  [Reference from Page 274.] Extracts from Mad. de Riedesel's account of her Residence in America. When the army broke up, on the 11th of September, 1777, I was at first told that I must remain behind; but on my repeated entreaties, and as other ladies had been permitted to follow the army, the same indulgence was extended to me. We advanced by short journeys, and went through many toils; yet I would have purchased at any price the privilege thus granted to me of seeing daily my husband. I had sent back my baggage, and only kept a small bundle of summer dresses. In the beginning, all went well; we thought that there was little doubt of our being successful, and of reaching "the promised land;" and when, on the passage across the Hudson, general Burgoyne exclaimed, "Britons never retrograde," our spirits rose mightily. I observed, however, with surprise, that the wives of the officers were beforehand informed of all the military plans; and I was so much the more struck with it, as I remembered with how much secrecy all dispositions were made in the armies of Duke Ferdinand during the seven-years' war. [FN] Thus the Americans anticipated our movements, and expected us wherever we arrived; and this of course injured our affairs. On the 19th of September, an action took place, which ended to our advantage; but we were, in consequence, obliged to halt at a place called Freeman's Farm. I witnessed the whole action, and knowing that my husband was among the combatants, I was full of anxiety and care, and trembled at every shot—and nothing escaped my ear. I saw a great number of wounded, and, what was still worse, three of them were brought into the house where I was. One of them was a Major Harnage, whose wife was with us; the second, a lieutenant, whose wife was of our acquaintance; and the third, a young English officer called Young. The Major occupied, with his wife, a room close by to that where I was. He had received a shot through his body, and suffered exquisite pains. A few days after our arrival, I heard groans in another room, and was told that the young officer, whom I have just mentioned, was lying there, and that his recovery was very doubtful. I took much interest in him, as a family of his name had shown me great kindness during my stay in England. He expressed a great desire to see his benefactress, for so he called me. I went into his room, and found him on a thin bed of straw, for he had lost his whole baggage. He was eighteen or nineteen years old, an only son, and the nephew of the same Mr. Young I had known in England. He lamented for his parents' sake, but said nothing of his sufferings. He had lost much blood, and the surgeon advised him to submit to the amputation of his wounded leg; but he would not consent to it, though the limb had become gangrenous. I sent him pillows and blankets, and my maids gave him their mattress. I took more and more care of him, and visited him daily; for which he thanked me a thousand times. At last the amputation took place; but it was too late, and he died a few days afterwards. My room being close to his, and the walls very thin, I heard his last moans. [FN] Lieutenant Auburey made a similar remark when the army was yet in Canada: "We have more dangerous enemies at home than any we have to encounter abroad; for all the transactions that are to take place, are publicly known long before they are officially given out in orders; and I make no doubt but you will be as much surprised as the General (Burgoyne) was, when I tell you that the whole operations of the ensuing campaign were canvassed for several days before he arrived, who, no doubt, supposed, that in giving out his orders, he was communicating an entire secret."—[Montreal, May 20th, 1777. Vol. i, p. 203.] Great secrecy, observes the same writer, was, on the contrary, observed in the American army. I occupied a tolerably good house, and had a large room. The door and the wainscot were of cedar, a sort of wood which is found in abundance here; insects are driven away by the smell of it when it is burned, and it is often used for that purpose; but some people believe that the smoke of it is injurious to the nerves, and principally to females in certain situations. For our farther march, I had caused a calash to be made for me, in which I could take, not only my children, but also my two female attendants; and thus I followed the army in the midst of the troops, who were in great spirits, and sang and longed for victory. We marched through endless forests, and a beautiful district, though deserted by the inhabitants, who ran away at our approach to reinforce General Gates's army. They are naturally soldiers and excellent marksmen, and the idea of fighting for their country and their liberty increased their innate courage. My husband was encamped with the rest of the army; being myself an hour's ride behind the army, I went every morning to pay him a visit in the camp, and sometimes I dined there with him, but generally he took his dinner in my quarters. There were daily skirmishes with the enemy, generally of little importance. But my husband could never sleep without his clothes. The weather having already grown rougher, Colonel Williams of the artillery thought our mutual visits were rather too fatiguing for us, and proposed to have a house built for me with a chimney, which should not cost more than five or six guineas, and which I could uninterruptedly inhabit. I accepted of his offer; and the building, which was to be about twenty feet square, was begun. Such a dwelling is called a block-house, for which logs nearly of equal diameter are put together; and if the interstices are filled up with clay, it is not only very solid, but very warm. I was to take possession of it on the next day; and I rejoiced in it the more, as the nights were damp and cold, and it being close to the camp, my