For those of you who might think Wade Stoner is a man of few words, this will convince you that he sure knows how to tell a good tale. You can scroll down, or use one of the following links:

• Sunday, October 12: Arrival and New Allies

• Monday, October 13: Searching For the Enemy

• Monday Evening: Raid on the French

• Tuesday, October 14: Nautical Adventures (including the report by Pvt. Ed Radowitch)

• Wednesday, October 15: French Cowards

• Thursday, October 16: Pre-Dawn Raid and Exit

The majority of the British forces were to rendezvous at a designated spot around 2:00 in the afternoon, where we would leave our wagons. Several groups of Rangers arrived on time and went ahead to where we would camp for at least the first night. I was almost three hours late, but did manage to bring a couple of rangers with me, Jay Fiedler and Chauncey Goodrich. Since we had three people (and three people's gear) and only one canoe, we decided Chauncey and I would paddle and Jay would take the trail. By the time we portaged the canoe and gear to the water's edge and got everything tied in, the sun was already dropping behind the mountains on the western shore.

A campfire on Sarah Island welcomed Chauncey and me at the end of our 3-mile journey. We arrived to reports of savages and strange Europeans, probably Dutch, occupying the point where we planned to camp. Two men from a Pennsylvania Coy. of Rogers' Rangers, Ed and Kye (not to be confused with our own "PA Boys" George Herschman, Fred Herschman, Ed Radowitch, Bob Stone aka "Stony" who is not to be confused with Wade Stoner, and Roger Mansfield) canoed across the small bay to intercept Jay.

Chauncey and I quietly paddled through the darkness to reconnoiter our intended camp on the mainland. We pulled up against a rocky outcrop and I quietly made my way to the area we had fortified during past campaigns, which we fondly refer to as Fort Bear Necessity. All was quiet; the woods were very dark, as the moon had not yet come over the hills to the east. I surveyed the peninsula and finally found the Dutch anchored a few hundred feet off the northern shore. I also spotted a fire just across the channel on Hazel Island, which I assumed was the savages that our Rangers saw earlier. As I headed back to the fortified area, I heard Ed and Kye challenge someone on the trail—hopefully, they had found Jay.

It only took a few strokes of the paddle to return to the Rangers on Sarah Island. I reported my findings and decided we would camp on the mainland rather than on the island. Ed and Kye came in, saying they did find someone claiming to be a Ranger, but never having met him they wanted to make sure he wasn't a spy before they brought him to join us. Knowing that savages were still very close by on the next island, Ed, Kye, and Mark Miller were anxious to collect some scalps. As far as I was concerned, the night would be plenty long for that and my attention was focussed on getting something to eat. While Kye went to get Jay, I dug out some food. Firewood was very scarce on the island so I climbed a tree and broke off several dead branches, much to the amusement of my comrades. Chauncey cooked up some smoked fish while Ed, Kye, Mark, and I went over to Hazel Island.

The four of us traveled in one canoe so that we would have at least two muskets ready to fire should the red devils spot us first. As the canoe drifted silently up to the shore, we could see two of them actually walking toward us. We interrogated them at gun point while keeping a watchful eye that we weren't being suckered in to an ambush. It turned out they were intent on a parley with us. They said they had little reason to ally with the French and they had become very disillusioned with Long Toe and his warriors. We assumed that they were either sent to infiltrate us, or more likely, that they realized they were about to be killed and this was a way to save their skin. We gave them a different password than the rest of us would use and invited them to join us on Sarah Island.

As usual, Chauncey had done wonders with very little and I finally got to eat something. Before the savages arrived, we discussed our conversation with all and decided we would certainly not trust them but would test them rather than just slitting their throats. Ed and Kye would go north with them in the morning and get a sense of their loyalties.

Not knowing exactly where the fortified camp was, our PA Boys were content to stay on Sarah Island for the night. Jay, Chauncey, and I had not yet unpacked and decided to head across in the dark to our fortification. The skies were clear and showed no sign of rain, so we did not bother to do any more than throw down our bedrolls. Finding our way was easy now that the moon was up. We slept well even though Jay and I were awakened several times by rain. Well, it sounded like rain. During the night the wind blew quite hard, resulting in a shower of falling pine needles from the trees around us, and with our heads buried in our bedrolls, we thought it was the real thing.

Monday, October 13: Searching For the Enemy

Just after daylight, the men on the Sarah Island made the short trip over and we got our camp set up. As planned, Ed and Kye canoed with the savages north hoping to bring back word of where we might find the French or Long Toe. The rest of us spent a couple of hours collecting firewood, rebuilding shooting positions, and getting our equipment sorted out. At about noon we finished our housekeeping and decided it was time to be Rangers. I sent several of our PA Boys out in canoes to patrol the lake, watching for bateaux and canoes and reconnoitering the islands.

