LONG LAKE, LAKE GEORGE, AND SARATOGA
Long Lake is one of the most charming of any found in the
Adirondacks. Its islands are lovely beyond words to describe. No
artist, not even Turner, has ever caught the magic sheen that
clothes it, nor portrayed the rosy clouds the crimson west has
painted, that seem to hang motionless above it. Neither has
anyone caught those ethereal blues or royal purples that the
soft semi-light of evening makes upon its bosom where the darker
mountains seem to be floating.
But this lake requires not the aid of morning or evening to make
it fair. When the rays of the sun sprinkle the trees along its
sides like golden rain, or while stirred with darkening ripples
beneath a clouded sky, it is clothed in grandest beauty.
But if it were indeed possible for any lake to be fairer than
this, surely Lake George is that one. No wonder artists flock to
its shores, for what picturesque combinations of cove and cliff
they find there! Then, too, what lovely reaches, what mountain
views, what rich and varied combinations of forest with
retreating slopes bathed in the tender purple of distance!
The valleys were covered with a silvery, shimmering atmosphere,
on which we traced the outlines of meadows, forests, and lakes,
like the first sketching of an artist picture that ere long,
under our good genius the automobile, would grow into reality.
The road that wound among forest crowned hills was one of the
most pleasant we remember. The air was filled with silvery haze,
which made distance mysterious; and grain fields and the nearer
hills, touched with the rarest delicacy of tone and softly
blended color, were dreamy and full of suggestion of Indian
summer. Through the trees we beheld a fine sheet of water and
presently emerged upon a grand view of the lake. It has fine
boat landings, even though set in rugged hills, which in places
tower above it, while over its surface are countless scattered
isles of romantic beauty. It has a wild, primeval character,
which no association of man upon its banks can quite dispel. One
almost fancies he sees the rising smoke from the teepees of the
fierce Mohawks or hears their ringing warwhoops amid the wild
scenery.
This lake is thirty-two miles in length and has been the scene
of many thrilling historic events. West of the railroad station,
near Lake George village, are the ruins of ancient forts, and
there also stands the monument erected in 1903 to commemorate
the battle of Lake George, in which General Johnson, with his
army of twenty-two hundred, defeated the French, under Baron
Diesken. The lake offers excellent fishing. Trout, salmon,
pickerel and perch abound in great numbers. Bolton road, known
as "Millionaires' Row," begins at the village of Lake George and
continues along the west shore as far as Bolton landing.
Beautiful views of the surrounding country may be had along this
route.
At sunset, as we made our way along the shore, the wonderful
beauty of the scene became more evident. Out over the lake,
studded with numerous isles, a rosy glow began to gather, the
high hills along its shores were rosy purple, "some were a
mingling of stiff spruce and pine in shadow," while others wore
a lighter green and the lush grass near this shore was golden
green when struck by the rays of the declining sun. The swift
lights and shades stole over the distant peaks like color on
velvet.
In the waning light that tinged the west with lucent gold the
lake made a wonderful picture. It wore on its blue a silver
sheen, in which we beheld a few cloud paintings; and along the
shore it mirrored the graceful birch and elm. At length the
clouds in the zenith blushed into rose; mingled colors of
sapphire, emerald, topaz, and amethyst glinted on the lake. Over
this lovely expanse an eagle sailed in majestic flight, turning
his head from side to side as if enamored of the fair scene
beneath him. Later we beheld only a vast expanse of imperial
purple with its dark mountains and green islands.
Soon a few stars appeared in the sky, where the dark points and
ridges rose against it like airy battlements. In the east the
moon looked down on the lake and made a path of gold on its
placid surface. In the distance a boat, a fairy shallop, glided
noiselessly out across the radiant water until we lost it among
the deep shadows of an island. Scarce a ripple on the surface of
the lake or a fluttering leaf disturbed the peaceful scene. As
we made our way to the automobile which carried us back to the
village of Lake George we said, "What moonlight scene or sunset
hues have we ever beheld on the Tyrol that could rival this?"
