One of the most interesting papers of personal reminiscences, which has
come down to us from Revolutionary times, is the narrative by the
Baroness de Reidesel, wife of the distinguished German, the Baron de
Reidesel, a Major-General in Burgoyne's army of invasion. With all the
truth of a high-minded lady, and the devotion of a true wife and mother,
she accompanied her husband to America, and was present at the
disastrous defeat of Burgoyne at Saratoga. Her story gives us an inside
view of the British camp, and reveals the hardships to which she was
exposed. After the battle of Saratoga she witnessed the British retreat,
and never after could refer to it without weeping—the terrible scene so
affected her. In his rather pretentious "memoirs," General Wilkinson has
engrafted her entire narrative. We give our readers so much of the
interesting document as our space permits. The "women of America" will
peruse it with intense interest. After detailing her experiences up to
the day of battle, (October 7th, 1779,) she proceeds:
"I was at breakfast with my husband and heard that something was
intended. On the same day I expected Generals Burgoyne, Phillips and
Frazer to dine with us. I saw a great movement among the troops; my
husband told me it was merely a reconnoissance, which gave me no
concern, as it often happened. I walked out of the house and met several
Indians in their war-dresses, with guns in their hands. When I asked
them where they were going, they cried out: 'War! war!' meaning that
they were going to battle. This filled me with apprehension, and I had
scarcely got home before I heard reports of cannon and musketry, which
grew louder by degrees, till at last the noise became excessive.
"About four o'clock in the afternoon, instead of the guests whom I
expected, General Frazer was brought on a litter, mortally wounded. The
table, which was already set, was instantly removed, and a bed placed in
its stead for the wounded General. I sat trembling in a corner; the
noise grew louder, and the alarm increased; the thought that my husband
might be brought in, wounded in the same manner, was terrible to me, and
distressed me exceedingly. General Frazer said to the surgeon, '_Tell me
if my wound is mortal; do not flatter me._' The ball had passed through,
his body, and, unhappily for the General, he had eaten a very hearty
breakfast, by which his stomach was distended, and the ball, as the
surgeon said, had passed through it. I heard him often exclaim, with a
sigh, '_Oh fatal ambition! Poor General Burgoyne! Oh! my poor wife!_' He
was asked if he had any request to make, to which he replied, that, '_If
General Burgoyne would permit it, he would like to be buried, at six
o'clock in the evening, on the top of a mountain, in a redoubt which had
been built there._'
"I did not know which way to turn; all the other rooms were full of
sick. Toward evening I saw my husband coming; then I forgot all my
sorrows, and thanked God that he was spared to me. He ate in great
haste, with me and his aid-de-camp, behind the house. We had been told
that we had the advantage over the enemy, but the sorrowful faces I
beheld told a different tale; and before my husband went away he took me
aside, and said every thing was going very badly, and that I must keep
myself in readiness to leave the place, but not to mention it to any
one. I made the pretense that I would move the next morning into my new
house, and had every thing packed up ready.
"Lady Ackland had a tent not far from our house; in this she slept, and
the rest of the day she was in the camp. All of a sudden a man came in
to tell her that her husband was mortally wounded, and taken prisoner.
On hearing this she became very miserable. We comforted her by telling
her that the wound was very slight, and advised her to go over to her
husband, to do which she would certainly obtain permission, and then she
could attend him herself. She was a charming woman, and very fond of
him. I spent much of the night in comforting her, and then went again to
my children, whom I had put to bed.
"I could not go to sleep, as I had General Frazer and all the other
wounded gentlemen in my room, and I was sadly afraid my children would
wake, and by their crying disturb the dying man in his last moments, who
often addressed me and apologized '_for the trouble he gave me_.' About
three o'clock in the morning, I was told that he could not hold out much
longer; I had desired to be informed of the near approach of this sad
crisis, and I then wrapped up my children in their clothes, and went
with them into the room below. About eight o'clock in the morning _he
died_.