husband would be able to be with me. But all at once, on the 7th of October, he marched away with the whole staff, and then our misfortunes began. While breakfasting with my husband, I heard that something was under contemplation. General Fraser, and, I believe, Generals Burgoyne and Phillips, were to dine with me on that day. I remarked much movement in the camp. My husband told me that it was a mere reconnaissance; and as this was frequent, I was not much alarmed at it. On my way homeward I met a number of Indians, armed with guns, and clad in their war dresses. Having asked them where they were going, they replied, "War, war;" by which they meant that they were about to fight. This made me very uneasy, and I had scarcely got home before I heard reports of guns; and soon the fire became brisker, till at last the noise grew dreadful, upon which I was more dead than alive. About 3 o'clock in the afternoon, instead of guests whom I had expected to dine with me, I saw one of them, poor General Fraser, brought upon a hand-barrow, mortally wounded. The table, 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 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?" His wound was exactly like that of Major Harnage; the ball had passed through his body, but, unhappily for the General, he had that morning eaten a full breakfast, by which the stomach was distended, and the ball, as the surgeon remarked, passed directly through it. I heard often, amidst his groans, such words as these, "O bad ambition! poor General Burgoyne! poor Mistress Fraser." Prayers were read, after which he desired that General Burgoyne should be requested to have him buried the next day, at six o'clock in the evening, on a hill where a breast-work had been constructed. I knew not what to do; the entrance and all the rooms were full of sick, in consequence of the dysentery which prevailed in the camp. At length, toward evening, my husband came; and from that moment my affliction was much soothed, and I breathed thanks to God. He dined with me and the aids-de-camp in great haste, in an open space in the rear of the house. We poor females had been told that our troops had been victorious; but I well saw, by the melancholy countenance of my husband, that it was quite the contrary. On going away, he took me aside to tell me every thing went badly, and that I should prepare myself to depart, but without saying any thing to any body. Under the pretense of removing the next day to my new lodgings, I ordered the baggage to be packed up. Lady Ackland's tent was near ours. She slept there, and spent the day in the camp. On a sudden she received news that her husband was mortally wounded and taken prisoner. She was much distressed; we endeavored to persuade her that the wound was not so dangerous, but advised her to ask permission to join her husband, to take care of him in his sickness. She was much attached to him, though he was rude and intemperate; yet he was a good officer. She was a lovely woman. I divided the night between her whom I wished to comfort, and my children who were asleep, but who, I feared, might disturb the poor dying General. He sent me several messages to beg my pardon for the trouble he thought he gave me. About 3 o'clock I was informed that he could not live much longer, and as I did not wish to be present at his last struggle, I wrapped my children in blankets, and retired into the entrance hall. At 8 o'clock in the morning he expired. Orders had already been issued that the army should break up immediately after the funeral, and our calashes were ready. I was unwilling to depart sooner. Major Harnage, though hardly able to walk a step, left his bed, that he might not remain in the hospital, upon which a flag of truce had been erected. When he saw me thus in the midst of danger, he drove my children and female attendants into the vehicle, and told me that I had not a moment to lose. I begged to be permitted to remain a little longer. "Do what you please," replied he; "but your children I must at least save." This touched my most tender feelings; I sprang into the carriage, and at 8 o'clock we departed. Profound silence had been recommended to us; large fires were lighted, and many tents were left untouched, to conceal our movement from the enemy. We proceeded on our way the whole night. Frederica was afraid, and began to cry; I was obliged to press a handkerchief to her mouth. We were halted at six o'clock in the morning, to our general amazement. General Burgoyne ordered the artillery to be drawn up in a line; and to have it counted. This gave much dissatisfaction, as a few marches more would have ensured our safety. My husband was exhausted by fatigue, and took a seat in the calash, where my maids made room for him; and he slept for three hours upon my shoulder. In the mean time Captain Willoe brought me his pocket-book, containing bank notes, and Captain Geismar, a beautiful watch, a ring, and a well provided purse, requesting me to keep them, which I promised to do to the last. At length we recommenced our march; but scarcely an hour had elapsed before the army was again halted, because the enemy was in sight. They were but two hundred in number, who came to reconnoiter, and who might easily have been taken had not General Burgoyne lost all his presence of mind. The rain fell in torrents. Lady Ackland had caused her tent to be fixed up, I again suggested to her the propriety of rejoining her husband, to whom she might be of great service in his present situation. Yielding to my advice, she sent a message to General Burgoyne, through his aid-de-camp Lord Petersham, to beg his permission to leave the army. I told her that she need only insist upon it, and she would certainly succeed. The Rev. Mr. Brudenel accompanied her, and they went together in a boat, with a flag of truce, to the enemy. There is a well-known