"Saratoga lies in an angle formed by a long valley whose beauty,
aside from its historical associations, is fair enough to stop
whole armies of tourists as they come and go through this lovely
region. The old Indian War Trail was indeed the pathway of
armies, and the beautiful Hudson and Mohawk rivers here bore on
their waters many swift canoes filled with Algonquins and
French. The English marched and fought here from Hudson's time
and that of Samuel Champlain until the close of the
revolutionary period. This fair land, with its green, velvety
meadows, peaceful, fruitful valleys, and broad, majestic streams
has indeed been rightly named 'the dark and bloody ground.'
"The Five Nations built lodges on the shores of the lake near
Saratoga, and here it was that the French and Indians came down
from Quebec and Montreal to meet them. In 1690 the French and
Indians bivouacked at these springs as they descended to the
cruel massacre of Schenectady. The French, urged by Frontenac,
came down the valley in 1693 and destroyed the village of the
Mohawks and started on their return with the prisoners they had
taken. Here one thousand hostile warriors threw up intrenchments
on the exact place where the gay streets of Saratoga now stand.
They retreated in a storm after the English sustained three
furious assaults.
In 1743 there occurred a terrible massacre at Old Saratoga. All
of the houses in the village were burned to the ground and only
one or two of the inhabitants escaped to tell the tale. For
seven years the French and Indian war raged through the valley,
proving its importance as a northern gateway. The rattle of
arms, the tread of soldiers, the hurrying of street boys were
heard in town from morning till night. Indians in war-paint and
feathers joined each side, burning with the hate of over a
hundred years. Garrets were ransacked for great-grandfather's
swords, rusted with the blood of King Philip's war. French
officers in gold lace, trappers in doeskin, priests in their
black robes, soldiers in the white uniform of the French king,
gathered on the banks of the St. Lawrence. English grenadiers in
red coats, Scotch Highlanders in plaids and colonial troops in
homespun rallied from all the frontiers; and again this great
gateway knew the horrors of a long, devastating, and bloody war.
"In 1767 Sir William Johnson, who had suffered for years from a
wound received in his hip in the war with the Indians, was told
of the Great Medicine Waters. The Indians seemed to know of
their location many years previous to this, for they were the
ones who told Johnson about their great healing qualities. He
was carried on stretchers to this mysterious spring. The waters
proved so beneficial that he was able to return over the
'carrying place' on foot. The waters he drank were said to have
been taken from High Rock spring of Saratoga Springs."
The city contains many spacious, imposing hotels and fine tree-
bordered streets, which at once suggest that Saratoga was the
one time "Queen of Spas." But if the people no longer come here
in such great numbers, Nature still reigns over the place, and
it possesses that quiet and repose which make it an ideal place
in which to spend a vacation. Here are wonderful old elms whose
branches intermingle to form a canopy over the streets. So
gracefully do their drooping sprays of green descend that we
could think of nothing with which to compare them save emerald
fountains. These old trees are more stately, more graceful than
those at Versailles. Beautiful villas, public halls and handsome
churches are scattered about the city. Viewed from the
surrounding hills, the buildings seem to nestle in a leafy
wilderness. The annual horseraces held here still draw large
crowds, but as a summer resort Saratoga, like Trenton Falls, has
seen its day.
It is not Old Saratoga that contains the most interest for the
traveler, but the region around Schuylerville. Here the green
carpet covers all the hills, whose smooth, velvety appearance
adds greatly to the beauty of the country.
The day of our arrival at Saratoga was extremely sultry, and
heavy masses of clouds darkened the sky. Soon bursting peals of
thunder told us that the warrior clouds were bringing their
heavy artillery into action. This storm passed around us,
however, and we hastened to the site of the beautiful monument
commemorating the decisive victory of the Revolution. It stands
on the site of Burgoyne's fortified camp, overlooking the place
of his surrender. The height of this monument is one hundred and
fifty-four feet, its base is forty feet square, and it contains
one hundred and eighty-four steps, which lead up to the last
windows, which command an enchanting view of from ten to thirty
miles in all directions.
The country all around is full of very picturesque, scenic
surprises, and the lordly Hudson winding among its hills of
vernal loveliness is not the least of them. Your attention is
quickly recalled from the dead past, whether you like it or not,
to the living present. From this place you will see and hear
things which no historian can ever record; paragraphs of the
life history of the palpitant beauty and pulsing song of
existence. The true lover of Nature will find no greater delight
than to linger here to drink in the beauty of the place as his
eyes rove over the vast expanse of gently undulating hills that
melt away in the blue haze. The river flowing through masses of
verdue, the towering trees that climb the surrounding heights
and skirt the pastoral landscapes, afford constant evidence of
the natural wealth and beauty of this historic region.
