SCARCITY IN THE BRITISH CAMP—GATES BIDES HIS TIME—FORAGING MOVEMENT OF
BURGOYNE—BATTLE OF THE 7TH OCTOBER—ROUT OF THE BRITISH AND
HESSIANS—SITUATION OF THE BARONESS RIEDESEL AND LADY HARRIET ACKLAND
DURING THE BATTLE—DEATH OF GEN. FRAZER—HIS FUNERAL—NIGHT RETREAT OF
THE BRITISH—EXPEDITION OF LADY HARRIET ACKLAND—DESPERATE SITUATION
OF BURGOYNE AT SARATOGA—CAPITULATION—SURRENDER—CONDUCT OF THE
AMERICAN TROOPS—SCENES IN THE CAMP—GALLANT COURTESY OF SCHUYLER TO
THE BARONESS RIEDESEL—HIS MAGNANIMOUS CONDUCT TOWARD BURGOYNE—RETURN
OF THE BRITISH DOWN THE HUDSON.
While Sir Henry Clinton had been thundering in the Highlands, Burgoyne
and his army had been wearing out hope within their intrenchments,
vigilantly watched, but unassailed by the Americans. They became
impatient even of this impunity. “The enemy, though he can bring four
times more soldiers against us, shows no desire to make an attack,”
writes a Hessian officer.[81]
Arnold, too, was chafing in the camp, and longing for a chance, as
usual, “to right himself” by his sword. In a letter to Gates he tries to
goad him on. “I think it my duty (which nothing shall deter me from
doing) to acquaint you, the army are clamorous for action. The militia
(who compose great part of the army) are already threatening to go home.
One fortnight’s inaction will, I make no doubt, lessen your army by
sickness and desertion, at least four thousand men. In which time the
enemy may be reinforced, and make good their retreat.
“I have reason to think, from intelligence since received that, had we
improved the 20th of September, it might have ruined the enemy. That is
past; let me entreat you to improve the present time.”
Gates was not to be goaded into action; he saw the desperate situation
of Burgoyne, and bided his time. “Perhaps,” writes he, “despair may
dictate to him to risk all upon one throw; he is an old gamester, and in
his time has seen all chances. I will endeavor to be ready to prevent
his good fortune, and, if possible, secure my own.”[82]
On the 7th of October, but four or five days remained of the time
Burgoyne had pledged himself to await the co-operation of Sir Henry
Clinton. He now determined to make a grand movement on the left of the
American camp, to discover whether he could force a passage, should it
be necessary to advance, or dislodge it from its position, should he
have to retreat. Another object was to cover a forage of the army, which
was suffering from the great scarcity.
For this purpose fifteen hundred of his best troops, with two
twelve-pounders, two howitzers and six six-pounders, were to be led by
himself, seconded by Major-generals Phillips and Riedesel, and
Brigadier-general Fraser. “No equal number of men,” say the British
accounts, “were ever better commanded; and it would have been difficult,
indeed, to have matched the men with an equal number.”[83]
On leaving his camp, Burgoyne committed the guard of it on the high
grounds to Brigadier-generals Hamilton and Specht, and of the redoubts
on the low grounds near the river, to Brigadier-general Gall.
Forming his troops within three quarters of a mile of the left of the
Americans, though covered from their sight by the forest, he sent out a
corps of rangers, provincials and Indians, to skulk through the woods,
get in their rear, and give them an alarm at the time the attack took
place in front.
The movement, though carried on behind the screen of forests, was
discovered. In the afternoon the advanced guard of the American centre
beat to arms: the alarm was repeated throughout the line. Gates ordered
his officers to their alarm posts, and sent forth Wilkinson, the
adjutant-general, to inquire the cause. From a rising ground in an open
place he descried the enemy in force, their foragers busy in a field of
wheat, the officers reconnoitring the left wing of the camp with
telescopes from the top of a cabin.
Returning to the camp, Wilkinson reported the position and movements of
the enemy; that their front was open, their flanks rested on woods,
under cover of which they might be attacked and their right was skirted
by a height: that they were reconnoitring the left, and he thought
offered battle.
“Well, then,” replied Gates, “order out Morgan to begin the game.”