"After he was laid out, and his corpse wrapped up in a sheet, we came
again into the room, and had this sorrowful sight before us the whole
day; and, to add to the melancholy scene, almost every moment some
officer of my acquaintance was brought in wounded. The cannonade
commenced again; a retreat was spoken of, but not the smallest motion
was made toward it. About four o'clock in the afternoon, I saw the
house, which had just been built for me, in flames, and the enemy was
now not far off. We knew that General Burgoyne would not refuse the last
request of General Frazer, though, by his acceding to it, an unnecessary
delay was occasioned, by which the inconvenience of the army was much
increased. At six o'clock the corpse was brought out, and we saw all the
Generals attend it to the mountain. The Chaplain, Mr. Brudenell,
performed the funeral service, rendered unusually solemn and awful from
its being accompanied by constant peals of the enemy's artillery. Many
cannon-balls flew close by me, but I had my eyes directed toward the
mountain, where my husband was standing, amidst the fire of the enemy;
and, of course, I could not think of my own danger.
"General Gates afterward said, that, if he had known it had been a
funeral, he would not have permitted it to be fired on.
"As soon as the funeral service was finished, and the grave of General
Frazer closed, an order was issued that the army should retreat. My
calash was prepared, but I would not consent to go before the troops.
Major Harnage, though suffering from his wounds, crept from his bed, as
he did not wish to remain in the hospital, which was left with a flag of
truce. When General Reidesel saw me in the midst of danger, he ordered
my women and children to be brought into the calash, and intimated to me
to depart without delay. I still prayed to remain, but my husband,
knowing my weak side, said, 'Well, then, your children must go, that at
least they may be safe from danger.' I _then_ agreed to enter the calash
with them, and we set off at eight o'clock.
"The retreat was ordered to be conducted with the greatest silence, many
fires were lighted, and several tents left standing; we traveled
continually through the night. At six o'clock in the morning we halted,
which excited the surprise of all; this delay seemed to displease
everybody, for if we could only have made another good march we should
have been in safety. My husband, quite exhausted with fatigue, came into
my calash, and slept for three hours. During that time, Captain Willoe
brought me a bag full of bank notes, and Captain Grismar his elegant
gold watch, a ring, and a purse full of money, which they requested me
to take care of, and which I promised to do, to the utmost of my power.
We again marched, but had scarcely proceeded an hour, before we halted,
as the enemy was in sight; it proved to be only a reconnoitering party
of two hundred men, who might easily have been made prisoners, if
General Burgoyne had given proper orders for the occasion.
"The Indians had now lost their courage, and were departing for their
homes; these people appeared to droop much under adversity, and
especially when they had no prospect of plunder. One of my waiting-women
was in a state of despair, which approached to madness; she cursed and
tore her hair, and when I attempted to reason with her, and to pacify
her, she asked me if I was not grieved at our situation, and on my
saying I was, she tore her hat off her head and let her hair fall over
her face, saying to me, 'It is very easy for you to be composed and
talk; you have your husband with you; I have none, and what remains to
me but the prospect of perishing or losing all I have?' I again bade her
take comfort, and assured her I would make good whatever she might
happen to lose; and I made the same promise to Ellen, my other
waiting-woman, who, though filled with apprehension, made no complaints.
"About evening we arrived at Saratoga; my dress was wet through and
through with rain, and in this state I had to remain the whole night,
having no place to change it; I however got close to a large fire, and
at last lay down on some straw. At this moment General Phillips came up
to me, and I asked him why he had not continued our retreat, as my
husband had promised to cover it, and bring the army through? 'Poor,
dear woman,' said he, 'I wonder how, drenched as you are, you have the
courage still to persevere, and venture further in this kind of weather;
I wish,' continued he, 'you was our commanding General; General Burgoyne
is tired, and means to halt here to-night and give us our supper.'
"On the morning of the 17th, at ten o'clock, General Burgoyne ordered
the retreat to be continued, and caused the handsome houses and mills of
General Schuyler to be burnt; we marched, however, but a short distance,
and then halted. The greatest misery at this time prevailed in the army,
and more than thirty officers came to me, for whom tea and coffee was
prepared, and with whom I shared all my provisions, with which my calash
was in general well supplied, for I had a cook who was an excellent
caterer, and who often in the night crossed small rivers, and foraged on
the inhabitants, bringing in with him sheep, small pigs, and poultry,
for which he very often forgot to pay, though he received good pay from
me so long as I had any, and was ultimately handsomely rewarded. Our
provisions now failed us, for want of proper conduct in the commissary's
department, and I began to despair.
"About two o'clock in the afternoon, we again heard a firing of cannon
and small-arms; instantly all was alarm, and every thing in motion. My
husband told me to go to a house not far off. I immediately seated
myself in my calash, with my children, and drove off; but scarcely had
we reached it before I discovered five or six armed men on the other
side of the Hudson. Instinctively I threw my children down in the
calash, and then concealed myself with them. At this moment the fellows
fired, and wounded an already wounded English soldier, who was behind
me. Poor fellow! I pitied him exceedingly, but at this moment had no
means or power to relieve him.