Standing here, gazing out over the beautiful scene, we recalled
our visit to the famous battlegrounds of Waterloo.
It was on a lovely June day that we left the Belgium capital,
turning again and again to look at the wonderful Palace of
Justice which dominates this city, as the capitol does at
Washington.
The country around the field of Waterloo is very level, hardly
relieved by an undulation, and dotted at intervals with a few
trees that heighten the loneliness of the scene rather than
relieve it. Here we became aware that we were gazing at one of
the finest sites that man has ever known for the purpose of
mutual destruction. We readily saw that this level region gave
ample room for both infantry and cavalry, where the many
thousands of human beings were brought together in deadly
collision. It was apparently designed by Nature to feed the
hungry toilers of earth, but "was consecrated by man for a
solemn spectacle of deliberate slaughter."
How often this fertile country was made the battleground of
surrounding nations! Here it was we felt that indomitable spirit
that rose above every oppression forced upon its people,
stopping the hordes of invading armies.
We ascended the hill that flanked the right wing of the position
of the English where the fight was hottest. From this eminence
we looked down on vast cultivated fields with acres of waving
barley and verdant meadows in which fine Holstein cattle were
grazing. This hill is composed of soil dug from Mount St. Jean
to cover the bones of the slain of both armies. This conical
tumulus contains upon its summit, set in a spacious and lofty
pedestal, a huge bronze lion cast from the cannon taken in
battle.
As we stood on its top the scene unrolled before us like a
wonderful panoramic painting, and we gazed out on this "great
chessboard, where the last hard game of Napoleon's and
Wellington's protracted match was played."
Here where all Nature seemed to breathe of peace and joy it
seemed difficult to believe that at that very season, one
hundred and four years ago, on this spot was fought one of the
memorable battles of the world. Here, after participating in the
activities of a world war, how like a dream it seemed to be
gazing down upon this fertile plain. The larks were soaring in
the blue above, uttering the same sweet notes that charmed the
poet, Shelley, while we gazed out upon the fair scene toward La
Belle Alliance and La Haye Sainte. Nearer our eyes rested upon
the place that formed the key to the English position, where
they successfully resisted, throughout the day of the eighteenth
of June, the hottest assaults of the enemy. Then we beheld the
high road to Namur which passed through the center of the lovely
picture "as if inviting us to look upon the road Napoleon took
to make his escape when in the agony of his heart he exclaimed
'Sauve qui peut!' and fled from the field."
Near La Belle Alliance is a monument to the memory of the German
legion. Corning down from the tumulus we made our way past
fields of barley and paused to pluck a few cornflowers and
poppies, and over all the blue sky like an angel of peace the
skylark was still flooding the blue dome with melodies which for
us can never die.
But we have been straying somewhat from Saratoga. The view we
had from the monument reminded us a little of that to be
obtained from the plateau of the citadel of Namur where we
beheld the Sambre, the Meuse, and the forest of Ardennes. The
valley of the Meuse through which we passed on our way to Liege,
though wild, varied and secluded, full of unexpected turns and
scenic surprises, has no more charm than Saratoga.
We were greatly impressed with the tablet presented in memory of
the women of 1776 by the Daughters of the American Revolution.
It represents one woman busy with spinning while another is
making bullets at a fireplace. These noble and brave women
deserve much credit for helping to win our independence, for
while their husbands and sons fought they gathered in the crops,
melted into bullets their treasured pewter ware, learned to
shoot, bar their homes against Indians and conceal themselves
from preying bands of Indians and Tories.
Before leaving the monument at Schuylerville we discovered that
the birds had chosen the monument as a place for their nests. On
General Gates' shoulder was a robin's nest, while another chose
the center of an officer's hat for her domicile. Looking into
the mouth of the twenty-four pounder presented by J. Watts de
Peyster to the monument association, we discovered a blue bird's
nest containing four eggs. This gun was at one time a part of
the armament of a British vessel. The vessel becoming disabled,
the gun was then mounted on wheels and placed on a bluff at
Ticonderoga, where it was captured by the Americans. Right glad
we were that the place knows no harsher sound than the soft,
melodious warble of the bluebird and cherry carol of the robin.