A plan of attack was soon arranged. Morgan with his riflemen and a body
of infantry was sent to make a circuit through the woods, and get
possession of the heights on the right of the enemy, while General Poor
with his brigade of New York and New Hampshire troops, and a part of
Learned’s brigade, were to advance against the enemy’s left. Morgan was
to make an attack on the heights as soon as he should hear the fire
opened below.
Burgoyne now drew out his troops in battle array. The grenadiers, under
Major Ackland, with the artillery, under Major Williams, formed his
left, and were stationed on a rising ground, with a rivulet called Mill
Creek in front. Next to them were the Hessians, under Riedesel, and
British, under Phillips, forming the centre. The light-infantry, under
Lord Balcarras, formed the extreme right; having in the advance a
detachment of five hundred picked men, under General Fraser, ready to
flank the Americans as soon as they should be attacked in front.
He had scarce made these arrangements, when he was astonished and
confounded by a thundering of artillery on his left, and a rattling fire
of rifles on the woody heights on his right. The troops under Poor
advanced steadily up the ascent where Ackland’s grenadiers and Williams’
artillery were stationed; received their fire, and then rushed forward.
Ackland’s grenadiers received the first brunt, but it extended along the
line, as detachment after detachment arrived, and was carried on with
inconceivable fury. The Hessian artillerists spoke afterwards of the
heedlessness with which the Americans rushed upon the cannon, while they
were discharging grape shot. The artillery was repeatedly taken and
retaken, and at length remained in possession of the Americans, who
turned it upon its former owners. Major Ackland was wounded in both
legs, and taken prisoner. Major Williams of the artillery was also
captured. The headlong impetuosity of the attack confounded the regular
tacticians. Much of this has been ascribed to the presence and example
of Arnold. That daring officer, who had lingered in the camp in
expectation of a fight, was exasperated at having no command assigned
him. On hearing the din of battle, he could restrain no longer his
warlike impulse, but threw himself on his horse and sallied forth. Gates
saw him issuing from the camp. “He’ll do some rash thing!” cried he, and
sent his aide-de-camp, Major Armstrong to call him back. Arnold surmised
his errand and evaded it. Putting spurs to his horse, he dashed into the
scene of action, and was received with acclamation. Being the superior
officer in the field his orders were obeyed of course. Putting himself
at the head of the troops of Learned’s brigade, he attacked the Hessians
in the enemy’s centre, and broke them with repeated charges. Indeed, for
a time his actions seemed to partake of frenzy; riding hither and
thither, brandishing his sword, and cheering on the men to acts of
desperation. In one of his paroxysms of excitement, he struck and
wounded an American officer in the head with his sword, without, as he
afterwards declared, being conscious of the act. Wilkinson asserts that
he was partly intoxicated; but Arnold needed only his own irritated
pride and the smell of gunpowder to rouse him to acts of madness.
Morgan, in the mean time, was harassing the enemy’s right wing with an
incessant fire of small-arms, and preventing it from sending any
assistance to the centre. General Fraser with his chosen corps, for some
time rendered great protection to this wing. Mounted on an iron-gray
charger, his uniform of a field officer made him a conspicuous object
for Morgan’s sharpshooters. One bullet cut the crupper of his horse,
another grazed his mane. “You are singled out, general,” said his
aide-de-camp, “and had better shift your ground.” “My duty forbids me to
fly from danger,” was the reply. A moment afterwards he was shot down by
a marksman posted in a tree. Two grenadiers bore him to the camp. His
fall was as a death-blow to his corps. The arrival on the field of a
large reinforcement of New York troops under General Ten Broeck,
completed the confusion. Burgoyne saw that the field was lost, and now
only thought of saving his camp. The troops nearest to the lines were
ordered to throw themselves within them, while Generals Phillips and
Riedesel covered the retreat of the main body, which was in danger of
being cut off. The artillery was abandoned, all the horses, and most of
the men who had so bravely defended it, having been killed. The troops,
though hard pressed, retired in good order. Scarcely had they entered
the camp when it was stormed with great fury; the Americans, with Arnold
at their head, rushing to the lines under a severe discharge of grape
shot and small-arms. Lord Balcarras defended the intrenchments bravely;
the action was fierce, and well sustained on both sides. After an
ineffectual attempt to make his way into the camp in this quarter at the
point of the bayonet, Arnold spurred his horse toward the right flank of
the camp occupied by the German reserve, where Lieutenant-colonel Brooks
was making a general attack with a Massachusetts regiment. Here, with a
part of a platoon, he forced his way into a sally port, but a shot from
the retreating Hessians killed his horse, and wounded him in the same
leg which had received a wound before Quebec. He was borne off from the
field, but not until the victory was complete; for the Germans retreated
from the works, leaving on the field their brave defender,
Lieutenant-colonel Breyman, mortally wounded.