Pvt. Bob Stone gave us the following report:

Jay, Chauncey, Mark Miller, and I had left the camp unattended and went north on foot. We planned to meet up with Ed and Kye at 3:00 but bumped into them a little early near Black Mountain Point. Most of the group stayed there to rendezvous with the Rangers in canoes at 3:30 and, with luck, ambush some unsuspecting French. Jay, Chauncey, and I continued north looking for any sign of the enemy. We paused for a quick lunch on the peninsula at Ranger Bay, amazed by the mild weather. We intended to go as far as Floyd's Point, up near Floating Battery Island, but we ran into Long Toe and his Indians coming down the hill to the shore just north of Ranger Bay.

Jay, on point, was shot as soon as they saw him. The red devils were scurrying every which way and they spotted Chauncey coming up out of the ravine behind me and shot him also, while I dived for cover. Being the cowardly beasts that they are, they retreated back up the way they came and failed to search out the area, leaving me quite alive. I counted between 10 and 12 of them while I laid still, trying to be very small and enjoying the continuous buzz of the mosquitoes (it is when they stop buzzing that you know you're in trouble). When the last of the red dogs finally followed after the others, I waited another five minutes or so before making a quick departure over to the shore and then on up northward. Heading back the way we came was less than prudent, as Robert Rogers has trained us, and the only alternative was to go up the mountainside, high above where they would be, before heading back south.

The trip was arduous to say the least, but with adrenaline still on my side and the unbelievable views open to me, I was motivated to press on. I stayed well above the shore until I crossed the horse trail near camp and never saw another soul.

It was just getting dark Monday night when I got back to camp and reported how Jay and Chauncey had met their demise (one of the rules of the Lake is that those who die cannot talk of what they know—their news is "dead"—and so only survivors of an engagement can talk about what happened). The PA Boys, who had gone out in canoes, reported seeing a number of French on Fork Island south of us, and surprisingly far south for them. I also learned that the enemy had visited our camp while we were all away, and that we had picked up another Ranger, Dave Broach. With men on watch, we enjoyed a hot dinner and made plans for the following morning. We expected an attack at sunrise; most were determined to stand our ground in the morning and defend the camp. Ed, Kye, and our two red brothers, who apparently had proven trustworthy, were spending the night up north to locate more of the enemy. We would rendezvous with at least one of them at noon the next day (Tuesday).

Monday Evening: Raid on the French

As people were settling back and enjoying their rum rations, I asked for volunteers to go take a peek at Fork Island to see how many of the bastards were over there. I didn't expect many to join me, as all of us had had a very busy day. Several asked if we were going to actually get on the island or just paddle around-"that all depends." Then young Chauncey, eager to improve his Ranger skills, offered to accompany me. Although he was hesitant that he might give us away if we actually landed, he felt he could at least help paddle and be ready to assist an escape.

The night air was a little breezy at times yet unusually warm as we paddled past Red Rock. Once clear of Sarah and Hazel Islands, the night came alive: the Indians on Floating Battery Island were celebrating with singing, chanting, and musket fire. Even though they were about 4 miles to the north, the noise sounded as if they were as close as our own camp. Their war whoops were answered by the same from Fork Island.

We discovered two campfires along the shore, one on the southern tip of Red Rock and one on the main land just south of there. We could see and hear all kinds of activity on Fork Island, which was only about half a mile to the west of us: a campfire was clearly visible and we heard sounds of activity at their boats. We suspected that the French were preparing to head north to join the party on Floating Battery Island, so we planned to wait for them to leave and then search the island. If they left their camp set up, we would wait for them to return and ambush them as they tried to land. After watching and listening for what seemed like hours, we realized that we were hearing boats arriving and unloading, not departing.

The moon was now up and we had to retreat to along-side a small island near the eastern shore to stay in the shadows. All the activity was at the northern end of Fork Island so we headed south along the shore and then cut back on a northwesterly course so as to present the smallest silhouette possible to anyone who may be watching the water. We paddled quietly, being careful not to make any noise, and pulled up onto the southern shore. Apparently, nobody had been watching for us.

We crept and crawled through the shadows, on our hands and knees at times. Soon we spotted a fire-maybe a candle or a lantern. Hoping to find and either capture or kill the French commander, we crept toward the light. Eventually, we could see two people in a tent with a lantern. We anxiously belly-crawled to within about 10 feet of the tent and realized that it was just one of the French milice and his squaw. Rather than risk alarming the rest of the camp, we backed away and continued north.

