THE RANGERS SENT AGAINST BURGOYNE
England proposed to snuff out the rebellion that summer of 1777: so she sent all the troops she could spare and hire, also bribes to secure the services of the Indians. England must win, though the savages kill and torture every man, woman and child on the frontier.
General Burgoyne must leave the writing of plays for a time and lead an army from Canada down to New York, and then Philadelphia was to be captured and the Continental Congress sent a-packing.
Howe is said to have thought the Burgoyne plan unwise, for he knew something about war, though frequently too indolent to put his knowledge into practice. This beautiful month of June he had his army down in New Jersey, watching for a chance to outwit Washington and seize Philadelphia.
After the first failure, he abandoned New Brunswick and marched his troops back to New York. Here was an opportunity for Morgan’s Rangers. They followed Howe’s army like a swarm of angry hornets. When too annoying, the British would turn and drive them back, but, as soon as the march was resumed, 218 they would return and again sting the rear of the column into desperation.
When the Rangers first came in contact with the retreating British the latter were crossing a bridge. Here was a fine opportunity for Morgan’s men, and they used it to the fullest extent. Their bullets laid many a poor Hessian in the dust, for the aim of the riflemen was quick and accurate, whereas that of the British was mechanical.
“Ah! Another bee has stung that arm. The redcoats intend to get it, I believe,” suddenly cried Rodney.
“Does yer arm feel numb?” asked Zeb.
“No, I guess it’s just a scratch. Anyhow I’m going to use it while I may.”
No, our two comrades lost no time examining trifling wounds, while British bullets whistled about their ears. On the contrary, they were loading and firing as rapidly as possible, and the perspiration was streaming down their powder-blackened faces, for the day was hot.
“They are going to support the column; look out for a volley. Git down here, lie low,” and, suiting action to word, Zeb threw himself on the grass.
A body of Hessians had wheeled about and posted themselves behind some temporary breastworks, which had been thrown up that morning. “Up and at ’em,” was the word, and the Rangers ran forward and threw themselves on the ground so that most of the volley from the enemy passed over their heads.
“Up and at ’em” again, each time nearer, while flanking parties were working around toward the rear of the redoubts. The enemy behind the breastworks had the advantage both in number and position, and held back the Rangers, who had no bayonets and could not charge successfully.
“Here comes General Wayne’s brigade, now we’ll dislodge ’em,” shouted Zeb in his excitement, and Bunster stood up and cheered.
“We’ll teach ’em that they have to earn their money when they hire out to lick Americans,” cried Rodney.
“What’s the matter with Bunster!” exclaimed Zeb, for their companion staggered and pitched forward in a heap, his hands convulsively clutching the grass.
“They run, they run, at ’em, boys!” and, with this cry in their ears, Rodney and Zeb charged down on the flying enemy.
Bunster lay face down in the field. How he would have yelled and run after the retreating Hessians! He had made his last charge, poor Bunster! Such a genial fellow; such a kindly, helpful soul, with no fear in your heart! You have done as much as the best and bravest of them, and your country can never do as much for you.
At the first opportunity his companions sought him out from among the slain, and laid him in a hastily constructed grave. Zeb’s eyes were wet and tears made furrows among the powder stains on Rodney’s face. Their hearts would be hardened in the days of war to come, for that is one of war’s penalties. What 220 sympathy they might have would be rather with those writhing and waiting for death.
“Thar’s a heap o’ walkin’ ahead of the Rangers,” was Zeb’s greeting as he returned from a talk with their colonel several days later.
“What is it now?”
“Schuyler an’ Gates are howlin’ fer more men an’ expect Washington to furnish ’em whether he has ’em or not. Burgoyne’s comin’ down Lake Champlain with a horde of red devils at his heels, an’ the country people up that way don’t feel easy about their hair, with the lovely flag of England wavin’ over ’em.”
“I just heard a report that the farmers were taking the field. If they do as well as they did at Bunker Hill, Burgoyne may not have an altogether pleasant summer.”
“Thar’s too many people in this country who want to be independent of everything, even to fightin’ whenever and how they please. It’s time they did something.”
“Certainly they don’t respond very promptly to Washington’s call for troops.”
“This war has got to be won, if it’s won at all, by armies an’ not by a few men shootin’ from behind a stone wall whenever the Britishers march their way.”
“It can’t be said that Morgan’s Rangers don’t respond when called upon.”
“That’s right. The country will remember us after we’re killed. We’ve got a reputation for fighting 221 already. Two thirds of us ’d rather be at a fight than a feast.”
“You among the number.”
“Not right. I hate war except when I get in a skirmish, an’ then I don’t think about it. I wish the men who bring on war had to do the fightin’.”
Howe, twice foiled in his attempts to outwit Washington, had returned to New York, leaving his antagonist in doubt whether he proposed taking his army up the Hudson to meet Burgoyne or around to Philadelphia by sea. During this period of uncertainty, Morgan’s Rangers marched to Hackensack and back again. They travelled light, each man lugging his provisions, rations of corn meal and a wallet containing dried venison. August 16th they received final orders to march to Peekskill, and there to take boats for Albany to join Gates’ army.
Here at last was something definite, and how the men cheered! Washington was sending his best men to aid Gates because he thought the country needed them at that place. George Washington was a big enough man to forget self and think only of his country. Gates was not, and was to repay his chief for this assistance with treachery.