The night was now closing in. The victory of the Americans was decisive.
They had routed the enemy, killed and wounded a great number, made many
prisoners, taken their field-artillery, and gained possession of a part
of their works which laid open the right and the rear of their camp.
They lay all night on their arms, within half a mile of the scene of
action, prepared to renew the assault upon the camp in the morning.
Affecting scenes had occurred in the enemy’s camp during this deadly
conflict.
In the morning previous to the battle, the Baroness De Riedesel had
breakfasted with her husband in the camp. Generals Burgoyne, Phillips,
and Fraser were to dine with her husband and herself, in a house in the
neighborhood, where she and her children were quartered. She observed
much movement in the camp, but was quieted by the assurance that it was
to be a mere reconnaissance. On her way home she met a number of
Indians, painted and decorated and armed with guns, and shouting war!
war! Her fears were awakened, and scarce had she reached home when she
heard the rattling of fire-arms and the thundering of artillery. The din
increased, and soon became so terrible that she “was more dead than
alive.” About one o’clock came one of the generals who were to have
dined with her—poor General Fraser—brought upon a handbarrow, mortally
wounded. “The table,” writes she, “which was already prepared for
dinner, was immediately removed, and a bed placed in its stead for the
general. I sat terrified and trembling in a corner. The noise grew more
alarming, and I was in a continual agony and tremor, while thinking that
my husband might soon, also, be brought in, wounded like General Fraser.
That poor general said to the surgeon, ‘Tell me the truth, is there no
hope?’—There was none. Prayers were read, after which he desired that
General Burgoyne should be requested to have him buried on the next day
at 6 o’clock in the evening, on a hill where a breastwork had been
constructed.”
Lady Harriet Ackland was in a tent near by. News came to her that her
husband was mortally wounded and taken prisoner. She was in an agony of
distress. The baroness endeavored to persuade her that his wound might
not be dangerous, and advised her to ask permission to join him. She
divided the night between soothing attentions to Lady Harriet, and
watchful care of her children who were asleep, but who she feared might
disturb the poor dying general. Towards morning, thinking his agony
approaching, she wrapped them in blankets and retired with them into the
entrance hall. Courteous even in death, the general sent her several
messages to beg her pardon for the trouble he thought he was giving her.
At 8 o’clock in the morning he expired.[84]
Burgoyne had shifted his position during the night, to heights about a
mile to the north, close to the river, and covered in front by a ravine.
Early in the morning, the Americans took possession of the camp which he
had abandoned. A random fire of artillery and small-arms was kept up on
both sides during the day. The British sharpshooters stationed in the
ravine did some execution, and General Lincoln was wounded in the leg
while reconnoitring. Gates, however, did not think it advisable to force
a desperate enemy when in a strong position, at the expense of a
prodigal waste of blood. He took all measures to cut off his retreat and
insure a surrender. General Fellows, with 1,400 men, had already been
sent to occupy the high ground east of the Hudson opposite Saratoga
Ford. Other detachments were sent higher up the river in the direction
of Lake George.
Burgoyne saw that nothing was left for him but a prompt and rapid
retreat to Saratoga, yet in this he was delayed by a melancholy duty of
friendship; it was to attend the obsequies of the gallant Fraser, who,
according to his dying request, was to be interred at six o’clock in the
evening, within a redoubt which had been constructed on a hill.
Between sunset and dark, his body was borne to the appointed place by
grenadiers of his division, followed by the generals and their staffs.
The Americans seeing indistinctly what, in the twilight, appeared to be
a movement of troops up the hill and in the redoubt, pointed their
artillery in that direction. “Cannon balls flew around and above the
assembled mourners,” writes the Baroness Riedesel, who was a spectator
from a distance. “Many cannon balls flew close by me, but my whole
attention was engaged by the funeral scene, where I saw my husband
exposed to imminent danger. This, indeed, was not a moment to be
apprehensive for my own safety. General Gates protested afterwards, that
had he known what was going on, he would have stopped the fire
immediately.”[85]
We have the scene still more feelingly described by Burgoyne.