and fine engraving of that event. I afterward met with lady Ackland at Albany, when her husband was almost entirely recovered; and both thanked me for my advice. On the 9th, it rained terribly the whole day; nevertheless we kept ourselves ready to march. The savages had lost their courage, and they walked off in all directions. The least untoward event made them dispirited, especially when there was no opportunity for plunder. We reached Saratoga about dark, which was but half an hour's march from the place where we had spent the day. I was quite wet, and was obliged to remain in that condition for want of a place to change my apparel. I seated myself near the fire, and undressed the children, and we then laid ourselves upon some straw. I asked General Phillips, who came to see how I was, why we did not continue our retreat, my husband having pledged himself to cover the movement, and to bring off the army In safety. "My poor lady," said he, "you astonish me. Though quite wet, you have so much courage as to wish to go farther in this weather. What a pity it is that you are not our commanding general! He complains of fatigue, and has determined upon spending the night here, and giving us a supper." It is very true that General Burgoyne liked to make himself easy, and that he spent half his nights in singing and drinking, and diverting himself with the wife of a commissary, who was his mistress, and who was as fond of Champaign as himself. I refreshed myself at 7 o'clock the next morning, (the 10th of October,) with a cup of tea, and we all expected that we should soon continue our march. General Burgoyne had given orders to set fire to General Schuyler's fine buildings and mills at Saratoga, for the purpose of securing our retreat. An English officer brought me some good soup, and insisted that I should partake of it. After this, we continued our march; but only for a short time. There was much misery and disorder in the army. The commissaries had forgotten to distribute provisions, though we had an abundance of cattle. I saw more than thirty officers, who complained bitterly of hunger. I gave them coffee and tea, and every thing eatable that I had in my calash. Our calashes remained in readiness to depart. Every body advised a retreat, and my husband pledged himself to effect that movement, if no time was lost. But General Burgoyne, who had been promised an Order, if he should effect his junction with General Howe, could not be persuaded to it, and lost every thing by his dilatoriness. About 2 o'clock we heard again a report of muskets and cannon, and there was much alarm and bustle among our troops. My husband sent me word that I should immediately retire into a house which was not far off. I got into my calash with my children; and when we were near the house, I saw, on the opposite bank of the Hudson, five or six men, who aimed at us with their guns. Without knowing what I did, I threw my children into the back part of the vehicle, and laid myself upon them. At the same moment the fellows fired, and broke the arm of a poor English soldier, who stood behind us, and who, being already wounded, sought a shelter. Soon after our arrival a terrible cannonade began, and the fire was principally directed against the house, where we had hoped to find a refuge, probably because the enemy inferred, from the great number of people who went towards it, that this was the head-quarters of the Generals, while, in reality, none were there except women and crippled soldiers. We were at last obliged to descend into the cellar, where I laid myself in a corner near the door. My children put their heads upon my knees. An abominable smell, the cries of the children, and my own anguish of mind, did not permit me to close my eyes during the whole night. On the next morning the cannonade begun anew, but in a different direction. I advised my fellow-sufferers to withdraw, for a while, from the cellar, in order to give time to clean it, for we should otherwise injure our health. On an inspection of our retreat, I discovered that there were three cellars, spacious and well vaulted. I suggested that one of them should be appropriated to the use of the officers who were most severely wounded, the next to the females, and the third, which was nearest to the staircase, to all the rest of the company. We were just going down, when a new thunder of cannon threw us again into alarm. Many persons, who had no right to enter, threw themselves against the door. My children were already at the bottom of the staircase, and every one of us would probably have been crushed to death, had I not put myself before the entrance and resisted the intruders. Eleven cannon-balls passed through the house, and made a tremendous noise. A poor soldier, who was about to have a leg amputated, lost the other by one of these balls. All his comrades ran away at that moment, and when they returned, they found him in one corner of the room in the agonies of death. I was myself in the deepest distress, not so much on account of my own dangers, as of those to which my husband was exposed, who, however, frequently sent me messages, inquiring after my health. Major Harnage's wife, a Mrs. Reynell, the wife of the good lieutenant who had, on the preceding day, shared his soup with me, the wife of the commissary, and myself, were the only officers' wives at present with the army. We sat together, deploring our situation, when somebody having entered, all my companions exchanged looks of deep sorrow, whispering at the same time to one another. I immediately suspected that my husband had been killed. I shrieked aloud; but was immediately told that nothing had happened to my husband, and was given to understand, by a sidelong glance, that the Lieutenant had been killed. His wife was soon called out, and found that the Lieutenant was yet alive, though one of