THE BLACK WATCH AT TICONDEROGA
(1758)
There fell a war in a woody place,
Lay far across the sea,
A war of the march in the mirk midnight
And the shot from behind the tree,
The shaven head and the painted face,
The silent foot in the wood,
In a land of a strange, outlandish tongue
That was hard to be understood.
R. L. STEVENSON.
The rivalry between our nation and the French died down upon the
Continent, but burst into flame in North America, and it is to that wild
and unknown country—for so it was in the year 1756—that we must follow
the Black Watch.
The Expeditionary Force was under the command of a singularly
incompetent General named Sir James Abercrombie, and landed at New York
after many weary weeks’ journey. The appearance of the Highlanders
created a tremendous sensation, particularly amongst the Red Indians,
who displayed the keenest interest in their dress, and were ready to
accept them as brothers-in-arms. It must also be recalled that many
Highlanders had emigrated during the years succeeding 1745, so one can
take it for granted that the Black Watch were warmly received by their
kinsfolk in the New World.
The French forces were commanded by the gallant Marquis de Montcalm, who
in 1756, acting with his usual promptitude, had captured Fort Ontario, a
success clouded over by the ill-treatment of the British soldiers by the
Red Indians. In 1757 the only incident worthy of note was the fall of
Fort William Henry.
So far our enemies had succeeded, and the Government, irritated by this
unsatisfactory state of affairs, fitted out a further naval and military
force of some fifteen thousand men.
The British force in America was divided into three expeditions. We
shall deal briefly with each in turn. But for fear that hard facts may
obscure the romantic setting, it will be just as well to sketch the
features of the country in which these undertakings played their part.
It had all the wonder of a virgin land. It was there that—
Soldiers and priests in the grim bivouac—
A handful dreaming in the wilderness—
In fancy reached Quebec and Tadousac
And told of great exploits, of long duresse,
Of Fort St. Louis’ graves, of sore distress,
Of France’s venture in the southern land.[3]
Vast lakes and rivers, mountains and cañons, not unlike to the glens the
Highlanders had left in Scotland, confronted them. In the deep stillness
of the woods wild animals slipped into the darkness, and savages were a
sleepless menace. In the dead of a summer night the long-drawn cry of an
Indian brave would chill the blood of some straggling soldier, or from
the thicket would fly the arrows of death. It was a country where one
force could not hope to keep in touch with another nor guard its lines
of communication: an army was swallowed up in a wilderness of forests
and rivers. In such circumstances each man carried his life and the
lives of his comrades in his hands, for defeat meant annihilation or
capture, and it would be better to fall into the hands of the French
than to be tracked down by their ruthless allies the Indians. “Here were
no English woodlands, no stretches of pale green turf, no vistas opening
beneath flattened boughs, with blue distant hills, and perhaps a group
of antlers topping the bracken. The wild life of these forests crawled
among thickets or lurked in sinister shadows. No bird poured out its
heart in them; no lark soared out of them, breasting heaven. At rare
intervals a note fell on the ear—the scream of hawk or eagle, the bitter
cackling laugh of blue jay or woodpecker, the loon’s ghostly
cry—solitary notes, and unhappy, as though wrung by pain out of the
choking silence; or away on the hillside a grouse began drumming, or a
duck went whirring down the long waterway until the sound sank and was
overtaken by the river’s slow murmur.
“When night had hushed down these noises, the forest would be silent for
an hour or two, and then awake more horribly with the howling of
wolves.”[4]
We now come to one of those episodes of reckless bravery that have
immortalised the Highland regiments—an engagement that was to ring
throughout England, bringing a new renown to the Black Watch. It is
associated with a place bearing the strange and musical name of
Ticonderoga—‘the meeting of the waters.’ Many years before our story the
famous Frenchman Champlain had nearly suffered defeat in that dreaded
country of the Iroquois. Many years had passed since then, and now
Ticonderoga was held by the French. How difficult a place it was to
storm will be gathered from the following description:
“Fort Ticonderoga stands on a tongue of land between Lake Champlain and
Lake George, and is surrounded on three sides by water; part of the
fourth side is protected by a morass, the remaining part was strongly
fortified with high entrenchments, supported and flanked by three
batteries, and the whole front of that part which was accessible was
intersected by deep traverses, and blocked up with felled trees, with
their branches turned outwards, forming together a most formidable
defence.”
It was rendered not less hazardous because Abercrombie did not take the
trouble to employ ordinary precautions. He could have stormed the place
with artillery, attacked it on the flank, or cut Montcalm’s line of
communications. He did none of these things. In other words, he trusted
to the bravery of his soldiers to achieve what was practically
impossible. Embarking his troops on Lake George, he made his way down
the still and placid lake, landing without opposition. The very silence
was ominous.
In the meantime Montcalm was straining every nerve to prepare for the
coming struggle. With him were a comparatively large force of French and
several hundred Canadians, while a further reinforcement was hourly
expected. On the report that the defences of Ticonderoga were still
unfinished, Abercrombie decided upon an instant attack. The English
attacking force, composed of the Grenadiers with the Highlanders in
reserve, advanced heroically to the assault, only to discover that the
entrenchments were far stronger than had been anticipated. Montcalm
waited until the English were within a close distance of the garrison
before giving the order to fire. The British were mown down in hundreds.