We thought how glorious the time when all monuments may be not
merely grim reminders of war, but give shelter to the "color-
bearer of the Spring Brigade."
Most admirable plans had been made by the British for a very
brilliant campaign, but their success depended, like so many
other things, in the ability of the British to work them.
Burgoyne, three thousand miles away, received his orders while
in England. Howe did not receive his until the 16th of August,
when he was entering Chesapeake Bay. "Burgoyne was already being
defeated at Bennington while Howe was reading his dispatch and
learning for the first time that he was expected to cooperate
with Burgoyne."
King George said, "any means of discouraging the Americans will
meet with my approval." So the scalping knife and tomahawk were
associated with English arms.
Burgoyne had seven thousand picked troops, three thousand of
whom were Germans in the pay of the British Army. This army was
divided into three corps; Frazer, Riedesel and Phillips were
their officers. "The excellent discipline, spirit and equipment
of his army led Burgoyne to do and dare anything."
Overconfidence in war as elsewhere usually proves disastrous.
Burgoyne is reported to have said, "The enemy will probably
fight at Ticonderoga. Of course I will beat them, then we will
have a nice little promenade of eight days down to Albany." But
the trip toward Albany turned out to be anything but a promenade
and the British soldiers failed to see the nice part of it.
General Schuyler, on hearing that Burgoyne was on the march,
seized all the firearms he could and hurried to his camp.
Schuyler was superseded by General Gates. We learn that he was
not on the line when the great fighting occurred, but that he
was a very conspicuous character in "the final wind up." He
reminds one of those ministers who are intensely interested in
the welfare of the souls of those of their members who happen to
have an exceptionally fine strawberry patch.
But let us turn our attention for a brief time to some of
Saratoga's deserving heroes. It was at Bennington that John
Stark pointed toward the redoubt of the enemy and exclaimed,
"There, my lads, are the Hessians! Tonight our flag floats over
yonder hill or Molly Stark is a widow." With New England
yeomanry rudely equipped with pouches, powder horns and armed
with old brown firelocks he stormed the trenches of the best
trained soldiers of Europe and won a glorious victory. At
Oriskany, Herkimer, in an unlooked-for battle, won undying fame,
although most of his gallant little band were slaughtered.
Schuyler sent Arnold with Larned's brigade to retrieve
Herkimer's disaster, which he did in an admirable manner.
Gansevoort held the fort against St. Leger, but his situation
was growing desperate, when one day without apparent cause the
enemy fled in haste, leaving camps, baggage and artillery. This
inglorious flight was brought about by a half-wined fellow, who
wandered into the enemy's camp and on being asked how many men
were coming, pointed to the leaves on the trees, thus
frightening the Indians and British into a hasty retreat.
It is singular that the fiercest fighting of Saratoga occurred
on a farm hearing the significant name of Freeman. The ground
around the old well was covered with bodies of dead soldiers
after the battle. The British held persistently the position at
the farm they gained in a line to the east on the bank of the
river, where they built three redoubts on three hills.
"The fortified camp of the Americans lay about one and one-half
miles below, in a parallel line, from the British. Here within
bugle call from each other, for two weeks the hostile forces sat
upon the hill of Saratoga; frowning defiance at each other as
boys who are afraid to start a fight but persist in making faces
from back doors, or like cocks who stand immovable and try to
stare each other out of countenance, yet ready to open the
conflict with a moment's notice."
On October the 7th the British moved from their entrenchments in
battle array. Gates took up the gauntlet thus thrown down to him
and exclaimed: "Order out Morgan to begin the game."
It must have been a thrilling scene that fair October morning,
for autumn had wrought her oriental magic and far and near the
lovely forests were arrayed in chromatic harmony. The maples
were ablaze for miles, and so vivid seemed the flame of sumac
berries one almost expected to see smoke ascending on the
tranquil morning air. The scarlet banner of the woodbine
fluttered from many a tree like a bloody omen, the ash was clad
in purple robes, the elm and linden trees were like yellow
flames among the bright red fires of gum and dogwood. The purple
haze over all gave to the scene an air of mystery.