his arms had been shot off, near the shoulder, by a cannon-ball. We heard his groans and lamentations during the whole night, which were dreadfully re-echoed through the vaulted cellars; and in the morning he expired. My husband came to visit me during the night, which served to diminish my sadness and dejection in some degree. On the next morning we thought of making our cellar a more convenient residence. Major Harnage and his wife, and Mrs. Reynell, took possession of one corner, and transformed it into a kind of closet by means of a curtain. I was also to have a similar retreat; but I preferred to remain near the door, that I might escape more easily in case of fire. I had straw put under my mattresses, and on these I laid myself with my children; and my female servants slept near us. Opposite to us were three officers, who, though wounded, were determined not to remain behind if the army retreated. One of them was Captain Green, aid-de-camp to General Phillips, and a very amiable and worthy gentleman.. All three swore they would not depart without me in case of a sudden retreat, and that each of them would take one of my children on his horse. One of my husband's horses was constantly in readiness for myself. Mr. de Riedesel thought often of sending me to the American camp, to save me from danger; but I declared that nothing would be more painful to me than to live on good terms with those with whom he was fighting; upon which he consented that I should continue to follow the army. However, the apprehension that he might have marched away repeatedly intruded itself into my mind; and I crept up the staircase, more than once, to confirm or dispel my fears; and when I saw our soldiers near their watch-fires, I became more calm, and could even have slept. The want of water continuing to distress us, we could not but be extremely glad to find a soldier's wife so spirited as to fetch some from the river, an occupation from which the boldest might have shrunk, as the Americans shot every one who approached it. They told us afterwards that they spared her on account of her sex. I endeavored to dispel my melancholy, by continually attending to the wounded. I made them tea and coffee, for which I received their warmest acknowledgments. I often shared my dinner with them. One day a Canadian officer came creeping into our cellar, and was hardly able to say that he was dying with hunger. I felt happy to offer him my dinner, by eating which he recovered his health and I gained his friendship. On our return to Canada I became acquainted with his family. I also took care of Major Bloomfield, who was wounded by a musket-ball, which passed through both his cheeks, knocked out his teeth and injured his tongue. He could retain nothing in his mouth, and soup and liquids were his only nourishment. Fortunately we had some Rhenish wine, and in the hope that the acidity would contribute to heal his wound, I gave him a bottle, of which he took a little now and then, and with such effect that he was soon cured. I thus acquired a new friend, and enjoyed some happiness in the midst of cares and sufferings, which otherwise would have weighed heavily upon my spirits. On one of these mournful days, General Phillips, wishing to pay me a visit, accompanied my husband, who came once or twice daily, at the risk of his life; and seeing our situation, and observing the entreaties I made to my husband not to be left behind, in case the army should suddenly break up, and my reluctance to fall into the hands of the enemy, he plead my cause, and said, on retiring "I would not, for ten thousand guineas, see this place again. I am heart-broken with what I have seen." All our companions, however, did not deserve so much commiseration. We had some in our cellars who ought not to have been there, and who afterwards, when we were prisoners, were in perfect health, and walked about quite erect, and strutted as much as they could. We remained six days in this doleful retreat. At last a capitulation was talked of, in consequence of having lost, by useless delays, the opportunity of effecting our retreat. A cessation of hostilities took place, and my husband, who was quite exhausted by fatigue, could now, for the first time, sleep quietly in a little chamber, while I retired with my children and the maid-servants into the adjoining room. Towards one o'clock a person came and asked to speak with him. I was very reluctant to awaken him at that hour of the night; and I soon observed that the errand did not much please him, for he immediately sent the messenger back to the head-quarters, and laid himself down again, out of humor. Soon after this General Burgoyne sent for all the Generals and field-officers to attend a council of war early next morning, when he proposed to break the capitulation, in consequence of some groundless information he had received. It was, however, decided that this step was neither advisable nor practicable; and this determination was very fortunate for us, as the Americans told us after-wards, that, had we broken the treaty, we should all have been cut to pieces. This they could easily have done, as our army was reduced to four or five thousand men, while we had given them time to raise theirs to twenty thousand. On the morning of the 16th, however, my husband was obliged to repair to his post, and I to my cellar. On the 17th of October the capitulation was carried into effect. The Generals waited upon the American General Gates, and the troops surrendered themselves prisoners of war, and laid down their arms. The time had now come for the good woman, who had risked her life to supply us with water, to receive the reward of her services. Each of us threw a handful of money into her apron; and she thus received more than twenty guineas. At such a moment at least, if at no other, the heart easily overflows with gratitude. When I drew near the tents, a good-looking man advanced towards me, and helped the children from the calash, and 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 which you have evinced towards my children, are sufficient to dispel all apprehension." 