“The incessant cannonade during the ceremony; the steady attitude and
unaltered voice with which the chaplain officiated, though frequently
covered with dust which the shot threw up on all sides of him; the mute,
but expressive mixture of sensibility and indignation upon every
countenance; these objects will remain to the last of life upon the mind
of every man who was present. The growing darkness added to the scenery,
and the whole marked a character of that juncture which would make one
of the finest subjects for the pencil of a master that the field ever
exhibited. To the canvas and to the faithful page of a more important
historian, gallant friend! I consign thy memory. There may thy talents,
thy manly virtues, their progress and their period, find due
distinction: and long may they survive, long after the frail record of
my pen shall be forgotten!”
General Fraser was well worthy of this eulogium. He was the most popular
officer of the army, and one of the most efficient. He was one in whom
Burgoyne reposed the most implicit confidence, and deeply must it have
added to his gloom of mind at this dark hour of his fortunes, to have
this his friend and counsellor, and brother in arms shot down at his
side.
“The reflections arising from these scenes,” writes he, “gave place to
the perplexities of the night. A defeated army was to retreat from an
enemy flushed with success, much superior in front, and occupying strong
posts in the country behind. We were equally liable upon that march to
be attacked in front, flank, or rear.”
Preparations had been made to decamp immediately after the funeral, and
at nine o’clock at night the retreat commenced. Large fires had been
lighted, and many tents were left standing to conceal the movement. The
hospital, in which were about three hundred sick and wounded, was
abandoned, as were likewise several bateaux, laden with baggage and
provisions.
It was a dismal retreat. The rain fell in torrents; the roads were deep
and broken, and the horses weak and half-starved from want of forage. At
daybreak there was a halt to refresh the troops, and give time for the
bateaux laden with provision to come abreast. In three hours the march
was resumed, but before long there was another halt, to guard against an
American reconnoitring party which appeared in sight. When the troops
were again about to march, General Burgoyne received a message from Lady
Harriet Ackland, expressing a wish to pass to the American camp, and ask
permission from General Gates to join her husband. “Though I was ready
to believe,” writes Burgoyne, “(for I had experience), that patience and
fortitude, in a supreme degree, were to be found, as well as every other
virtue, under the most tender forms, I was astonished at this proposal.
After so long an agitation of spirits, exhausted not only for want of
rest, but absolutely want of food, drenched in rains for twelve hours
together, that a woman should be capable of such an undertaking as
delivering herself to the enemy, probably in the night, and uncertain of
what hands she might first fall into, appeared an effort above human
nature. The assistance I was enabled to give her was small indeed; I had
not even a cup of wine to offer her; but I was told she had found from
some kind and fortunate hand, a little rum and dirty water. All I could
furnish her was an open boat, and a few lines written upon dirty wet
paper, to General Gates, recommending her to his protection.
“Mr. Brudenell, the chaplain of the artillery (the same gentleman who
had officiated so signally at General Fraser’s funeral), readily
undertook to accompany her, and with one female servant, and the major’s
valet-de-chambre (who had a ball which he had received in the late
action then in his shoulder), she rowed down the river to meet the
enemy.”
The night was far advanced before the boat reached the American
outposts. It was challenged by a sentinel who threatened to fire into it
should it attempt to pass. Mr. Brudenell made known that it was a flag
of truce, and stated who was the personage it brought; report was made
to the adjutant-general. Treachery was apprehended, and word was
returned to detain the flag until daylight. Lady Harriet and her
companions were allowed to land. Major Dearborn, the officer on guard,
surrendered his chamber in the guard-house to her ladyship; bedding was
brought, a fire was made, tea was served, and her mind being relieved by
assurances of her husband’s safety, she was enabled to pass a night of
comparative comfort and tranquillity.[86] She proceeded to the American
camp in the morning, when, Burgoyne acknowledges, “she was received and
accommodated by General Gates, with all the humanity and respect that
her rank, her merits, and her fortune deserved.”