"A terrible cannonade was commenced by the enemy, against the house in
which I sought to obtain shelter for myself and children, under the
mistaken idea that all the Generals were in it. Alas! it contained none
but wounded and women. We were at last obliged to resort to the cellar
for refuge, and in one corner of this I remained the whole day, my
children sleeping on the earth with their heads in my lap; and in the
same situation I passed a sleepless night. Eleven cannon-balls passed
through the house, and we could distinctly hear them roll away. One poor
soldier who was lying on a table, for the purpose of having his leg
amputated, was struck by a shot, which carried away his other; his
comrades had left him, and when we went to his assistance, we found him
in the corner of a room, into which he had crept, more dead than alive,
scarcely breathing. My reflections on the danger to which my husband was
exposed now agonized me exceedingly, and thoughts of my children, and
the necessity of struggling for their preservation, alone sustained me.
"The ladies of the army who were with me, were Mrs. Harnage, a Mrs.
Kennels, the widow of a Lieutenant who was killed, and the lady of the
commissary. Major Harnage, his wife, and Mrs. Kennels, made a little
room in a corner with curtains to it, and wished to do the same for me,
but I preferred being near the door, in case of fire. Not far off my
women slept, and opposite to us three English officers, who, though
wounded, were determined not to be left behind; one of them was Captain
Green, an aid-de-camp to Major-General Phillips, a very valuable officer
and most agreeable man. They each made me a most sacred promise not to
leave me behind, and, in case of sudden retreat, that they would each of
them take one of my children on his horse; and for myself, one of my
husband's was in constant readiness.
"Our cook, whom I have before mentioned, procured us our meals, but we
were in want of water, and I was often obliged to drink wine, and to
give it to my children. It was the only thing my husband took, which
made our faithful hunter, Rockel, express one day his apprehensions,
that 'the General was weary of his life, or fearful of being taken, as
he drank so much wine.' The constant danger which my husband was in,
kept me in a state of wretchedness; and I asked myself if it was
possible I should be the only happy one, and have my husband spared to
me unhurt, exposed as he was to so many perils. He never entered his
tent, but lay down whole nights by the watch-fires; this alone was
enough to have killed him, the cold was so intense.
"The want of water distressed us much; at length we found a soldier's
wife, who had courage enough to fetch us some from the river, an office
nobody else would undertake, as the Americans shot at every person who
approached it; but out of respect for her sex, they never molested
_her_.
"I now occupied myself through the day in attending to the wounded; I
made them tea and coffee, and often shared my dinner with them, for
which they offered me a thousand expressions of gratitude. One day a
Canadian officer came to our cellar, who had scarcely the power to hold
himself upright, and we concluded he was dying for want of nourishment;
I was happy in offering him my dinner, which strengthened him, and
procured me his friendship. I now undertook the care of Major
Bloomfield, another aid-de-camp of General Phillips; he had received a
musket-ball through both cheeks, which in its course had knocked out
several of his teeth, and cut his tongue; he could hold nothing in his
mouth, the matter which ran from his wound almost choked him, and he was
not able to take any nourishment except a little soup, and something
liquid. We had some Rhenish wine, and in the hope that the acidity of it
would cleanse his wound, I gave him a bottle of it. He took a little now
and then, and with such effect that his cure soon followed: thus I added
another to my stock of friends, and derived a satisfaction which, in the
midst of suffering, served to tranquilize me.
"One day, General Phillips accompanied my husband, at the risk of their
lives, on a visit to us. The General, after having witnessed our
situation, said to him, 'I would not for ten thousand guineas come again
to this place, my heart is almost broken.'