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 so much pleasure as this. I was easy, after many months of anxiety; and I read the same happy change in those around me. That my husband was out of danger, was a still greater cause of joy. After our dinner, General Schuyler begged me to pay him a visit at his house near 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. As we were two days' journey from Albany, and it was now near five o'clock in the afternoon, he wished me to endeavor to reach, on that day, a place distant about three hours ride. General Schuyler carried his civilities so far as to solicit a well-bred French officer to accompany me on that first part of my journey. On the next day, we reached Albany, where we had so often wished ourselves; but we did not enter that city, as we hoped we should, with a victorious army. The reception, however, which we met with from General Schuyler, his wife and daughters, was not like the reception of enemies, but of the most intimate friends. They loaded us with kindness; and they behaved in the same manner towards General Burgoyne, though he had ordered their splendid establishment to be burnt, and without any necessity as it was said. But all their actions proved, that at the sight of the misfortunes of others they quickly forgot their own. General Burgoyne was so much affected by this generous deportment, that he said to General Schuyler, "You are too kind to me, who have done you so much injury." "Such is the fate of war," replied he; "let us not dwell on this subject." We remained three days with that excellent family, and they seemed to regret our departure.
The following account of a visit to the field of Saratoga, on the fiftieth Anniversary of that battle, viz: October 17, 1827, was written immediately afterward for the use of the author of the present work. The writer, the venerable Samuel Woodruff, Esq. of Windsor, (Conn.) it need not be added, was a participator in the battle:— Windsor, Conn. Oct. 31, 1827. My Dear Sir,— You may remember when I had the pleasure to dine with you at New-York, on the 14th inst. I had set out on a tour to Saratoga, to gratify a desire I felt, and which had long been increasing, to view the battle-grounds at that place, and the spot on which the royal army under the command of General Burgoyne surrendered to General Gates on the 17th of October, 1777. I thought it would add something to the interest of that view to me, to be there on the 17th, exactly half a century after that memorable event took place. You will excuse me for entering a little into the feelings of Uncle Toby respecting Dendermond, in the compressed and hastily written journal I kept of my tour, especially as you will take into consideration that I had the honor to serve as a volunteer under General Gates part of that campaign, and was in the battle of the 7th of October. I take the liberty to inclose to you an extract of that part of my journal which embraces the principal object of my tour. Oct. 17th.—After a short stop in Troy, took another stage for Saratoga;—at Lansingburgh, a neat and handsome village, about three miles from Troy, crossed the Hudson on a covered bridge of excellent workmanship, over to Waterford, (Old Half Moon Point,) another rich and flourishing village. Arrived at Fish creek in Saratoga at half past 2 P. M. through a beautiful, well-cultivated interval of alluvial land on the west side of the Hudson—every thing from Albany to this place wears the appearance of wealth and comfort. Put up at Mr. Barker's tavern. After dinner viewed the ruins of the British fortifications and head-quarters of Gen. Burgoyne. He kept his quarters for several days at a house, now standing and in good repair, about a mile north of Fish creek, on the west side of the road, owned by Mr. Busher, an intelligent farmer about seventy-five years of age. While Burgoyne held his head-quarters at this house, Baron Reidesel, of the royal army, obtained leave of the Commander-in-chief to place his lady the Baroness and their three small children under the same protection;—these were also accompanied by lady Ackland and some other ladies, wives of British officers. At that time some of the American troops were stationed on the east bank of the Hudson, opposite the house, in fair view of it, and within cannon-shot distance. Observing considerable moving of persons about the house, the Americans supposed it the rendezvous of the British officers, and commenced a brisk cannonade upon it. Several shot struck and shattered the house. The Baroness with her children fled into the cellar for safety, and placed herself and them at the north-east corner, where they were well protected by the cellar wall. A British surgeon by the name of Jones, having his leg broken by a cannon ball, was at this time brought in, and laid on the floor of the room which the Baroness and the other ladies had just left. A cannon ball entered the house near the north-east corner of the room, a few inches above the floor, and passing through, broke and mangled the other leg of the poor surgeon. Soon after this he expired. Mr. Busher very civilly conducted me into the room, cellar, and other parts of the house, pointing out the places where the balls entered, &c. From hence I proceeded to, and viewed with very great interest, the spot where Gen. Burgoyne, attended by his staff, presented his sword to Gen. Gates; also, the ground on which the arms, &c., of the royal army were stacked and piled. This memorable place is situated on the flat, north side of Fish creek, about forty rods west of its entrance into the