To resume the fortunes of the retreating army. It rained terribly
through the residue of the 9th, and in consequence of repeated halts,
they did not reach Saratoga until evening. A detachment of Americans had
arrived there before them, and were throwing up intrenchments on a
commanding height at Fish Kill. They abandoned their work, forded the
Hudson, and joined a force under General Fellows, posted on the hills
east of the river. The bridge over the Fish Kill had been destroyed; the
artillery could not cross until the ford was examined. Exhausted by
fatigue, the men for the most part had not strength nor inclination to
cut wood nor make fire, but threw themselves upon the wet ground in
their wet clothes, and slept under the continuing rain. “I was quite
wet,” writes the Baroness Riedesel, “and was obliged to remain in that
condition for want of a place to change my apparel. I seated myself near
a fire and undressed the children, and we then laid ourselves upon some
straw.”
At daylight on the 10th, the artillery and the last of the troops passed
the fords of the Fish Kill, and took a position upon the heights, and in
the redoubts formerly constructed there. To protect the troops from
being attacked in passing the ford by the Americans, who were
approaching, Burgoyne ordered fire to be set to the farm houses and
other buildings on the south side of the Fish Kill. Amongst the rest,
the noble mansion of General Schuyler, with storehouses, granaries,
mills, and the other appurtenances of a great rural establishment, was
entirely consumed. Burgoyne himself estimated the value of property
destroyed at ten thousand pounds sterling. The measure was condemned by
friend as well as foe, but he justified it on the principles of
self-preservation.
The force under General Fellows, posted on the opposite hills of the
Hudson, now opened a fire from a battery commanding the ford of that
river. Thus prevented from crossing, Burgoyne thought to retreat along
the west side as far as Fort George, on the way to Canada, and sent out
workmen under a strong escort to repair the bridges, and open the road
toward Fort Edward. The escort was soon recalled and the work abandoned;
for the Americans under Gates appeared in great force, on the heights
south of the Fish Kill, and seemed preparing to cross and bring on an
engagement.
The opposite shores of the Hudson were now lined with detachments of
Americans. Bateaux laden with provisions, which had attended the
movements of the army, were fired upon, many taken, some retaken with
loss of life. It was necessary to land the provisions from such as
remained, and bring them up the hill into the camp, which was done under
a heavy fire from the American artillery.
Burgoyne called now a general council of war, in which it was resolved,
since the bridges could not be repaired, to abandon the artillery and
baggage, let the troops carry a supply of provisions upon their backs,
push forward in the night, and force their way across the fords at or
near Fort Edward.
Before the plan could be put in execution, scouts brought word that the
Americans were intrenched opposite those fords, and encamped in force
with cannon, on the high ground between Fort Edward and Fort George. In
fact, by this time the American army, augmented by militia and
volunteers from all quarters, had posted itself in strong positions on
both sides of the Hudson, so as to extend three fourths of a circle
round the enemy.
Giving up all further attempt at retreat, Burgoyne now fortified his
camp on the heights to the north of Fish Kill, still hoping that succor
might arrive from Sir Henry Clinton, or that an attack upon his trenches
might give him some chance of cutting his way through.
In this situation his troops lay continually on their arms. His camp was
subjected to cannonading from Fellows’ batteries on the opposite side of
the Hudson, Gates’s batteries on the south of Fish Kill, and a galling
fire from Morgan’s riflemen, stationed on heights in the rear.
The Baroness De Riedesel and her helpless little ones were exposed to
the dangers and horrors of this long turmoil. On the morning when the
attack was opened, General De Riedesel sent them to take refuge in a
house in the vicinity. On their way thither the baroness saw several men
on the opposite bank of the Hudson levelling their muskets and about to
fire. Throwing her children in the back part of the carriage the anxious
mother endeavored to cover them with her body. The men fired; a poor
wounded soldier, who had sought shelter behind the carriage, received a
shot which broke his arm. The baroness succeeded in getting to the
house. Some women and crippled soldiers had already taken refuge there.
It was mistaken for head-quarters and cannonaded. The baroness retreated
into the cellar, laid herself in a corner near the door with her
children’s heads upon her knees, and passed a sleepless night of mental
anguish.
