Lernoult’s fort would have been a strong one, with thick, high walls, but for the fact that it had been neglected and now was so seriously undermanned. While the great fire had destroyed much of the town, another fire a few weeks ago had destroyed or damaged the barracks and commandant’s quarters inside the fort, which was why De Peyster was sleeping in a tent. This time there was no question as to who started the fire. It had been a drunken soldier and not a spy. The soldier was rotting in jail and would doubtless be either hanged or flogged so severely that he would die of his injuries.
Bored, De Peyster got up, left his tent, and walked towards the riverfront. A handful of good-sized bateaux had arrived with a large number of men who said they were Loyalists and on their way to reinforce Burgoyne. De Peyster thought it more likely that they were thieves and bandits who would prey on innocent people, so he ordered them kept on their boats and had a guard posted.
The bateaux were lined up on the riverbank, much like Burgoyne’s sailing barges had been. De Peyster blinked. The bateaux appeared empty. Where were the crews? “Damn it,” he muttered angrily. Obviously, they’d gotten away and were off in the town drinking. He turned and strode towards the fort. He would roust the handful of men on guard duty and send them and anyone else he could find to locate the missing Loyalists, if indeed that’s what they were.
“Major?”
He turned towards the sound. A group of men quickly surrounded him and took his small sword and pistol before he could even blink.
“What the devil is this?” De Peyster snarled as he regained his poise.
He gasped as he felt the cold metal touch of a knife against his throat.
“Now please be a good little British officer and nothing will happen to you or your men. If you understand, please nod.” De Peyster nodded emphatically and the pressure was lessened. He also thought that the man spoke with a southern drawl.
He became aware of scores of men moving quickly and silently past him and into Fort Lernault. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“Major, my name is Colonel Isaac Shelby and I’ve come a hell of a long ways to help out the people in Liberty and bring ruin to your General Burgoyne. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve just seized Detroit in the name of the independent colonies, and another force from the south has likely done just the same thing to Fort Pitt.”
De Peyster sighed. He was a realist. The fort, the city, and what remained of his career were all gone. The fort and the city might be regained, but his career? Never.
“Colonel Shelby, I hereby give you my word that my men and I will not attempt to escape. Will you treat my men kindly and allow my officers their parole?”
Shelby smiled in relief. He’d been terrified that he and his men would have to storm the fort. Even undermanned, the defenders would have exacted a terrible price. “Agreed,” he said.
De Peyster smiled wanly. It was time to make the best of an atrocious situation. “Excellent. Now kindly let me buy you a drink.”
Chapter 19
Burgoyne gathered his senior officers in his tent. Tarleton, Grant, and Arnold were in attendance, along with several other brigadiers. Girty and Brant were there as well, and Fitzroy thought it amusing that the regular British officers didn’t want to get too close to the disreputable pair. As usual, he stood behind his cousin and commanding general and waited for events to transpire.
Burgoyne cleared his throat and began. “Gentlemen, after reviewing the situation and after watching the defeat of Tarleton’s attack, I had come to the reluctant conclusion that a frontal assault on the rebel works would require that we pay a dreadful cost.”
When Tarleton started to protest, he was waved to silence. “I felt that such a frontal assault would ultimately prevail, but that our effectiveness to aid Cornwallis in New York, or Amherst’s efforts in Europe, would be significantly diminished. It would be a battle not unlike Bunker Hill and after it our army might not exist as an effective force.
“Therefore, I had determined to march to our left and find a way around that bloody swamp and away from their fortifications; thus forcing the rebels to meet us on an open field, however long that might have taken. Sadly, that will not occur. We no longer have the luxury of time, if, indeed, we ever had that luxury in the first instance.”
Burgoyne took up a few sheets of paper. “Last evening, I received this from Cornwallis.”
“Another epistle?” Tarleton jibed. “Or would Papal Bull be the more proper term?”
Burgoyne joined in the wry laughter before continuing. “Indeed, bull is quite the appropriate term. And this is the twenty-third letter to the heathen, who are us, and I am ungodly sick of them. However, this is by far the worst of them and will greatly impact on what we do here.”
That silenced the laughter and he continued. “This first sheet is a letter from Cornwallis with fresh orders for us, and the other is a summary from Lord North as to what is transpiring in France. According to North, the situation in France has gone from mildly hopeful to catastrophically bad. Thinking that the situation had calmed down enough for them to return, their foolish majesties, Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette, departed for France where their welcome was lukewarm at best. However, they forgot that their new role called for them to become limited monarchs, and, with monumental stupidity, had some local leaders summarily hanged for their part in the rebellion. The result was that the mobs arose again. Louis and Marie were captured trying to flee back to the coast. He was literally torn to pieces while she was thrown down a well where she drowned or suffocated under large quantities of excrement that were dumped on top of her as she struggled.”
“The animals! Barbarians!” exclaimed Grant, and the others joined in shouts of anger. “Regicide,” Tarleton added, somehow forgetting that Englishmen had killed Charles I a century and a half before. Only Arnold was silent.
Burgoyne continued. “As a result of the brutal murders and fresh uprisings, the situation is even more dire than it was before. Hundreds of moderates like Lafayette have again fled to England leaving the mob in control of France, where it is busy butchering what remains of the aristocracy along with anyone who ever even helped the nobles. The revolutionaries have raised an army of several hundred thousand peasants and, while untrained and poorly equipped, are so great in numbers that they could overwhelm a smaller army of British regulars should they meet in the field.”
Burgoyne handed the letters to Grant who began to read them for himself as Burgoyne went on. “Simply put, Lord North and Cornwallis want their army back, and as immediately as possible. I was required to sign a receipt upon receiving the message from Cornwallis, which also informed me that I had but a week after signing said document to finish things here. If the rebels have not been subdued by that time, we are to return to New York as quickly as possible. Even though that could take some months, and would leave the damned rebels in charge of this land and their own destiny, it would have to be done.”
Voices rose in protest and Burgoyne silenced them with a wave. “And yes, gentlemen, I understand fully that the information received by Cornwallis and now by us is many months old, and any request for urgency could have been overtaken by new facts we are not privy to, but our orders stand. We will move much more quickly on the rebel works than I had wished even though it will result in higher casualties than I had desired. I can only hope that we will not destroy the army Lord North wants returned to his bosom.
“Therefore, we will not march around their flanks in search of a weak point to force them out of their works. We will indeed attack frontally, but only after we have prepared the field to limit their advantages. I have spoken of this to General Grant whose force will lead the assault, which will consist of the bulk of our army attacking as a great phalanx across a narrow front. The phalanx will consist of a number of columns, each column ten men across, approximately as we did at Bunker Hill. They will use only the bayonet since the men behind can’t fire without hitting those in front. We will rush them and overwhelm them with cold steel, the most frightening weapon we have. Then the columns will spread out and destroy the remnants of the rebel army. We will have three days to remove those thickets and fill in such ditches as we can. Then we will attack and smash our way through them, and we will prevail come what may.”