Hudson, and through which the Champlain canal now passes. Contiguous to this spot is the N. W. angle of old Fort Hardy, a military work thrown up and occupied by the French, under Gen. Dieskau, in the year 1755. The lines of intrenchment embrace, as I should judge, about fifteen acres of ground. The outer works yet retain the appearance of a strong fortification, bounded south on the north side of Fish creek, and east on the west bank of the Hudson. Human bones, fragments of fire-arms, swords, balls, tools, implements, broken crockery, &c. &c., are frequently picked up on this ground. In excavating the earth for the Champlain canal, which passes a few rods west of this fort, such numbers of human skeletons were found as render it highly probable this was the cemetery of the French garrison. About twenty or thirty rods west of the aqueduct for the canal over Fish creek, stood Gen. Schuyler's mills, which were burned by order of Gen. Burgoyne. Gen. Schuyler's dwelling-house also, and his other buildings, standing on a beautiful area a little south-east of the mills on the south side of the creek, suffered the same fate. The mills have been rebuilt and are now in operation, at the same place where the former stood. The grandson of Gen. Schuyler now lives in a house erected on the site of the former dwelling of his father—a covered bridge across the creek adjoining the mills. I cannot, in this place, omit some short notices of Gen. P. Schuyler. It seems he was commander-in-chief of the northern army until the latter part of August, 1777, at which time he was superseded by Gen. Gates. I remember at that time there was some excitement in the public mind, and much dissatisfaction expressed on account of that measure; and with my limited means of knowledge, I have never been able to learn what good reason induced his removal. Few men in our country at that time ranked higher than Gen. Schuyler in all the essential qualities of the patriot, the gentleman, the soldier, and scholar. True to the cause of liberty, he made sacrifices which few were either able or willing to bear. The nobility of soul he possessed, distinguished him from ordinary men, and pointed him out as one deserving of public confidence. At the surrender of the royal army, he generously invited Gen. Burgoyne, his suite, and several of the principal officers, with their ladies, to his house at Albany; where, at his own expense, he fed and lodged them for two or three weeks with the kindest hospitality. This is the man, who, a few days before, had suffered immense loss in his mills and other buildings at Fish creek, burned by order of the same Burgoyne who had now become his guest. Respecting Gen. Gates, I will only say, finis coronet opus. Oct. 18th.—At 7 A. M. started on foot to view some other and equally interesting places connected with the campaign of 1777. Three miles and a half south of Fish creek, called at the house of a Mr. Smith, in which Gen. Fraser died of wounds received in the battle of the 7th October, and near which house, in one of the British redoubts, that officer was buried. This house then stood by the road on the west margin of the intervale, at the foot of the rising ground. A turnpike road having since been constructed, running twenty or thirty rods east of the old road, the latter has been discontinued, and Mr. Smith has drawn the house and placed it on the west side of the turnpike. Waiving, for the present, any farther notices of this spot, I shall attempt a concise narrative of the two hostile armies for a short period anterior to the great battle of the 7th of October. The object of the British General was to penetrate as far as Albany, at which place, by concert, he was to meet Sir Henry Clinton, then with a fleet and army lying at New-York. In the early part of September, Gen. Burgoyne had advanced with his army from Fort Edward, and crossed the Hudson with his artillery, baggage wagons, &c., on a bridge of boats, and intrenched the troops on the highlands in Saratoga. On the 19th of September they left their intrenchments, and moved south by a slow and cautious march toward the American camp, which was secured by a line of intrenchments and redoubts on Behmus's heights, running from west to east about half a mile in length, terminating at the east end on the west side of the intervale. Upon the approach of the royal army, the American forces sallied forth from their camp, and met the British about a mile north of the American lines. A severe conflict ensued, and many brave officers and men fell on both sides. The ground on which this battle was fought was principally covered with standing wood. This circumstance somewhat embarrassed the British troops in the use of their field artillery, and afforded some advantage to the Americans, particularly the riflemen under the command of the brave Col. Morgan, who did great execution. Night, which has so often and so kindly interposed to stop the carnage of conflicting hosts, put an end to the battle. Neither party claimed a victory. The royal army withdrew in the night, leaving the field and their slain, with some of their wounded, in possession of the Americans. The loss of killed and wounded, as near as could be ascertained, was, on the part of the British, 600; and on that of the Americans, about 350. The bravery and firmness of the American forces displayed this day, convinced the British officers of the difficulty, if not utter impossibility of continuing their march to Albany. The season for closing the campaign in that northern region was advancing—the American army was daily augmenting by militia, volunteers, and the "two months men," as they were then called. The fear that the two royal armies might effect their junction at Albany, aroused the neighboring states of New England, and drew from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Vermont, a