In the morning the cannonade began anew. Cannon balls passed through the
house repeatedly with a tremendous noise. A poor soldier who was about
to have a leg amputated, lost the other by one of these balls. The day
was passed among such horrors. The wives of a major, a lieutenant and a
commissary, were her companions in misery. “They sat together,” she
says, “deploring their situation, when some one entered to announce bad
news.” There was whispering among her companions, with deep looks of
sorrow. “I immediately suspected,” says she, “that my husband had been
killed. I shrieked aloud.” She was soothed by assurances that nothing
had happened to him; and was given to understand by a sidelong glance,
that the wife of the lieutenant was the unfortunate one; her husband had
been killed.
For six days, she and her children remained in this dismal place of
refuge. The cellar was spacious, with three compartments, but the number
of occupants increased. The wounded were brought in to be relieved—or to
die. She remained with her children near the door, to escape more easily
in case of fire. She put straw under mattresses; on these she lay with
her little ones, and her female servants slept near her.
Her frequent dread was, that the army might be driven off or march away,
and she be left behind. “I crept up the staircase,” says she, “more than
once, and when I saw our soldiers near their watchfires, I became more
calm, and could even have slept.”
There was great distress for water. The river was near, but the
Americans shot every one who approached it. A soldier’s wife at length
summoned resolution, and brought a supply. “The Americans,” adds the
baroness, “told us afterwards, that they spared her _on account of her
sex_.”
“I endeavored,” continues she, “to dispel my melancholy, by constantly
attending to the wounded. I made them tea and coffee, for which I
received their warmest acknowledgments. I often shared my dinner with
them.”
Her husband visited her once or twice daily, at the risk of his life. On
one occasion, General Phillips accompanied him, but was overcome when he
saw the sufferings and danger by which this noble woman and her children
were surrounded, and of which we have given a very subdued picture. “I
would not for ten thousand guineas see this place again,” exclaimed the
general. “I am heart-broken with what I have seen.”
Burgoyne was now reduced to despair. His forces were diminished by
losses, by the desertion of Canadians and royalists, and the total
defection of the Indians; and on inspection it was found that the
provisions on hand, even upon short allowance, would not suffice for
more than three days. A council of war, therefore, was called of all the
generals, field-officers and captains commanding troops. The
deliberations were brief. All concurred in the necessity of opening a
treaty with General Gates, for a surrender on honorable terms. While
they were yet deliberating, an eighteen pound ball passed through the
tent, sweeping across the table round which they were seated.
Negotiations were accordingly opened on the 13th, under sanction of a
flag. Lieutenant Kingston, Burgoyne’s adjutant-general, was the bearer
of a note, proposing a cessation of hostilities until terms could be
adjusted.
The first terms offered by Gates were that the enemy should lay down
their arms within their intrenchments, and surrender themselves
prisoners of war. These were indignantly rejected, with an intimation
that, if persisted in, hostilities must recommence.
Counter proposals were then made by General Burgoyne, and finally
accepted by General Gates. According to these, the British troops were
to march out of the camp with artillery and all the honors of war, to a
fixed place, where they were to pile their arms at a word of command
from their own officers. They were to be allowed a free passage to
Europe upon condition of not serving again in America, during the
present war. The army was not to be separated, especially the men from
the officers; roll-calling and other regular duties were to be
permitted; the officers were to be on parole, and to wear their
side-arms. All private property to be sacred; no baggage to be searched
or molested. All persons appertaining to or following the camp, whatever
might be their country, were to be comprehended in these terms of
capitulation.
Schuyler’s late secretary, Colonel Varick, who was still in camp, writes
to him on the 13th: “Burgoyne says he will send all his general officers
at ten, in the morning, to finish and settle the business. This, I
trust, will be accomplished before twelve, and then I shall have the
honor and happiness of congratulating you on the glorious success of our
arms. I wish to God I could say under your command.
“If you wish to see Burgoyne, you will be necessitated to see him
here.”[87]
In the night of the 16th, before the articles of capitulation had been
signed, a British officer from the army below made his way into the
camp, with despatches from Sir Henry Clinton, announcing that he had
captured the forts in the Highlands, and had pushed detachments further
up the Hudson. Burgoyne now submitted to the consideration of officers,
“whether it was consistent with public faith, and if so, expedient, to
suspend the execution of the treaty and trust to events.” His own
opinion inclined in the affirmative, but the majority of the council
determined that the public faith was fully plighted. The capitulation
was accordingly signed by Burgoyne on the 17th of October.
