened by the noise of departure, he stumbled about so clumsily that he contrived to knock over a candle and set fire to his tent. The ensuing blaze was a clear signal to the British and German troops that something dramatic was happening.

  On the eastern bank, General Riedesel saw the fire and promptly urged his men on. Their attempts to reach the wagon track behind Mount Independence had been delayed by marshes but, with a final push, they arrived in time to harry the rear guard with a few parting shots. Brigadier Simon Fraser, meanwhile, had verbal confirmation of what was afoot. Three deserters from the American ranks arrived to tell him that General St. Clair had ordered an abrupt withdrawal from Ticonderoga. The presence of artillery on the top of Mount Defiance meant that it was impossible to make a successful defense of the fort or of the battery on the summit of Mount Independence.

  Fraser's response was characteristically prompt. Without waiting for a direct command from Burgoyne, he advanced with his men, sending word of his movements to his commander, who still lay asleep in the capacious arms of Lucinda Mallard. With a party of Indians in tow, Fraser's men were braced for fierce resistance that never materialized. The four American gunners, who had been posted on the eastern bank with a loaded cannon, could not resist plundering the discarded supplies and drinking themselves into a stupor. Unable to fire at anyone who attempted to cross the bridge, they were sprawled on the ground, dead drunk beside their cannon, allowing the British troops to take instant control.

  It was an Indian who then caused unnecessary danger to his own men. When he saw a lighted match beside the snoring rebels, he picked it up out of curiosity and dropped a spark upon the pinning of the cannon. The result was ear-splitting. Loaded with all kinds of deadly shot, the cannon went off and sent its contents flying over the heads of the British troops and into the lake. It was only by a miracle that there were no casualties from this random act of madness.

  Minutes later, the British flag was hoisted over Fort Ticonderoga.

  Captain Jamie Skoyles was among the first to join his commander. Having seen the fire on top of Mount Independence and realized that the garrison was making a run for it, he brought his men down Mount Defiance to approach the fort from the south. By the time he got there, British troops were ransacking the stores and carrying some of the provisions away. Brigadier Fraser was staring at a sheet of paper.

  "Good morning, sir," said Skoyles.

  Fraser looked up. "Good morning, Jamie."

  "The birds have flown, I see."

  "But not as silently as they would've liked," said Fraser. "With luck, General Riedesel may have peppered their arses as they took the road out of
here. The main thing is that we've seized the fort without any loss of life. General Burgoyne will be delighted."

  "What are his orders, sir?"

  "I await them. The general was still in his cabin on the Royal George when I set out. My guess is that he'll order us to pursue the rebels west to Hubbardton while he sails on down the lake to Skenesborough."

  "We watched the boats leave," said Skoyles. "They were not rowing with any urgency. They obviously think we'll be held up here for a long time by the boom across the lake, and by the men left to guard the bridge."

  "Then they're in for a nasty shock, Jamie. The bridge has been secured and I reckon that our gunboats will smash a way through the boom in well under an hour. Take a look at this," he said, handing him the sheet of paper. "I found it scrunched up in the courtyard. Someone obviously thought they were going to mount a courageous defense of Ticonderoga."

  Skoyles looked down at the sketch. Even in the dawn light, he could make out a dramatic scene, drawn by a talented hand, showing a group of Continental soldiers inside the ramparts of the fort. They were firing their muskets bravely at the enemy and, in some cases, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with the British as they attempted to storm the fortress. It was a patriotic celebration of American heroism. Jamie Skoyles had seen the work of this particular artist before, and his emotions were deeply stirred.

  "What do you make of it?" asked Fraser.

  "Ezekiel Proudfoot."

  "Who?"

  "It was drawn by a friend of mine, sir," said Skoyles. "An engraver named Ezekiel Proudfoot. He was here."

  "Are you certain of that?"

  "No doubt about it."

  "Then he's not a friend any longer, Jamie. He's an enemy."

  Ezekiel Proudfoot was hurt and profoundly dismayed by the order to flee from Ticonderoga, refusing to accept the arguments in favor of immediate withdrawal. Some of the scenes he had witnessed verged on the chaotic. Discipline was lost, bickering broke out, officers gave contradictory commands, soldiers bumped into each other in the dark, knapsacks and even weapons were left behind in the headlong retreat, and the whole hurried exercise was symbolized by the folly of the inebriated French general who had accidentally lit a beacon on Mount Independence to alert the enemy.