large body of determined soldiers. Baum's defeat at Bennington had inspired them with new hopes and invigorated their spirits. Under these circumstances, inauspicious to the hostile army, the British commander-in-chief summoned a council of war; the result of which was to attempt a retreat across the Hudson to Fort Edward. Gen. Gates, apprehending the probability of this measure, seasonably detached a portion of his force to intercept and cut off the retreat, should that be attempted. Many new and unexpected difficulties now presented themselves. The boats which had served the British army for a bridge, being considered by them as of no further use, had been cut loose, and most of them floated down the river. The construction of rafts sufficient for conveying over their artillery and heavy baggage, would be attended with great danger as well as loss of time. The bridges over the creeks had been destroyed; great quantities of trees had been felled across the roads by order of the American General; and another thing, not of the most trifling nature, Fort Edward was already in possession of the Americans. In this perplexing dilemma the royal army found themselves completely check-mated. A retreat, however, was attempted, but soon abandoned. Situated as they now were, between two fires, every motion they made was fraught with danger and loss. They retired to their old entrenched camp. Several days elapsed without any very active operations on either side. This interval of time was, however, improved by the royal army in preparations to make one desperate effort to force the line of the American camp, and cut their way through on their march to Albany. The American army improved the meantime in strengthening their outer works, arranging their forces, and placing the Continentals on the north side of the intrenchments, where valiant men were expected; thus preparing to defend every point of attack; Morgan, with his riflemen, to form the left flank in the woods. During these few days of "dreadful preparation," information daily arrived in our camp, by deserters and otherwise, that an attack would soon be made upon the line of our intrenchments at Behmus's heights, near the head-quarters of Gen. Gates. The expected conflict awakened great anxiety among the American troops, but abated nothing of that sterling intrepidity and firmness which they had uniformly displayed in the hour of danger; all considered that the expected conflict would be decisive of the campaign at least, if not of the war in which we had been so long engaged. Immense interests were at stake. Should Gen. Burgoyne succeed in marching his army to Albany, Gen. Clinton, without any considerable difficulty, would there join him with another powerful English army, and a fleet sufficient to command the Hudson from thence to New-York. Should this junction of force take place, all the states east of the Hudson would be cut off from all efficient communication with the western and southern states. In addition to this there were other considerations of the deepest concern. The war had already been protracted to a greater length of time than was expected on either side at the commencement. The resources of the country, which were at first but comparatively small in respect to those things necessary for war, began to fail; the term of enlistment of many of the soldiers had expired. We had no public money, and no government to guarantee the payment of wages to the officers and soldiers, nor to those who furnished supplies for the troops. Under these discouraging circumstances it became extremely difficult to raise recruits for the army. During the year 1776 and the fore part of '77, the Americans suffered greatly by sickness, and were unsuccessful in almost every rencontre with the enemy. Men's hearts, even the stoutest, began to fail. This was indeed the most gloomy period of the war of the revolution. On the 7th of October, about 10 o'clock, A. M. the royal army commenced their march, and formed their line of battle on our left, near Behmus's heights, with Gen. Fraser at their head. Our pickets were driven in about one o'clock P.M. and were followed by the British troops on a quick march to within fair musket shot distance of the line of our entrenchments. At this moment commenced a tremendous discharge of cannon and musketry, which was returned with equal spirit by the Americans. For thirty or forty minutes the struggle at the breastworks was maintained with great obstinacy. Several charges with fixed bayonets were made by the English grenadiers with but little effect. Great numbers fell on both sides. The ardor of this bloody conflict continued for some tune without any apparent advantage gained by either party. At length, however, the assailants began to give way, preserving good order in a regular but slow retreat—loading, wheeling, and firing, with considerable effect. The Americans followed up the advantage they had gained, by a brisk and well-directed fire of field-pieces and musketry. Col. Morgan with his riflemen hung upon the left wing of the retreating enemy, and galled them by a most destructive fire. The line of battle now became extensive, and most of the troops of both armies were brought into action. The principal part of the ground on which this hard day's work was done, is known by the name of "Freeman's farms." It was then covered by a thin growth of pitch-pine wood without under brush, excepting one lot of about six or eight acres, which had been cleared and fenced. On this spot the British grenadiers, under the command of the brave Major Ackland, made a stand, and brought together some of their field artillery; this little field soon became literally "the field of blood." These grenadiers, the flower of the royal army, unaccustomed to yield to any opposing force in fair field, fought with that obstinate spirit which borders