Saratoga (11 page)

"It's the strength of that artillery that troubles me," he confessed. "They have six-pounders, twelve-pounders, and twenty-four-pounders as well as howitzers and mortars. Worst of all, they have William Phillips in control of the weapons, a man who showed what he could do at the Battle of Minden. He's a genius."

"Even a genius needs a target," said Wilkinson.

"He has one right here."

"Only if we stay, General."

"You still want us to run away with our tails between our legs?"

"I'd rather call it a tactical withdrawal."

"It would be a cowardly retreat," said Proudfoot angrily. "Or, at least, that's how it would be seen. What will that do to our reputations?"

"We have to take the long view, Ezekiel. If we make a swift and orderly
withdrawal, we can at least preserve our men to fight another day. And not just our troops," said Wilkinson, looking at St. Clair. "Your eleven-year-old son is with us, sir. Is this the kind of military experience you want the boy to have? It would be terrifying for him."

"Leave my son out of this."

"Why put his life in danger? Keep him here and he'll suffer the same fate as the rest of us. He'll either be killed or taken prisoner."

"I dispute that," said Proudfoot as he saw a shadow of doubt fall across St. Clair's face. "We may well hold out here. The French had a very small garrison when General Abercromby tried to take the fort, and they still scattered the British army. We'll do the same."

"Supposing we fail?" asked Wilkinson.

"Then we earn recognition for our courage."

"There's nothing courageous in being overrun by superior forces," reasoned the other. "That's arrant folly. General Burgoyne has only to lay siege to Ticonderoga and we're at his mercy."

"That's not true, Colonel. He'll suffer his share of casualties. My feeling is that he'll launch an assault as a matter of honor. When we withstand it, he'll simply march around us and continue south."

"I'm inclined to agree," said St. Clair.

"Why should he do that?" Wilkinson argued. "Gentleman Johnny has more men, more firepower, and every advantage. British and German soldiers have been honed to perfection. They're not a ragbag army like ours. And think of those Indians," he added, running a hand across his skull. "I don't know about you, General, but I'm very fond of my hair. I'd prefer it to stay attached to my head. I don't want my scalp dangling from an Indian's belt."

"Indians are fair-weather warriors," said Proudfoot with contempt. "They only fight on if victory is in sight. Look at the way they vanished when that volley was fired earlier on. They ran away in complete panic."

"What I remember was the way that our men fired willy-nilly before they'd been given the command," said Wilkinson. "They lost all discipline. That would be a catastrophe in a battle."

"Their nerves need to be steadied, that's all."

"And how do we do that, Ezekiel? When they see the size of the British army, they're going to be shaking in their boots—those lucky enough to
have
any boots, that is."

St. Clair turned away, conscious of the immense problems that a defense of the fort would entail but reluctant to yield it to the enemy without offering stern resistance. Colonel Wilkinson was not the only senior officer who would advise an evacuation of the fort, but there would be others to whom such a course would be anathema. Their task was to halt the British advance in its tracks for as long as possible, not to assist it by deserting their posts. He reached his decision.

"Ezekiel is right," he said. "We must stay."

"That's suicide!" cried Wilkinson.

"He's here to record our actions for posterity."

"So?"

"Whatever we do will one day appear in a popular print for all to see. Do you want to be portrayed as a brave officer, fighting for your cause to the last bullet? Or would you rather let Ezekiel show the world the coattails of your uniform as you run away in fear?"

"That kind of print would inspire nobody," Proudfoot observed tartly. "Unless you think your backside is a good advertisement for our cause, Colonel."

"I resent that comment," said Wilkinson hotly. "It's not fear that makes me want to leave—it's common sense. I have my faults, I concede that, but nobody has ever questioned my bravery."

"Nor do I, James," St. Clair said, holding up a conciliatory hand. "You've shown your true colors often enough. I'm vain enough to believe that I've done the same. No coward would dare to take up arms against the British, as we've done. Ticonderoga is full of brave men."

"Then save their lives by withdrawing them from the fort."

"There'd be no hint of bravery in my sketches, if you do that," Proudfoot warned. "I'll draw what I see—an undignified retreat. Leaving the fort without even firing a token shot. I'd call it blatant cowardice."

"I see it as a sensible tactic."

"One that would delight Burgoyne."

"General Washington has employed that strategy on a number of occasions. He'd rather quit the field than fight a pitched battle to the finish against a much bigger army. As a result," said Wilkinson, "he's reduced the number of losses in combat."

"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."