The British army, at the time of the surrender, was reduced by capture,
death, and desertion, from nine thousand to five thousand seven hundred
and fifty-two men. That of Gates, regulars and militia, amounted to ten
thousand five hundred and fifty-four men on duty; between two and three
thousand being on the sick list, or absent on furlough.
By this capitulation, the Americans gained a fine train of artillery,
seven thousand stand of arms, and a great quantity of clothing, tents,
and military stores of all kinds.
When the British troops marched forth to deposit their arms at the
appointed place, Colonel Wilkinson, the adjutant-general, was the only
American soldier to be seen. Gates had ordered his troops to keep
rigidly within their lines, that they might not add by their presence to
the humiliation of a brave enemy. In fact, throughout all his conduct,
during the campaign, British writers, and Burgoyne himself, give him
credit for acting with great humanity and forbearance.[88]
Wilkinson, in his Memoirs, describes the first meeting of Gates and
Burgoyne, which took place at the head of the American camp. They were
attended by their staffs and by other general officers. Burgoyne was in
a rich royal uniform. Gates in a plain blue frock. When they had
approached nearly within sword’s length they reined up and halted.
Burgoyne, raising his hat most gracefully, said: “The fortune of war,
General Gates, has made me your prisoner;” to which the other, returning
his salute, replied, “I shall always be ready to testify that it has not
been through any fault of your excellency.”
“We passed through the American camp,” writes the already cited Hessian
officer, “in which all the regiments were drawn out beside the
artillery, and stood under arms. Not one of them was uniformly clad,
each had on the clothes which he wore in the fields, the church, or the
tavern. They stood, however, like soldiers, well arranged, and with a
military air, in which there was but little to find fault with. All the
muskets had bayonets, and the sharpshooters had rifles. The men all
stood so still that we were filled with wonder. Not one of them made a
single motion as if he would speak with his neighbor. Nay more, all the
lads that stood there in rank and file, kind nature had formed so trim,
so slender, so nervous, that it was a pleasure to look at them, and we
all were surprised at the sight of such a handsome, well-formed
race.”[89] “In all earnestness,” adds he, “English America surpasses the
most of Europe in the growth and looks of its male population. The whole
nation has a natural turn and talent for war and a soldier’s life.”
He made himself somewhat merry, however, with the equipments of the
officers. A few wore regimentals; and those fashioned to their own
notions as to cut and color, being provided by themselves. Brown coats
with sea-green facings, white linings and silver trimmings, and gray
coats in abundance, with buff facings and cuffs, and gilt buttons; in
short, every variety of pattern.
The brigadiers and generals wore uniforms and belts which designated
their rank; but most of the colonels and other officers were in their
ordinary clothes; a musket and bayonet in hand, and a cartridge-box or
powder-horn over the shoulder. But what especially amused him was the
variety of uncouth wigs worn by the officers; the lingerings of an
uncouth fashion.
Most of the troops thus noticed were the hastily levied militia, the
yeomanry of the country. “There were regular regiments also,” he said,
“which, for want of time and cloth, were not yet equipped in uniform.
These had standards with various emblems and mottoes, some of which had
for us a very satirical signification.
“But I must say to the credit of the enemy’s regiments,” continues he,
“that not a man was to be found therein who, as we marched by, made even
a sign of taunting, insulting exultation, hatred, or any other evil
feeling; on the contrary, they seemed as though they would rather do us
honor. As we marched by the great tent of General Gates, he invited in
the brigadiers and commanders of regiments, and various refreshments
were set before them. Gates is between fifty and sixty years of age;
wears his own thin gray hair; is active and friendly, and on account of
the weakness of his eyes, constantly wears spectacles. At head-quarters
we met many officers, who treated us with all possible politeness.”
We now give another page of the Baroness De Riedesel’s fortunes, at this
time of the surrender. “My husband’s groom brought me a message to join
him with the children. I once more seated myself in my dear calash, and,
while riding through the American camp was gratified to observe that
nobody looked at us with disrespect, but, on the contrary, greeted us,
and seemed touched at the sight of a captive mother with her children. I
must candidly confess that I did not present myself, though so situated,
with much courage to the enemy, for the thing was entirely new to me.