As we came around a small point, we heard more canoes being pulled onto shore. "Excellent," I whispered to Chauncey, "They should lead us to the others." We sat motionless behind a large tree watching them move about, roughly 30 yards from us. After a while it was obvious that they were going to camp right there. We gave them more time to settle in and then started crawling in their direction. A small ridge, not more than 10 feet high; separated us from them-just enough to keep us from being able to see them easily. On our side of that ridge was a gully with a tiny, brown, odd-shaped cabin. We could see a nice clear path heading down to the cabin and figured that would be the quietest approach. I erred in assuming we were spying on French marines. That fact became completely obvious when I heard Long Toe shout, "Password, password!" They had seen some movement in the moonlight when I stood up to get a better look over the ridge, but they were unsure of what had caused it.

Long Toe and another savage cautiously walked down the hill to the little cabin. They circled it, then swung the door open wide as thought to run somebody through. They whispered for a moment and we thought they were going to head back. But then they began walking up the path right toward us! Chauncey was facing my way so as not to catch the moonlight on his skin, squatting in a ball in a black shadow. I had laid back completely flat to minimize any silhouette.

I could see they had no idea we were there, as they were looking up the path, not down. BUT, two more paces and they would literally step on us. I waited for Long Toe to take one more step and then kicked at Chauncey indicating that we had to attack NOW! Unbeknownst to me, Chauncey had been able to hear clearly enough to tell exactly what was going on. He reached out his right hand to grab Long Toe and made first contact with the butt of the Indian's musket.

Long Toe erupted in fear, screaming out a war cry the likes of which the Lake has never heard and he instinctively jerked his musket up into the air. Seeing this, I assumed Chauncey was about to be bashed with the musket butt. Like a flying squirrel, I dove through the air over him and engaged Long Toe in a bear hug just as Chauncey grabbed at him again. Now he really went crazy: something was attacking his legs, something else had him around the chest. He tried furiously to beat me off of him with his musket, but he couldn't maneuver while I had him wrapped up. Chauncey finished him off with his knife (OK, he grabbed Long Toe's ankle and yelled good and loud, "YOU'RE DEAD!") At the same time (this all took place in about two seconds), Long Toe's partner was scared to the point that his musket went off pointing straight up, as he jumped to avoid the monster that was attacking his leader. The rest of the red devils swarmed upon us, surrounding us and bashing us with clubs and tomahawks. Chauncey and I were instantly killed.

They were jubilant when they learned that I was one of their attackers and they began to yell to Jon Soule to come see their prize. They wanted to take us to the French Commander, but because we were "dead" we had the right to leave (according to the rules of the Lake George Tactical; had we merely been captured they could have taken us anywhere they wanted). We paused a bit to trade taunts before heading back to our canoe. The Indians hassled us all the way and it was apparent they were upset that someone had got that close to their camp. And there they were, squabbling over who killed Wade Stoner, as nobody really knew, and who would get the reward money for the $50 bounty Jon Soule had put on my head. In a fit of anger, the milice's squaw ran out and grabbed Chauncey's queue, but did not take his scalp.

With the moon nearly full and very bright, we paddled east and a bit south until we reached the far shore, where they couldn't see us in the shadow of the mountain. We got back to camp a bit past midnight, and lit a candle from the embers of the fire so we could see to get our bedrolls organized before joining the others in sleep.

Tuesday, October 14: Nautical Adventures

Tuesday morning, several of us were up before daylight and quickly awakened the rest of the camp in anticipation of an early enemy attack. We posted guards and took turns cooking breakfast. Before everyone was done eating, we heard a commotion and gunfire on the trail. We assumed this was the French and their savages attempting to draw us out. In fact, it was actually Ed, Kye, and our two Indians engaging a French raiding parting headed for our camp. Even though our comrades were killed, they fought fiercely enough to drive the enemy away. We then expected a full assault on our camp, so we kept our forces close, with the exception of a few guards, until about 9 o'clock. Assuming the cowardly enemy had lost the heart for battle, we decided to go after them. The Herschman brothers, Stony, and Ed R. went out in two canoes, and the rest of us went on foot.

Marching out southward with Roger Mansfield on point, we swept through Red Rock only to discover that the enemy who was there the night before had left. One of the boats was visible on the water and another apparently being loaded at Fork Island. We could not see our PA Boys in their canoes. Once again, we debated what course of action to take that would help us find the enemy and engage them in a firefight. At that time, Chauncey and I needed to canoe south to get Bill Bartley, and we brought Jay to help bring back Bill's canoe. The others remained on Red Rock so that if we could draw the French out while we were canoeing south, our Rangers could ambush them from the shore.

