Oct. 7^th, Sunday

Setting out to the tunes of Allison Krauss and Gillian Welch, my dad and I drove four long hours, over bridges and overpasses, through fields and cities, across states and rivers, traveling miles and miles up north.  Our destination was a campsite near Lake George, NY.  The trip was more than a little eventful, and the weather was just the same.  All I can say is that sitting in a pick-up with a canoe tied to the top, headed for a week of intense camping, watching snowflakes fall to the ground, I was a little apprehensive.  Several times we stopped to re-tie the ropes that were keeping the canoe from flying off into the windy storm that enveloped us for most of the trip.  Each time I got out, I was pushing the door extra hard against the wind, rolling my sleeves down and freezing anyway.

However, as we neared the lake, the skies cleared and the snow stopped.  In fact, the weather turned out to be quite beautiful.  As the sun set and the wind calmed down, we left the interstate and put our lives in the hands of a set of instructions printed from an e-mail.  4-lanes became 2-lanes before eventually turning to a winding, hilly, rough dirt road.  We finally stopped at an empty campsite, just a dirt parking lot off the side of the road and a few clearings with fire pits.  I put my regimental on and wandered around for a bit, taking in the forest and the cool air.  My dad rekindled some dying embers in a fire pit and got a fire going in minutes.  I looked up from treading on rocks at one point to see two deer fleeing quickly into the trees.

Before long, first one, then two of our comrades met us.  The first was Pvt. Chauncey Goodrich (a.k.a. Sarah Melcher), bringing with him (her) a new shirt I paid her to make for me, and a bottle of shrub, an interesting concoction.  The shirt was wool and warm, an absolute necessity considering where I was going, and I had to sew on the buttons before it darkness set in.  The second, Dan Williamson, brought a second canoe.

We spent until well after dark talking around the fire, chatting about what the week would bring, our preparations, and what we'd heard on the radio during the trip up.  Trying to save energy and food for the week ahead, we drove out to a small restaurant at the edge of a nearby town.  I had a greasy burger and sizzling onion rings.  We all knew it would be our last chance to see civilization for awhile.  Toilets too, for that matter.

Returning to the camp, we re-stoked the fire and stood around for a bit before realizing: first, that it was really, really dark and second: that it was really, really cold.  I believe I speak for my comrades as well as myself in saying that we were not above beating a hasty retreat to the relative comfort of the inside of a car for the night.

 

Oct 8^th, Monday  

We awoke early, creakily climbing out of our cars, stiff from a night of sleeping where one should be sitting.  The fire was rekindled, a quick breakfast thrown together.  We were all anxious to be on our way.  My father cooked a small piece of jowl bacon, a supposedly good food we were taking with us.  As it turned out, I would rather have eaten a pine cone.  You live, you learn.

At any rate, we packed our gear and drove to the canoe landing, a small cove about 2 miles south of base camp.  Blankets, provisions, and muskets were tied down and covered, and we hastily filled our canteens at the water's edge before shoving off.

The water was dauntingly choppy.  In the front of the canoe, I bounced up and down as if riding an aquatic roller coaster.  Every other stroke with the paddle failed to hit anything, and the wind nipped at our faces and howled menacingly, pushing us back in towards shore.  Eventually, after much tiring effort, we escaped the cove and worked our way onto the open lake, a much more inviting environment.

For at least an hour our two canoes paddled north, wondering at the beautiful, colorful hills and having only a vague idea of our exact position on the map.  We paddled on and on, weaving through islands and keeping towards the Eastern shore.  Occasionally, we caught a glimpse of a secluded mansion or a speed boat out in the distance, but aside from these small signs, it was a world without civilization.  Every speck of land visible was covered with trees and bushes, impeding my vision of my surroundings to the mountains sticking up and the shorelines, thick with bushes.

Before much longer, we realized that we should have found some sign of the camp by now.  At the briefing before hand, we'd been told there would be a flag on the shore to guide us.  After passing the designated spot on the map, and finding no flag, we put ashore on the north face of a peninsula facing west while Chauncey went ashore to scout.  We sat in the canoe for minutes seeming like hours, gripping our muskets with tired arms, contemplating just how vulnerable we were sitting in canoes resting on the shore.

Eventually, Chauncey returned with word that the flags had been unnecessary as someone had been on watch for us (but wasn't at that moment we canoed by) and that the camp was, in fact, on the very peninsula we were looking at.  The landing was at the south face.

So, we paddled around the end of the point.  As we went, I caught a glimpse of a sentry, almost invisible behind the branches and undergrowth, hiding in the shadows.  The landing was a narrow gap between trees, just enough to slide one canoe in quietly.  Sergeant Paul Stevens appeared as we neared the gap and helped us out as we landed, assisting us in dragging our canoes up, unloading and finally overturning them before stowing them away in the bushes.