"In this horrid situation we remained six days; a cessation of
hostilities was now spoken of, and eventually took place. A convention
was afterward agreed on; but one day a message was sent to my husband
who had visited me, and was reposing in my bed, to attend a council of
war, where it was proposed to break the convention; but, to my great
joy, the majority were for adhering to it. On the sixteenth, however, my
husband had to repair to his post, and I to my cellar. This day fresh
beef was served out to the officers, who till now had only had salt
provisions, which was very bad for their wounds. The good woman who
brought us water made us an excellent soup of the meat, but I had lost
my appetite, and took nothing but crusts of bread dipped in wine. The
wounded officers, my unfortunate companions, cut off the best bit, and
presented it to me on a plate. I declined eating any thing, but they
contended that it was necessary for me to take nourishment, and declared
they would not touch a morsel till I afforded them the pleasure of
seeing me partake. I could no longer withstand their pressing
invitations, accompanied as they were by assurances of the happiness
they had in offering me the first good thing they had in their power,
and I partook of a repast rendered palatable by the kindness and
good-will of my fellow-sufferers, forgetting for a moment the misery of
our apartment, and the absence of almost every comfort.
"On the 17th of October, the convention was completed. General Burgoyne
and the other Generals waited on the American General Gates; the troops
laid down their arms, and gave themselves up prisoners of war! And now
the good woman who had supplied us with water at the hazard of her life
received the reward of her services; each of us threw a handful of money
into her apron, and she got altogether about twenty guineas. At such a
moment as this how susceptible is the heart of feelings of gratitude!
"My husband sent a message to me, to come over to him with my two
children. I seated myself once more in my dear calash, and then rode
through the American camp. As I passed on, I observed, and this was a
great consolation to me, that no one eyed me with looks of resentment,
but that they all greeted us, and even showed compassion in their
countenances at the sight of a woman with small children. I was, I
confess, afraid to go over to the enemy, as it was quite a new situation
to me. When I drew near the tents, a handsome man approached and met me,
_took my children from the calash, and hugged and kissed them, which
almost affected me to tears_. 'You tremble,' said he, addressing himself
to me; 'be not afraid.' 'No,' I answered, 'you seem so kind and tender
to my children, it inspires me with courage.' He now led me to the tent
of General Gates, where I found Generals Burgoyne and Phillips, who were
on a friendly footing with the former. Burgoyne said to me, 'Never mind;
your sorrows have an end.' I answered him, 'that I should be
reprehensible to have any cares, as he had none; and I was pleased to
see him on such friendly footing with General Gates.' All the Generals
remained to dine with General Gates.
"The same gentleman who received me so kindly, now came and said to me,
'You will be very much embarrassed to eat with all these gentlemen;
_come with your children to my tent, where I will prepare for you a
frugal dinner, and give it with a free will_.' I said, '_You are
certainly a husband and a father, you have showed me so much kindness._'
I now found that he was GENERAL SCHUYLER. He treated me with excellent
smoked tongue, beefsteak, potatoes, and good bread and butter! Never
could I have wished to eat a better dinner; I was content; I saw all
around me were so likewise; and what was better than all, my husband was
out of danger.
"When we had dined, he told me his residence was at Albany, and that
General Burgoyne intended to honor him as his guest, and invited myself
and children to do so likewise. I asked my husband how I should act; he
told me to accept the invitation. As it was two days' journey there, he
advised me to go to a place which was about three hours' ride distant.
General Schuyler had the politeness to send with me a French officer, a
very agreeable man, who commanded the reconnoitering party of which I
have before spoken; and when he had escorted me to the house where I was
to remain, he turned back again.
"Some days after this we arrived at Albany, where we so often wished
ourselves; but we did not enter it as we expected we should—victors! We
were received by the good General Schuyler, his wife and daughters, not
as enemies, but as kind friends; and they treated us with the most
marked attention and politeness, as they did General Burgoyne, who had
caused General Schuyler's beautifully finished house to be burnt. In
fact, they behaved like persons of exalted minds, who determined to bury
all recollections of their own injuries in the contemplation of our
misfortunes. General Burgoyne was struck with General Schuyler's
generosity, and said to him, 'You show me great kindness, though I have
done you much injury.' 'That was the fate of war,' replied the brave
man, 'let us say no more about it.'"
This presents a picture of those trying times upon which it is both
pleasurable and painful to dwell. It outlines General Schuyler as a
noble nature, which is true to history. He was a brave among the
brave—chivalrous as the Cid, gentle as a woman, wise as Solomon. Next to
Greene, he is regarded by those most conversant with the men of the
Revolution, as the column which most sustained Washington in his
gigantic labors; while, as one of those who, after our independence was
won, contributed most toward the reorganization of government and
society. It is agreeable to contemplate such a character, for it
heightens the worship which this generation feels for those who won the
priceless boon of a nation's freedom!
[Illustration:
The Little Sentinel.—_Page_ 7
]