When I drew near the tents, a good-looking man advanced towards me, and
helping the children from the calash, kissed and caressed them: he then
offered me his arm and tears trembled in his eyes. ‘You tremble,’ said
he; ‘do not be alarmed, I pray you.’ ‘Sir,’ cried I, ‘a countenance so
expressive of benevolence, and the kindness you have evinced towards my
children, are sufficient to dispel all apprehensions.’ He then ushered
me into the tent of General Gates, whom I found engaged in friendly
conversation with Generals Burgoyne and Phillips. General Burgoyne said
to me, ‘You can now be quiet, and free from all apprehension of danger.’
I replied that I should indeed be reprehensible, if I felt any anxiety,
when our general felt none, and was on such friendly terms with General
Gates.
“All the generals remained to dine with General Gates. The gentleman who
had received me with so much kindness, came and said to me, ‘You may
find it embarrassing to be the only lady in such a large company of
gentlemen; will you come with your children to my tent, and partake of a
frugal dinner, offered with the best will?’ ‘By the kindness you show to
me,’ returned I, ‘you induce me to believe that you have a wife and
children.’ He informed me that he was General Schuyler. He regaled me
with smoked tongues, which were excellent, with beefsteaks, potatoes,
fresh butter and bread. Never did a dinner give me more pleasure than
this, and I read the same happy change on the countenances of all those
around me. That my husband was out of danger, was a still greater joy.
After dinner, General Schuyler begged me to pay him a visit at his house
at Albany, where he expected that General Burgoyne would also be his
guest. I sent to ask my husband’s directions, who advised me to accept
the invitation.” The reception which she met with at Albany, from
General Schuyler’s wife and daughters, was not, she said, like the
reception of enemies, but of the most intimate friends. “They loaded us
with kindness,” writes she, “and they behaved in the same manner towards
General Burgoyne, though he had ordered their splendid establishment to
be burnt, and without any necessity, it was said. But all their actions
proved, that in the sight of the misfortunes of others they quickly
forgot their own.” It was, in fact, the lot of Burgoyne to have coals of
fire heaped on his head by those with whom he had been at enmity. One of
the first persons whom he had encountered in the American camp was
General Schuyler. He attempted to make some explanation or excuse about
the recent destruction of his property. Schuyler begged him not to think
of it, as the occasion justified it, according to the principles and
rules of war.
“He did more,” said Burgoyne, in a speech before the House of Commons:
“he sent an aide-de-camp to conduct me to Albany; in order, as he
expressed it, to procure better quarters than a stranger might be able
to find. That gentleman conducted me to a very elegant house, and, to my
great surprise, presented me to Mrs. Schuyler and her family. In that
house I remained during my whole stay in Albany, with a table of more
than twenty covers for me and my friends, and every other demonstration
of hospitality.”
This was indeed realizing the vaunted courtesy and magnanimity of the
age of chivalry.
The surrender of Burgoyne was soon followed by the evacuation of
Ticonderoga and Fort Independence, the garrisons retiring to the Isle
aux Noix and St. Johns. As to the armament on the Hudson, the commanders
whom Sir Henry Clinton had left in charge of it, received, in the midst
of their desolating career, the astounding intelligence of the capture
of the army with which they had come to co-operate. Nothing remained for
them, therefore, but to drop down the river and return to New York.
The whole expedition, though it had effected much damage to the
Americans, failed to be of essential service to the royal cause. The
fortresses in the Highlands could not be maintained, and had been
evacuated and destroyed, and the plundering and burning of defenceless
towns and villages, and especially the conflagration of Esopus, had
given to the whole enterprise the character of a maraud, disgraceful in
civilized warfare, and calculated only to inflame more deadly enmity and
determined opposition.
NOTE.
The reader may desire to know the sequel of Lady Harriet Ackland’s
romantic story. Her husband recovered from his wounds, and they
returned together to England. Major Ackland retained a grateful sense
of the kind treatment they had experienced from the Americans. At a
dinner party he had warm words with another British officer, who
questioned the American character for courage. A duel ensued, in which
the major was killed. The shock to Lady Harriet produced mental
derangement. She recovered in the course of a couple of years, and
ultimately was married to Mr. Brudenell, the worthy chaplain who had
been her companion and protector in the time of her distress.