The main camp was a half circle of logs piled up to make a camouflaged wall, with the open end facing a sharp drop off to the lake.  It was a fine position, both on high ground and well-protected.  My father and I had to set up our shelter outside the wall, like many others.

I spent the rest of the day on a light patrol, just a tour with Chauncey around the peninsula the camp was on.  It was a good way to become at least semi-familiar with the terrain, as I had never been there before.  The only features of note aside from the camp was the point, the north tip of the peninsula, from which one could see the whole lake, and the road, a north-south trail running roughly along the banks of the lake, cutting across the base of our peninsula.

As the day went on, a friendly patrol returned by canoe from the north, where they had met with and successfully fought the enemy.  From this we now had a good idea of where their camps were.  Before I knew it, it was getting dark again.

A small dinner of improvised soup felt like more than enough.  We spent most of the evening near the fire, cooking, eating, and talking.  The darkness and quiet were complete and intimidating.

I don't know at what time, but I went to sleep without any effort.  Getting to my blanket was another matter.  To stumble, without candle or light of any kind aside from that of the fire behind me, over the wall and to my shelter was.....difficult.

 

Oct 9^th, Tuesday  

The camp was up and ready by first light, myself included.  Itching for action, I volunteered with some other rangers to go on a patrol in search of the enemy.  I had a quick breakfast (one cold hard-boiled egg), grabbed my gear, and set off in the early morning.

The patrol was led by Alec.  He got to lead because he knew the terrain much better than we did.  The other rangers were my dad, Chauncey, and Dan.  A small patrol force, and nothing else.

Intent on avoiding the road and the ambushes that would almost certainly be set there, we headed inland, up steep hills, slipping on leaves and loose rocks at every incline.  After going what seemed like far enough, we swung left and made our way north, following the ridges and cliffs through a pathless forest.

We spent hours walking.  Every movement made a leaf crackling noise that seemed like thunder.  I had to stop walking from time to time to listen effectively.  Listening was important, because I couldn't trust my eyes to pick out a waiting sniper or a savage.  This is because of one very simple fact: the woods out there make you invisible.

I'm not making this up.  All my fellow rangers would've had to do was stop moving and I would've lost them entirely.  Since there is nothing but trees and leaves everywhere, everything I could see melded together into a leafy haze.  The only way to pick something out was to see its movement or have it be five feet in front of me.  Add to this the dark clothing the average re-enactor wears, and all one has to do to be invisible is to stop moving.  I memorized this as useful information for later.  

We took two or three breaks for water, a quick bite to eat, and to check maps.  As the day went on, we gradually moved north, stopping when we met the road where it turned inland.  No sign of the enemy anywhere.

We spread out again and began our trek back, taking a slightly different route, one closer to the shores of the lake.  Along the way we became separated; We completely lost sight of Chauncey and Dan.  We assumed that they would make it back and kept going.  Eventually, we came to a steep hill overlooking the road.  Alec told My dad and I that the camp was right across the road.  All we had to do was walk a little bit more.

We spread out even more, crossing the road quietly.  I continued walking before I realized that I was alone.  I spun in a circle and I could see nobody.  It was that easy to become separated. 

However, I was close to the camp.  All I had to do was get back there.

I continued walking towards the lake, eventually coming right up to the shore.  I could see several islands close by and some spots I had canoed through.  The problem was, I didn't see any camp.

Now I was really lost.  I wandered around, staying close to the road, for some time.  I would guess 10-15 minutes, but it was hard to tell.  Eventually, I met my dad doing just the same thing I was doing (being lost), and a minute later we encountered Alec, also being lost.

Using a map, it was all clear.  We compared the map to the islands we could see and figured out that we were south of the camp, meaning we had overshot our target walking back.  We followed the road north and it wasn't five minutes before a sentry challenged us. 

Back in camp, we learned that nobody had seen any sign of the French or Indians that day.  We planned a morning raid the next day, in order to get north and near their camps as soon as possible so we could have a chance at them.

 

Oct 10^th, Wednesday  

We awoke early in the morning, more or less at first light.  Throwing our previous caution aside, we marched straight up the road, moving quickly, in order to cover as much ground as possible.  We were surprisingly quiet for at least a dozen men moving through a forest.  Everything was going as planned.

And then a gunshot rang out.  The column froze.  One of our own had accidentally discharged while fixing his weapon.  There was nothing we could do to remedy this signal of our position.  We set off again, marching quicker, trying to make up for our lack of total surprise.

Eventually we came to where the road curved inland, where my patrol the previous day had turned back.  Knowing the enemy would come out to investigate the shot, we set up an ambush in the trees to the side of the road.  I was assigned to watch our backs.  For what seemed like an hour I sat up against a tree, facing the opposite direction from the rest of the rangers.  After some time, firing began behind me, and all I could hear was shots and yelling.  I didn't turn around.  I kept my eyes fixed on the unmoving trees and rocks, hoping to catch sight of any enemy coming around our flank.