The stillness was intense. Only the chink of the bobolinks bound
for the plains of the Orinoco or the chonk, chonking of ground
squirrels broke the silence. This stillness must have been more
awful than any noise of battle could possibly be. Amid such
lovely and peaceful surroundings as this, Morgan dashed to the
fray and scattered Burgoyne's advance guard, then rushed on the
trained forces of Fraser and swept them from their position to
the left, which they had taken in advance.
"Fraser rallied his men and was forming a second line when he
fell, mortally wounded. The sharp whistle of Morgan once more
called his men into action, while Poor and Larned attacked the
center and right. The battle swayed back and forth through the
great ravine. Another charge from Morgan and the British
retreated to their entrenchments.
"At this moment the indignant Arnold, stung to madness by the
slights put upon him by Gates, dashed across the field. He
gathered the regulars under his leadership by enthusiasm,
bravery, and vehemence. He broke through the lines of
entrenchments at Freeman's farm. Repulsed for a moment, he
assailed the left and charged the strong redoubt of Breyman,
which flanked the British camp at the place now called
Burgoyne's Hill. The patriotic army, fired with new hope and
courage, crowded fearlessly up to the very mouths of the
belching guns of the redoubt and won the final victory of the
day; then, exhausted by the deadly fight, before they took
possession of the British camp, sullenly dropped down for a
rest.
"Silently and sullenly the defeated army withdrew from the works
of Freeman's farm and huddled closely together under the three
redoubts by the river. Here the women trembled over the drying
form of Fraser. In the cellar of the old Marshall House Madame
Riedesel, with her three little girls, found refuge from the
American bullets during the week preceding Burgoyne's surrender.
Here Surgeon Jones had his remaining leg shot away while the
other was being amputated. Eleven cannon balls passed through
the house. The splintered beams and other relics well preserved
are still shown. With slight alterations the house remains as at
the time of the surrender.
"The hospital stood with its overflowing of wounded and dead.
The great and princely army awaited in doubt and despair while
the commander hesitated and wavered in his plans. Should he risk
another engagement or retreat? He decided to retreat, and it
began as the Americans fired the guns for Fraser's funeral at
sunset. The blood-red sun sank behind the heights in which the
exultant and victorious American army lay. Heavy clouds
followed, and quickly after a drenching rain the army of the
British, abandoning their sick and wounded, began the retreat up
the river, Retracing their steps from Bemis Heights, the scene
of their disaster, they followed the river road to the Fishkill
and the Schuyler mansion, which they burned to the ground. It
was an illumination of their own defeat.
"Failing here to make an advancing stand against the Americans
they fell back, formed an entrenched camp and planted their
batteries along the heights of old Saratoga. In this camp they
still hoped to hold out until relief came up the Hudson from New
York. Here the pathos of the campaign culminated. The sick and
wounded took up refuge in cellars. Burgoyne was entrenched on
the hills with the river below, yet had no water to drink except
a cupful brought now and then by the British women. The gallant
Americans would not fire upon them. Burgoyne sent in the terms
of surrender near the site of the old Schuyler mansion so
recently burned. Here he laid down his arms and surrendered to
General Gates. Along the road just across the Fishkill the
disarmed prisoners were marched to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle,'
played first as a national air.
"When the last cannon was heard to die among to hills it was as
if the expiring note of British domination in America was
sounded. This victory decided the fate of that mighty empire. It
will stand unrivaled and alone, deriving lustre and perpetuity
in its singleness."
There was soon to he peace throughout the land and independence.
Again the golden grain would wave and the Hudson would be white
with the sails of ships from many seas.
We left Schuylerville under a gloomy sky that foreboded rain.
The clouds gathered thicker and thicker, and soon the rain was
descending in torrents. We took refuge in a kind of barn erected
for the purpose of sheltering horses during church services. We
did not know the denomination of the church that stood near this
shelter. We believed more strongly in a religion that is kind to
dumb animals and does not have them standing for hours in a
cruel storm while they shout "Glory to God." After the storm had
abated we started onward once more.