As we approached Red Rock in our canoe, we were spotted by a bateau under sail, which then turn towards us. The wind was from the southwest and I knew that if we could get south of the bateau, he would have no wind to help him catch us. Jay and I paddled vigorously, while Chauncey, in the center, readied his musket. Just as we passed between Big Burnt and Fork Islands, we watched their sails go slack. We slowed, turned toward them, and taunted them with musket fire. They fired a musket back, but for some reason didn't fire a swivel gun. After a feeble attempt at rowing our direction, they turned to the north to sail up the lake and we headed southeast to rendezvous with Bill and his big birchbark canoe. Other than fighting a headwind, the rest of that journey was uneventful.

When we joined the others at camp at about 4 o'clock, we found we had gained another British musket, Weasel (aka Steve Topliff). We also learned the tales of the naval activity that we missed, including our PA Boys harassing the French from their canoes, Roger with Dave attacking from shore, and Fred Herschman taking a dip in the lake. In fact, Fred was standing around in little but his shirt, while the rest of his clothes were drying by the fire.

Here is their story as told by Pvt. Ed Radowitch:

"Engaging the Enemy" By - Pvt. E. Radowitch Tues. Oct. 14th: It was a quiet and peaceful morning, we awoke around 7:00am, made breakfast and took turns standing guard. Around 9:30am we were alarmed by musket fire off in the distance, quickly and quietly we grabbed our muskets and formed a skirmish line around the perimeter of our camp. After about two hours, nothing of consequence developed, so the Pa. Boys, George H., Fred H., Roger M., Bob Stone (honorary Pa Boy) and myself, Ed R. decided we should shake things up a bit. It was much too boring waiting for the French to come out to play and the action so far was nil. With no contact for two days, it was time to take the fight to them. George, Fred, Stony and myself launched our canoes for an expedition toward the French camp to our south. Roger elected to stay behind with the other Rangers in case anything developed near camp. It was a beautiful, bright and sunny day, a perfect day to be on the lake. When we reached a point about 300 yards from the French camp, we could see they had spotted us, as the sun had reflected off their telescope. Suddenly there was mass confusion on shore and we could see them running around like a nest of stirred hornets. It was quite comical seeing them scurry frantically back and forth, not knowing if we were a lone scouting party or the advance of a larger force. We knew at that point that we had definitely got them excited and didn't know what their reaction was going to be. The quiet was shattered by a blast from their cannon on shore and another from a swivel gun on one of their bateaux. Several musket shots rang out, but we were too far away for them to be effective. We then spotted a lone canoe coming toward us and another canoe along with the bateau being launched from shore. With some hard paddling and great skill (quite by accident), we were able to catch the lone canoe in a heavy crossfire, killing all aboard while sustaining no casualties ourselves. Before the others could close on us, we hastened to take shelter on a small nearby island hoping could land and portage our canoes to the other side catching them by surprise. As luck would have it, it seems they had a similar idea or they guessed what we were up to. We landed by a small wooden dock. George and Stoney clamored from their canoe (I didn't know George could clamor, but he was moving pretty fast), taking up positions in the underbrush, while Fred and I tried to secure our canoe. Just as I snugged up on the mooring line, Fred reached for the dock in order to steady the canoe, a shot rang out, startling us both. Suddenly and almost at the same instant there was a loud yell and a very large splash. One of the French Indian allies had beaten us to shore and came out of the brush blazing away, shooting Fred right out of the canoe. When I turned to look, all I saw was a green beret floating on the water and a musket slowly sinking to the bottom. I doubt if my pulling of the line had anything to do with Fred's unfortunate plunge into the lake, though he claims otherwise. Stoney came to our rescue, dispatching the Indian swiftly, only to be overwhelmed by more Indians and a few French. The only Ranger left to fight was George and he was nowhere to be seen. The enemy had a difficult time finding him even on that tiny island. They called out repeatedly, promising fair quarter, but to no avail. Suddenly a shot was heard, then another, it was George firing on another canoe at the north end of the island. This spelled his doom and it wasn't long before he was found and finished off. Meanwhile, back at the dock we were all having a good laugh, friend and foe alike, at Fred's expense of course. Fortunately, the weather was nice and the water not too cold. The French offered the use of their fire back at camp, but we politely refused and began the arduous task of wringing out Fred's clothes. It's amazing how much water a regimental can absorb, and his musket hasn't been that clean in years. As a matter of fact, the weather was so nice, Stoney stripped to his skivies and took a swim. I don't know if it was the temperature or that he didn't want Fred to be the only one standing in his shorts or if he just smelled that bad, he needed a bath. After about two hours, we headed back up the lake at a leisurely pace, only to have their bateau fire on us again. We were too far away so we just kept on paddling north. As we approached our lines, we spotted another French boat with a three man crew, very near our main camp. Keeping a small island between us and the boat, we were able to close to within a few yards undetected. We fired upon the boat, as did the Rangers on shore at Red Rock, killing the oarsman and the gunner. Someone called for ramming speed and we actually rammed the boat, nearly capturing the French colors mounted on the stern. Who do we see sitting in the stern, none other than the French commander himself, Jon Soule. We could have captured him, but decided to shoot him instead. Needless to say, he wasn't very happy, protesting that we had all been killed earlier. Indeed we had, but after 2 hours of sitting on the island and the fact that his men opened fire upon us first, on our peaceful way back to camp, we reasoned that this was a new engagement which nullified our earlier demise. When Jon saw Fred, sitting there in the canoe in nothing but his skivies and a waistcoat, he must have thought we were a pretty desperate lot. He did mumble something about us having a secret weapon and that we should put that away, whatever that meant?!?! This was the most action seen by any of the Rangers all week. Our mission had been successful and we had a great time. Rogers' Rangers' PA Boys