None did.  The sounds behind me started to grow fainter.  Before long I had been called out to help my fellow soldiers.  The enemy was retreating back to their camp; we were actively pursuing.  I fell in with a small group and we carefully moved up the trail, leapfrogging north to try to avoid an ambush.

We encountered no resistance on the trail, but things changed when we reached the enemy camp.  It was on a narrow peninsula, with only one way in by land.  This narrow land bridge was fortified with walls made of dead logs and heavily guarded.

We spent some time in a stand off.  They wouldn't move and we were having trouble doing so.  It was relatively easy to form a half-circle around the entrance, but from there we had few options.  I watched as many of my companions were picked off as they tried to move in closer.  Moving from tree to tree, we managed to look impressive and do very little.  Before long, a group of Frenchmen came down on us from the north and we were forced to pull back, flanked and refuted.

We regrouped and worked on a new plan.  About a dozen of us, led by Weasel, headed farther inland, climbing up, working our way over barren rocks and dangerous cliffs.  After securing a considerable distance between ourselves and the lake, we turned left and headed north, slipping and tripping on rocks the whole way.  To say that it was a little rough would be a gross understatement.  At any rate, we eventually came to a spring, where we refilled our canteens, and followed its stream back down to the lake.  We had successfully looped around to the back of the French position, where it was rumored that there was another enemy camp.

Moving quietly, we crept south.  I partnered up with Craig and together we drifted inland a bit, getting a decent piece of high ground with which to cover the rest of the column.  Craig spotted some tents through the branches and signaled Weasel. 

The fighting had begun by the time Craig and I climbed down and ran to the flank.  It was over soon after that.  We attacked a small cluster of tents, with maybe a handful of French.  One woman was there.  They were extremely grumpy at being disturbed and yelled insulting comments at us.  Eventually, they agreed that they had indeed been wiped out and we proceeded south.  Along the way, another soldier had an accidental discharge.  We moved faster now, hoping to not get cut off from our escape route south.

We met a small group of Frenchmen moving along the trail, quickly flanking and killing them.  Soon after, we were upon the first enemy camp, the one on the fortified peninsula.  Again we crept up and found ourselves in a deadlock, wondering what to do.  The French taunted us and threw grenades.  Eventually, we realized we weren't getting anywhere and moved on.

The trip back was relaxed.  The French were holed up in their camps, and we suspected no pursuit.  So, we marched in a loose formation along the road, taking few precautions.  Luckily, we were not ambushed, but we did meet a rather plump Frenchman all by himself on the road.  After a quick parley we went our separate ways, seeing as he stood no chance against us and we would hardly be justified in wasting the ammo to shoot one lost wandering soldier.

The voices around the campfire that night were somewhat bitter.  Although we had taken the northernmost French camp, the fortified peninsula still stood strong after two attempts.  We smarted both from our lost men and the verbal assaults of the cowardly French, hiding behind log walls.  Needless to say, plans were made for the following morning.

 

Oct. 11^th, Thursday  

We rose in the early morning.  Really early morning.  It looked the moon had just risen.  It probably had.

Our equipment and weapons were ready from the previous night.  We spent just minutes preparing.  I had a quick breakfast of one cold hard-boiled egg.

We lined up outside of the camp and prepared to find our way north in the dark.  With one officer in the front and one in the back, we were assigned numbers and told to count off when told so as not to lose anybody.  I was number 2.

The trees blocked out any light we would've had from the moon and stars.  It was pitch black.  I held on to the shoulder of the man in front of for parts of the trip just to not get lost.  We had difficulty even finding our way to the road.  At one point, we thought we had passed the road, and half the column turned around and walked off.  It took maybe ten minutes to get everyone back together.

Eventually, we did find the road, and we marched north in much the same fashion as we had the previous morning.  Except it was abysmally dark, and we took frequent breaks to listen around.  Deer's hooves and branches falling sounded like an ambush.  About halfway there, our other group, supposedly taking canoes up the lake, beached and joined us.  It was too windy for them to paddle their way to the enemy camp.

We stumbled onward, pausing frequently to rest and make sure we were on the right track.  Gradually, the sky grew brighter.  We crossed the road where my first patrol had turned back, going down, towards the lake shore.  There we followed another trail right along the water's edge, creeping silently up to the peninsula we had failed to penetrate yesterday.

It was dawn.  We waited tensely for orders.

One French sentry stood behind the walls.  He was talking loudly.  As it turns out, he was the wandering soldier we'd parleyed with on the previous evening.

"I see a ranger!"

He laughed and joked for perhaps another minute.  Perhaps he thought it was just a small patrol, two or three rangers checking out the camp.  At any rate, he didn't alert the camp.

"Just go!  GO!" the Major hollered.