on madness. Ackland received a ball through both legs, which rendered him unable to walk or stand. This occurrence hastened the retreat of the grenadiers, leaving the ground thickly strewed with their dead and wounded. The battle was continued by a brisk running fire until dark. The victory was complete; leaving the Americans masters of the field. Thus ended a battle of the highest importance in its consequences, and which added great lustre to the American arms. I have seen no official account of the numbers killed and wounded; but the loss on the part of the British must have been great, and that on the part of the Americans not inconsiderable. The loss of general officers suffered by the royal army was peculiarly severe. But to return to the Smith house. I made known to the Smith family the object of my calling upon them; found them polite and intelligent, and learned from them many interesting particulars respecting the battle of the 7th of October. For several days previous to that time Gen. Burgoyne had made that house his head-quarters, accompanied by several general officers and their ladies, among whom were Gen. Fraser, the Baron and Baroness Reidesel, and their children. The circumstances attending the fall of this gallant officer have presented a question about which military men are divided in opinion. The facts seem to be agreed, that soon after the commencement of the action, Gen. Arnold, knowing the military character and efficiency of Gen. Fraser, and observing his motions in leading and conducting the attack, said to Col. Morgan, "that officer upon a grey horse is of himself a host, and must be disposed of. Direct the attention of some of the sharp-shooters among your riflemen to him." Morgan, nodding his assent to Arnold, repaired to his riflemen, and made known to them the hint given by Arnold. Immediately upon this, the crupper of the grey horse was cut off by a rifle bullet, and within the next minute another passed through the horse's mane, a little back of his ears. An aid of Fraser noticing this, observed to him, "Sir, it is evident that you are marked out for particular aim; would it not be prudent for you to retire from this place?" Fraser replied, "my duty forbids me to fly from danger;" and immediately received a bullet through his body. A few grenadiers were detached to carry him to the Smith house. Having introduced the name of Arnold, it may be proper to note here, that although he had no regular command that day, he volunteered his service, was early on the ground, and in the hottest part of the struggle at the redoubts. He behaved, (as I then thought,) more like a madman than a cool and discreet officer. Mounted on a brown horse, he moved incessantly at a full gallop back and forth, until he received a wound in his leg, and his horse was shot under him. I happened to be near him when he fell, and assisted in getting him into a litter to be carried to head-quarters. Late in the evening Gen. Burgoyne came in, and a tender scene took place between him and Fraser. Gen. Fraser was the idol of the British army, and the officer on whom, of all others, Burgoyne placed the greatest reliance. He languished through the night, and expired at 8 o'clock the next morning. While on his death-bed he advised Burgoyne, without delay, to propose to Gen. Gates terms of capitulation, and prevent the further effusion of blood; that the situation of his army was now hopeless; they could neither advance nor retreat. He also requested that he might be buried in the great redoubt—his body to be borne thither between sunset and dark, by a body of the grenadiers, without parade or ceremony. This request was strictly complied with. After viewing the house to my satisfaction, I walked up to the place of interment. It is situated on an elevated piece of ground, commanding an extensive view of the Hudson, and a great length of the beautiful interval on each side of it. I was alone; the weather was calm and serene. Reflections were awakened in my mind which I am wholly unable to describe. Instead of the bustle and hum of the camp, and confused noise of the battle of the warrior, and the shouts of victory which I here witnessed fifty years ago, all was now silent as the abodes of the dead. And indeed far, far the greatest part of both those armies who were then in active life at and near this spot, are now mouldering in their graves, like that valiant officer whose remains are under my feet,—"their memories and their names lost,"—while God, in his merciful Providence, has preserved my life, and after the lapse of half a century has afforded me an opportunity of once more viewing those places which force upon my mind many interesting recollections of my youthful days. Oct. 19th.—On my return down the river from Albany to New-York, in the steamboat "North America," I had leisure and opportunity for reflecting upon the immense wealth and resources of the state of New-York—greater I believe, at this time than that of any other two states in the Union. It would be hazarding nothing to say, that this single state possesses more physical power, and more of the "sinews of war," than were employed by the whole thirteen states through the war of the revolution. This, among other considerations, led me to the reflection how honorable it would be to the state, and how deserving of the occasion, that a monument be erected at or near the place where the royal army surrendered by capitulation on the 17th of October, 1777, in commemoration of an event so important in our national history. The battle of the 7th of October may be considered, in its effects and consequences, as the termination of the war, with as much propriety as that of Bunker's Hill was the commencement of it. I am. Sir, Very respectfully yours, SAMUEL WOODRUFF. William L. Stone, Esq. |
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