Rodney never forgot that day when they first came in sight of the beautiful Hudson. He made some remark about the scenery, when the man next him in line exclaimed: “Whew! but I’d like plenty of shade trees in my scenery,” wiping away the perspiration with his sleeve.
“Ab, you are in as big a hurry to git thar as any of us,” said another.
“I don’t feel right certain about matters after we do. Thar must be some rattle-headed men in charge up in this country; what with fillin’ ol’ Ty full o’ powder an’ ball an’ then allowin’ the Britishers to climb a hill an’ drive ’em out the fort. Thar sure be some folks as think they’re ginerals by grace o’ good looks an’ lots o’ friends. Then some feller, as knows how, comes along an’ trees ’em,” was Ab’s reply.
A warm welcome awaited the Rangers when they joined the northern army. In fact all along their route they had received admiration and cordial greeting to their hearts’ content. Gates flattered Morgan by arranging that the colonel should receive orders only from the general in command. Quarters were assigned them at Loudon’s Ferry, and here they were joined by Major Dearborn with two hundred and fifty men selected from other regiments. This was pleasing to Morgan, as he and Dearborn had fought the enemy at Quebec, where both had been taken prisoners.
The Rangers welcomed the recruits heartily, and proceeded to get acquainted. In the midst of this Rodney saw a fine looking fellow, of about his own age, clad in the uniform of the Massachusetts militia, run toward Zeb, exclaiming, “I might have known if I could find Colonel Morgan I could find you, in flesh or spirit. How are you, anyway?”
“Shades of the Great North, Don, yer face looks good ter me.”
Then, after they had shaken hands and patted each other on the shoulder, literally and metaphorically, Zeb, turning to Rodney, said, “Here’s Donald Lovell, the lad who found me in a Quebec snowdrift an’ saved my life when I was about as fer gone as poor Bunster.”
“Easy, Zeb. I don’t want to tell all you did for me, there isn’t time, but I’m glad to know any one that’s your friend.”
“You two boys make a likely pair. Ye both really do credit to my judgment in pickin’ ye out. How long ye been here, Don?”
“Only a few days. You’ve heard about Stark and the battle at Bennington, of course?”
“We certain have. He gave those Hessians a sound drubbing if reports are correct. He was at Trenton, you know. Was disgruntled, because he didn’t get the promotion he wanted, an’ went home.”
“Lucky he did. He was just the man needed to do that job at Bennington. I went as messenger to Portsmouth and heard John Langdon, the speaker of the New Hampshire assembly, pledge his property to fit out Stark. That’s the kind of statesmen to have.”
“A durned sight better than the majority of those in Congress. Whar is yer Uncle Dick, at home worryin’ about ye?”
Donald laughed, and then his face grew serious as 224 he said, “No. He joined Stark and I’m the one who is worrying about him.”
“General Arnold played a good trick on St. Leger, when he sent that decoy messenger to him with the cock-and-bull story about the reinforcements marching to Fort Stanwix bein’ thicker than the leaves on the trees,” remarked Zeb.
“And wasn’t that a glorious fight poor old Herkimer’s men made against the Tories and Brandt’s Indians? That must have been terrible, a regular hand-to-hand struggle. Yes, Arnold is here and many think he should have the command.”
“And I’m one o’ the number,” said Zeb, stoutly. “That man has more courage an’ energy than the whole Continental Congress. Look at the way he fought in the Canadian campaign! They tell me, though the British defeated the fleet of boats he built to oppose ’em on the lake, that no man ever led a braver struggle against greater odds and got away without bein’ captured. He was ready to resign before this Burgoyne campaign, an’ I wouldn’t hev blamed him. He doesn’t know how to git along without making enemies, for, when he has anything to do, he goes at it hammer and tongs no matter whose toes he treads on, but he gets it done, by hook or by crook.”
“You know, Zeb, that somehow I never had great liking for him, but he certainly is a brave, resourceful leader. I think he’s the most ambitious man in the service.”
“He’s willing to earn his promotion, which some 225 of ’em wouldn’t if they knew how. He’s earned it ten times over. The men who can do things are the ones we’ve got to have to win. One thing, this army isn’t goin’ to lack fer men, such as they are, by the way the farmers are comin’ in with their old guns and hay hooks.”
“Such as they are! Zeb, you’re a dyed-in-the-wool Virginian. These New Englanders and New Yorkers coming into camp are of the same mettle as those under Stark and those who died with Herkimer. There are no better men in the world.”
“Reckon ye better make an exception o’ the Rangers. They sent us down here, when we ought to be with Washington, specially to save you people from the Indians.”
“Yes, and the day you started, Stark and his New Hampshire and Massachusetts men, with the help of Seth Warner’s men, won a victory which will result in the defeat of Burgoyne. You Virginians are all right; you have your Washington and Morgan and the Rangers, but don’t cry down the Northern farmers in their homespun. They’ve had to fight for a living from the beginning, and, from Lexington right down through till now, they’ve fought for their country.”
“Except when they’ve left to go home and gather their crops. Soldiers who stay in the field till the war’s over are the kind that is needed.”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Rodney, for the conversation had waxed warm, “but, from what Zeb told 226 me, both Virginia and Massachusetts were needed to pull through the wilderness on the way to Quebec.”
Zeb laughed and said, “I reckon Virginia and Massachusetts will have to hang together if we get the job done.”
“And if we don’t,” added Donald, with a laugh, “they’ll hang separately, as Dr. Franklin said of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.”