Again and again they charged, to fall in heaps at the foot of the
stockades. Even now Abercrombie would not give up the insane attack. So
far the Black Watch had taken no part, but the time soon came when they
could restrain their impatience no longer, and, gripping their
broadswords and Lochaber axes, they broke into a charge. Madly they
rushed at the stockade, only to find, like their comrades, that it was
practically unscalable. They were dauntless in their despair. By
scrambling upon each other’s shoulders a few managed to enter the
enclosure and were instantly killed by the French. After a forlorn
struggle, in which the Black Watch lost some 300 men killed with over
300 wounded, Abercrombie resolved to retire. He had attempted to take a
position impregnable without a bombardment. Well might the French
commander remark: “Had I to besiege Ticonderoga, I would ask for but six
mortars and two pieces of artillery.” Abercrombie had the artillery, but
did not trouble to bring it up.
“The affair at Fontenoy,” says Lieutenant Grant of the Black Watch, “was
nothing to it: I saw both. We laboured under insurmountable
difficulties. The enemy’s breastwork was about nine or ten feet high,
upon the top of which they had plenty of wall pieces fixed, and which
was well lined on the inside with small arms. But the difficult access
to their lines was what gave them a fatal advantage over us. They took
care to cut down monstrous large oak trees which covered all the ground
from the foot of their breastwork about the distance of a cannon-shot
every way in their front. This not only broke our ranks, and made it
impossible for us to keep our order, but put it entirely out of our
power to advance till we cut our way through. I have seen men behave
with courage and resolution before now, but so much determined bravery
can hardly be equalled in any part of the history of ancient Rome. Even
those that were mortally wounded cried aloud to their companions not to
mind or lose a thought upon them, but to follow their officers, and to
mind the honour of their country. Nay, their ardour was such, that it
was difficult to bring them off. They paid dearly for their intrepidity.
The remains of the regiment had the honour to cover the retreat of the
army, and brought off the wounded as we did at Fontenoy. When shall we
have so fine a regiment again?”
[Illustration: THE BLACK WATCH AT TICONDEROGA]
On Independence Day 1906, in the Carnegie Public Library at Ticonderoga,
a tablet was unveiled commemorating the gallantry and the severe
casualties of the Black Watch in July 1758, a calamity comparable to
that of Magersfontein in 1899.
Here, as throughout our story, was displayed a reckless bravery under
trying conditions, an uncomplaining heroism under fire, a simple pride
in the honour of the regiment.
“With a mixture of esteem, and grief, and envy,” says an officer, “I
consider the great loss and immortal glory acquired by the Scots
Highlanders in the late bloody affair. Impatient for orders they rushed
forward to the entrenchments, which many of them actually mounted. They
appeared like lions breaking from their chains. Their intrepidity was
rather animated than damped by seeing their comrades fall on every
side.”
It was following this gallant exploit the news came that for past
valuable services the regiment was to be called ‘the Royal Highland
Regiment of Foot.’ After Ticonderoga it was doubly worthy of such
recognition.
The second expedition—that against Louisburg, in which Fraser’s
Highlanders served—sailed from Halifax on May 28, 1758, and after a
stormy passage effected a landing under General Wolfe.
The town surrendered after a considerable bombardment, great gallantry
being shown by the Highlanders engaged.
The third expedition, against Fort Duquesne, was under the command of
Brigadier-General John Forbes. The British force, amongst whom were
Montgomery’s Highlanders, were confronted by almost impenetrable
country, but that did not prove so great a danger as the foolhardiness
that led the commander to belittle the strength of the enemy. It was
rumoured that the French garrison was limited to 800 men, largely
composed of Indians. A party of Highlanders, under Major James Grant,
and a company of Virginians marched cheerfully ahead to reconnoitre. The
honest strains of the bagpipes warned the enemy for miles around that
the Highlanders were approaching. Instant preparation being made for
their arrival, they walked into an ambuscade. A fierce fire from the
dense undergrowth raked their closed ranks unmercifully. Major Grant,
who appears to have taken no precautions whatever, was captured, while
the ranks of the Highlanders were decimated. A retreat, humiliating
though it was, was the only course, and this reverse so disheartening
that the British commander determined to abandon any further advance. It
fell to George Washington, at this time a young man of twenty-six,
accompanied by Provincials, and a detachment of Highlanders, to retrieve
the failure of the former expedition. His march was a notable one. It
was in dead of winter, and the hills were white with snow. Defeat, as
always in that country, spelt ruin and death, but the little force
pressed onwards, determined to succeed, and to regain the prestige of
the British arms. Nearer and nearer they came to the enemy. Suddenly,
one evening, a sullen glow of firelight shot up into the sky. The
disheartened garrison had set fire to Fort Duquesne, and taken flight
upon the Ohio. This was hardly a satisfactory conclusion for the British
force, already short of provisions, but amidst the smouldering ashes
Washington planted the flag of England, naming the place Pittsburg,
after the Prime Minister.
The time had at last dawned for a decisive movement. Abercrombie had
been succeeded by General Amherst, who planned a second assault upon
Ticonderoga. To General Wolfe was allotted the almost impossible task of
storming Quebec. General Prideaux was to advance against the French
position near the Falls of Niagara.
General Amherst, with whom were the Black Watch, secured an easy triumph
in taking possession of Ticonderoga, already deserted by the French, and
thus obtained a naval security upon the lakes.
The expedition of General Wolfe deserves a separate chapter.
Footnote 3:
W. T. Allison.
Footnote 4:
_Fort Amity_, Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch.