CHAPTER XIV
LONG LAKE, LAKE GEORGE, AND SARATOGA
Long Lake is one of the most charming of any found in the Adirondacks. Its islands are lovely beyond words to describe. No artist, not even Turner, has ever caught the magic sheen that clothes it, nor portrayed the rosy clouds the crimson west has painted, that seem to hang motionless above it. Neither has anyone caught those ethereal blues or royal purples that the soft semi-light of evening makes upon its bosom where the darker mountains seem to be floating.
But this lake requires not the aid of morning or evening to make it fair. When the rays of the sun sprinkle the trees along its sides like golden rain, or while stirred with darkening ripples beneath a clouded sky, it is clothed in grandest beauty.
But if it were indeed possible for any lake to be fairer than this, surely Lake George is that one. No wonder artists flock to its shores, for what picturesque combinations of cove and cliff they find there! Then, too, what lovely reaches, what mountain views, what rich and varied combinations of forest with retreating slopes bathed in the tender purple of distance!
The valleys were covered with a silvery, shimmering atmosphere, on which we traced the outlines of meadows, forests, and lakes, like the first sketching of an artist picture that ere long, under our good genius the automobile, would grow into reality. The road that wound among forest crowned hills was one of the most pleasant we remember. The air was filled with silvery haze, which made distance mysterious; and grain fields and the nearer hills, touched with the rarest delicacy of tone and softly blended color, were dreamy and full of suggestion of Indian summer. Through the trees we beheld a fine sheet of water and presently emerged upon a grand view of the lake. It has fine boat landings, even though set in rugged hills, which in places tower above it, while over its surface are countless scattered isles of romantic beauty. It has a wild, primeval character, which no association of man upon its banks can quite dispel. One almost fancies he sees the rising smoke from the teepees of the fierce Mohawks or hears their ringing warwhoops amid the wild scenery.
This lake is thirty-two miles in length and has been the scene of many thrilling historic events. West of the railroad station, near Lake George village, are the ruins of ancient forts, and there also stands the monument erected in 1903 to commemorate the battle of Lake George, in which General Johnson, with his army of twenty-two hundred, defeated the French, under Baron Diesken. The lake offers excellent fishing. Trout, salmon, pickerel and perch abound in great numbers. Bolton road, known as "Millionaires' Row," begins at the village of Lake George and continues along the west shore as far as Bolton landing. Beautiful views of the surrounding country may be had along this route.
At sunset, as we made our way along the shore, the wonderful beauty of the scene became more evident. Out over the lake, studded with numerous isles, a rosy glow began to gather, the high hills along its shores were rosy purple, "some were a mingling of stiff spruce and pine in shadow," while others wore a lighter green and the lush grass near this shore was golden green when struck by the rays of the declining sun. The swift lights and shades stole over the distant peaks like color on velvet.
In the waning light that tinged the west with lucent gold the lake made a wonderful picture. It wore on its blue a silver sheen, in which we beheld a few cloud paintings; and along the shore it mirrored the graceful birch and elm. At length the clouds in the zenith blushed into rose; mingled colors of sapphire, emerald, topaz, and amethyst glinted on the lake. Over this lovely expanse an eagle sailed in majestic flight, turning his head from side to side as if enamored of the fair scene beneath him. Later we beheld only a vast expanse of imperial purple with its dark mountains and green islands.
Soon a few stars appeared in the sky, where the dark points and ridges rose against it like airy battlements. In the east the moon looked down on the lake and made a path of gold on its placid surface. In the distance a boat, a fairy shallop, glided noiselessly out across the radiant water until we lost it among the deep shadows of an island. Scarce a ripple on the surface of the lake or a fluttering leaf disturbed the peaceful scene. As we made our way to the automobile which carried us back to the village of Lake George we said, "What moonlight scene or sunset hues have we ever beheld on the Tyrol that could rival this?"
"Saratoga lies in an angle formed by a long valley whose beauty, aside from its historical associations, is fair enough to stop whole armies of tourists as they come and go through this lovely region. The old Indian War Trail was indeed the pathway of armies, and the beautiful Hudson and Mohawk rivers here bore on their waters many swift canoes filled with Algonquins and French. The English marched and fought here from Hudson's time and that of Samuel Champlain until the close of the revolutionary period. This fair land, with its green, velvety meadows, peaceful, fruitful valleys, and broad, majestic streams has indeed been rightly named 'the dark and bloody ground.'
"The Five Nations built lodges on the shores of the lake near Saratoga, and here it was that the French and Indians came down from Quebec and Montreal to meet them. In 1690 the French and Indians bivouacked at these springs as they descended to the cruel massacre of Schenectady. The French, urged by Frontenac, came down the valley in 1693 and destroyed the village of the Mohawks and started on their return with the prisoners they had taken. Here one thousand hostile warriors threw up intrenchments on the exact place where the gay streets of Saratoga now stand. They retreated in a storm after the English sustained three furious assaults.
In 1743 there occurred a terrible massacre at Old Saratoga. All of the houses in the village were burned to the ground and only one or two of the inhabitants escaped to tell the tale. For seven years the French and Indian war raged through the valley, proving its importance as a northern gateway. The rattle of arms, the tread of soldiers, the hurrying of street boys were heard in town from morning till night. Indians in war-paint and feathers joined each side, burning with the hate of over a hundred years. Garrets were ransacked for great-grandfather's swords, rusted with the blood of King Philip's war. French officers in gold lace, trappers in doeskin, priests in their black robes, soldiers in the white uniform of the French king, gathered on the banks of the St. Lawrence. English grenadiers in red coats, Scotch Highlanders in plaids and colonial troops in homespun rallied from all the frontiers; and again this great gateway knew the horrors of a long, devastating, and bloody war.
"In 1767 Sir William Johnson, who had suffered for years from a wound received in his hip in the war with the Indians, was told of the Great Medicine Waters. The Indians seemed to know of their location many years previous to this, for they were the ones who told Johnson about their great healing qualities. He was carried on stretchers to this mysterious spring. The waters proved so beneficial that he was able to return over the 'carrying place' on foot. The waters he drank were said to have been taken from High Rock spring of Saratoga Springs."
The city contains many spacious, imposing hotels and fine tree- bordered streets, which at once suggest that Saratoga was the one time "Queen of Spas." But if the people no longer come here in such great numbers, Nature still reigns over the place, and it possesses that quiet and repose which make it an ideal place in which to spend a vacation. Here are wonderful old elms whose branches intermingle to form a canopy over the streets. So gracefully do their drooping sprays of green descend that we could think of nothing with which to compare them save emerald fountains. These old trees are more stately, more graceful than those at Versailles. Beautiful villas, public halls and handsome churches are scattered about the city. Viewed from the surrounding hills, the buildings seem to nestle in a leafy wilderness. The annual horseraces held here still draw large crowds, but as a summer resort Saratoga, like Trenton Falls, has seen its day.
It is not Old Saratoga that contains the most interest for the traveler, but the region around Schuylerville. Here the green carpet covers all the hills, whose smooth, velvety appearance adds greatly to the beauty of the country.
The day of our arrival at Saratoga was extremely sultry, and heavy masses of clouds darkened the sky. Soon bursting peals of thunder told us that the warrior clouds were bringing their heavy artillery into action. This storm passed around us, however, and we hastened to the site of the beautiful monument commemorating the decisive victory of the Revolution. It stands on the site of Burgoyne's fortified camp, overlooking the place of his surrender. The height of this monument is one hundred and fifty-four feet, its base is forty feet square, and it contains one hundred and eighty-four steps, which lead up to the last windows, which command an enchanting view of from ten to thirty miles in all directions.
The country all around is full of very picturesque, scenic surprises, and the lordly Hudson winding among its hills of vernal loveliness is not the least of them. Your attention is quickly recalled from the dead past, whether you like it or not, to the living present. From this place you will see and hear things which no historian can ever record; paragraphs of the life history of the palpitant beauty and pulsing song of existence. The true lover of Nature will find no greater delight than to linger here to drink in the beauty of the place as his eyes rove over the vast expanse of gently undulating hills that melt away in the blue haze. The river flowing through masses of verdue, the towering trees that climb the surrounding heights and skirt the pastoral landscapes, afford constant evidence of the natural wealth and beauty of this historic region.
Standing here, gazing out over the beautiful scene, we recalled our visit to the famous battlegrounds of Waterloo.
It was on a lovely June day that we left the Belgium capital,
turning again and again to look at the wonderful Palace of
Justice which dominates this city, as the capitol does at
Washington.
The country around the field of Waterloo is very level, hardly relieved by an undulation, and dotted at intervals with a few trees that heighten the loneliness of the scene rather than relieve it. Here we became aware that we were gazing at one of the finest sites that man has ever known for the purpose of mutual destruction. We readily saw that this level region gave ample room for both infantry and cavalry, where the many thousands of human beings were brought together in deadly collision. It was apparently designed by Nature to feed the hungry toilers of earth, but "was consecrated by man for a solemn spectacle of deliberate slaughter."
How often this fertile country was made the battleground of surrounding nations! Here it was we felt that indomitable spirit that rose above every oppression forced upon its people, stopping the hordes of invading armies.
We ascended the hill that flanked the right wing of the position of the English where the fight was hottest. From this eminence we looked down on vast cultivated fields with acres of waving barley and verdant meadows in which fine Holstein cattle were grazing. This hill is composed of soil dug from Mount St. Jean to cover the bones of the slain of both armies. This conical tumulus contains upon its summit, set in a spacious and lofty pedestal, a huge bronze lion cast from the cannon taken in battle.
As we stood on its top the scene unrolled before us like a wonderful panoramic painting, and we gazed out on this "great chessboard, where the last hard game of Napoleon's and Wellington's protracted match was played."
Here where all Nature seemed to breathe of peace and joy it seemed difficult to believe that at that very season, one hundred and four years ago, on this spot was fought one of the memorable battles of the world. Here, after participating in the activities of a world war, how like a dream it seemed to be gazing down upon this fertile plain. The larks were soaring in the blue above, uttering the same sweet notes that charmed the poet, Shelley, while we gazed out upon the fair scene toward La Belle Alliance and La Haye Sainte. Nearer our eyes rested upon the place that formed the key to the English position, where they successfully resisted, throughout the day of the eighteenth of June, the hottest assaults of the enemy. Then we beheld the high road to Namur which passed through the center of the lovely picture "as if inviting us to look upon the road Napoleon took to make his escape when in the agony of his heart he exclaimed 'Sauve qui peut!' and fled from the field."
Near La Belle Alliance is a monument to the memory of the German legion. Corning down from the tumulus we made our way past fields of barley and paused to pluck a few cornflowers and poppies, and over all the blue sky like an angel of peace the skylark was still flooding the blue dome with melodies which for us can never die.
But we have been straying somewhat from Saratoga. The view we had from the monument reminded us a little of that to be obtained from the plateau of the citadel of Namur where we beheld the Sambre, the Meuse, and the forest of Ardennes. The valley of the Meuse through which we passed on our way to Liege, though wild, varied and secluded, full of unexpected turns and scenic surprises, has no more charm than Saratoga.
We were greatly impressed with the tablet presented in memory of the women of 1776 by the Daughters of the American Revolution. It represents one woman busy with spinning while another is making bullets at a fireplace. These noble and brave women deserve much credit for helping to win our independence, for while their husbands and sons fought they gathered in the crops, melted into bullets their treasured pewter ware, learned to shoot, bar their homes against Indians and conceal themselves from preying bands of Indians and Tories.
Before leaving the monument at Schuylerville we discovered that the birds had chosen the monument as a place for their nests. On General Gates' shoulder was a robin's nest, while another chose the center of an officer's hat for her domicile. Looking into the mouth of the twenty-four pounder presented by J. Watts de Peyster to the monument association, we discovered a blue bird's nest containing four eggs. This gun was at one time a part of the armament of a British vessel. The vessel becoming disabled, the gun was then mounted on wheels and placed on a bluff at Ticonderoga, where it was captured by the Americans. Right glad we were that the place knows no harsher sound than the soft, melodious warble of the bluebird and cherry carol of the robin. We thought how glorious the time when all monuments may be not merely grim reminders of war, but give shelter to the "color- bearer of the Spring Brigade."
Most admirable plans had been made by the British for a very brilliant campaign, but their success depended, like so many other things, in the ability of the British to work them.
Burgoyne, three thousand miles away, received his orders while in England. Howe did not receive his until the 16th of August, when he was entering Chesapeake Bay. "Burgoyne was already being defeated at Bennington while Howe was reading his dispatch and learning for the first time that he was expected to cooperate with Burgoyne."
King George said, "any means of discouraging the Americans will meet with my approval." So the scalping knife and tomahawk were associated with English arms.
Burgoyne had seven thousand picked troops, three thousand of whom were Germans in the pay of the British Army. This army was divided into three corps; Frazer, Riedesel and Phillips were their officers. "The excellent discipline, spirit and equipment of his army led Burgoyne to do and dare anything." Overconfidence in war as elsewhere usually proves disastrous. Burgoyne is reported to have said, "The enemy will probably fight at Ticonderoga. Of course I will beat them, then we will have a nice little promenade of eight days down to Albany." But the trip toward Albany turned out to be anything but a promenade and the British soldiers failed to see the nice part of it.
General Schuyler, on hearing that Burgoyne was on the march, seized all the firearms he could and hurried to his camp. Schuyler was superseded by General Gates. We learn that he was not on the line when the great fighting occurred, but that he was a very conspicuous character in "the final wind up." He reminds one of those ministers who are intensely interested in the welfare of the souls of those of their members who happen to have an exceptionally fine strawberry patch.
But let us turn our attention for a brief time to some of Saratoga's deserving heroes. It was at Bennington that John Stark pointed toward the redoubt of the enemy and exclaimed, "There, my lads, are the Hessians! Tonight our flag floats over yonder hill or Molly Stark is a widow." With New England yeomanry rudely equipped with pouches, powder horns and armed with old brown firelocks he stormed the trenches of the best trained soldiers of Europe and won a glorious victory. At Oriskany, Herkimer, in an unlooked-for battle, won undying fame, although most of his gallant little band were slaughtered. Schuyler sent Arnold with Larned's brigade to retrieve Herkimer's disaster, which he did in an admirable manner. Gansevoort held the fort against St. Leger, but his situation was growing desperate, when one day without apparent cause the enemy fled in haste, leaving camps, baggage and artillery. This inglorious flight was brought about by a half-wined fellow, who wandered into the enemy's camp and on being asked how many men were coming, pointed to the leaves on the trees, thus frightening the Indians and British into a hasty retreat.
It is singular that the fiercest fighting of Saratoga occurred on a farm hearing the significant name of Freeman. The ground around the old well was covered with bodies of dead soldiers after the battle. The British held persistently the position at the farm they gained in a line to the east on the bank of the river, where they built three redoubts on three hills.
"The fortified camp of the Americans lay about one and one-half miles below, in a parallel line, from the British. Here within bugle call from each other, for two weeks the hostile forces sat upon the hill of Saratoga; frowning defiance at each other as boys who are afraid to start a fight but persist in making faces from back doors, or like cocks who stand immovable and try to stare each other out of countenance, yet ready to open the conflict with a moment's notice."
On October the 7th the British moved from their entrenchments in battle array. Gates took up the gauntlet thus thrown down to him and exclaimed: "Order out Morgan to begin the game."
It must have been a thrilling scene that fair October morning, for autumn had wrought her oriental magic and far and near the lovely forests were arrayed in chromatic harmony. The maples were ablaze for miles, and so vivid seemed the flame of sumac berries one almost expected to see smoke ascending on the tranquil morning air. The scarlet banner of the woodbine fluttered from many a tree like a bloody omen, the ash was clad in purple robes, the elm and linden trees were like yellow flames among the bright red fires of gum and dogwood. The purple haze over all gave to the scene an air of mystery.
The stillness was intense. Only the chink of the bobolinks bound for the plains of the Orinoco or the chonk, chonking of ground squirrels broke the silence. This stillness must have been more awful than any noise of battle could possibly be. Amid such lovely and peaceful surroundings as this, Morgan dashed to the fray and scattered Burgoyne's advance guard, then rushed on the trained forces of Fraser and swept them from their position to the left, which they had taken in advance.
"Fraser rallied his men and was forming a second line when he fell, mortally wounded. The sharp whistle of Morgan once more called his men into action, while Poor and Larned attacked the center and right. The battle swayed back and forth through the great ravine. Another charge from Morgan and the British retreated to their entrenchments.
"At this moment the indignant Arnold, stung to madness by the slights put upon him by Gates, dashed across the field. He gathered the regulars under his leadership by enthusiasm, bravery, and vehemence. He broke through the lines of entrenchments at Freeman's farm. Repulsed for a moment, he assailed the left and charged the strong redoubt of Breyman, which flanked the British camp at the place now called Burgoyne's Hill. The patriotic army, fired with new hope and courage, crowded fearlessly up to the very mouths of the belching guns of the redoubt and won the final victory of the day; then, exhausted by the deadly fight, before they took possession of the British camp, sullenly dropped down for a rest.
"Silently and sullenly the defeated army withdrew from the works of Freeman's farm and huddled closely together under the three redoubts by the river. Here the women trembled over the drying form of Fraser. In the cellar of the old Marshall House Madame Riedesel, with her three little girls, found refuge from the American bullets during the week preceding Burgoyne's surrender. Here Surgeon Jones had his remaining leg shot away while the other was being amputated. Eleven cannon balls passed through the house. The splintered beams and other relics well preserved are still shown. With slight alterations the house remains as at the time of the surrender.
"The hospital stood with its overflowing of wounded and dead. The great and princely army awaited in doubt and despair while the commander hesitated and wavered in his plans. Should he risk another engagement or retreat? He decided to retreat, and it began as the Americans fired the guns for Fraser's funeral at sunset. The blood-red sun sank behind the heights in which the exultant and victorious American army lay. Heavy clouds followed, and quickly after a drenching rain the army of the British, abandoning their sick and wounded, began the retreat up the river, Retracing their steps from Bemis Heights, the scene of their disaster, they followed the river road to the Fishkill and the Schuyler mansion, which they burned to the ground. It was an illumination of their own defeat.
"Failing here to make an advancing stand against the Americans they fell back, formed an entrenched camp and planted their batteries along the heights of old Saratoga. In this camp they still hoped to hold out until relief came up the Hudson from New York. Here the pathos of the campaign culminated. The sick and wounded took up refuge in cellars. Burgoyne was entrenched on the hills with the river below, yet had no water to drink except a cupful brought now and then by the British women. The gallant Americans would not fire upon them. Burgoyne sent in the terms of surrender near the site of the old Schuyler mansion so recently burned. Here he laid down his arms and surrendered to General Gates. Along the road just across the Fishkill the disarmed prisoners were marched to the tune of 'Yankee Doodle,' played first as a national air.
"When the last cannon was heard to die among to hills it was as if the expiring note of British domination in America was sounded. This victory decided the fate of that mighty empire. It will stand unrivaled and alone, deriving lustre and perpetuity in its singleness."
There was soon to he peace throughout the land and independence. Again the golden grain would wave and the Hudson would be white with the sails of ships from many seas.
We left Schuylerville under a gloomy sky that foreboded rain. The clouds gathered thicker and thicker, and soon the rain was descending in torrents. We took refuge in a kind of barn erected for the purpose of sheltering horses during church services. We did not know the denomination of the church that stood near this shelter. We believed more strongly in a religion that is kind to dumb animals and does not have them standing for hours in a cruel storm while they shout "Glory to God." After the storm had abated we started onward once more.