Even though we didn't expect any more contact with the enemy, we posted guards while we cooked dinner. We did, however, expect a change in the weather and most of us made some sort of provision with our tents and tarps just in case. Later that evening, before the moon came up, I assembled a raiding party of 11 men in 4 canoes. Our plan was to paddle across the lake to the western shore and come in to Floating Battery Island from the back (west) side. About half way across the lake, the weather turned sour, with high winds, large swells. Rather than risking being stuck up north, or worse, our flotilla elected to turn back. We arrived in camp just in time, as the rains came with strong winds behind them. It rained through the night and let up shortly before dawn.

Wednesday, October 14: French Cowards

Wednesday morning, the wind was still blowing hard and even though the weather was unfit for battle, we walked north again to look for any sign of the enemy. We all went as far as Black Mountain Point, where we debated whether the PA Boys, who needed to pack up and return home, would be able to navigate the rough water and strong northerly winds with loaded canoes. The wind was blowing to the point where we could see whitecaps on the waves and we doubted they would make it, but they turned back to give it a go. The rest of us continued north. We paused again near Ranger Bay, where we left Kye, Ed, and Mark to stay on guard. Jay, Bill, Chauncey, our two red brothers, and I kept going, and we met up with Weasel and Dave at Floyd's Point, just even with Floating Battery Island. Bill and Weasel searched out the rocky area above us while the rest of us watched two figures we could see on Floating Battery. We made a fire and had a brief lunch. In a fit of frustration and an attempt to draw the enemy to us, we fired several volleys, but got no response. It was obvious that they would rather sit and drink cocoa like schoolgirls than fight. We lingered a bit, and then started the 4-mile march back to camp.

Waterfalls through the trees, on Black Mountain.	A warm fire while we watched Floating Battery Island L to R: Jay Fiedler, Steve Topliff (Weasle), Zack and Ryan.

Meanwhile, Pvt. E. Radowitch continues his report, regarding the PA Boys' trip back to the wagons:

Thursday, October 15: Pre-Dawn Raid and Exit

Our Rangers were frustrated and hungry for a fight. We discussed the possibility of an early morning raid, depending on the weather. As for myself, I planned to go visit them in their dreams. I lay awake Wednesday night waiting on my bedroll until the wind subsided, which was about 2am Thursday morning. I figured now was the time to go so I could get back in time to lead the group in a dawn attack. The wind at my back quickened my journey to Floating Battery. Shortly after I set foot on land, I could see their campfire. I expected they would have guards posted, so I approached cautiously. I found a position with their camp in sight and stayed put to determine how many guards were posted and where. Within about 20 minutes, two men on watch were relieved by two others. Unfortunately, the guards were doing a good job patrolling the camp and not just sitting still by the fire. I suspect they anticipated my visit, because as well as the guards, they also had trip-lines strung between trees. I could see the rope well enough that I avoided any traps, and undaunted, I continued my approach.

I passed by one shelter hoping to find their commander in the next. I waited until the guards were out of sight then dashed under the back end of a make-shift lean-to. Once inside, I quickly dispatched the four occupants. One of them, however, did not die instantly and made enough noise to alert the guards. As a uniformed soldier approached, I lunged and ran him through with my knife. Fearing that others would be awakened as well, I made a dash back towards my canoe. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a small, low, tarp and I dispatched its occupant on my way by. The surviving guard fired a shot into the dark while I made my escape, but he clearly missed me. These fellows had obviously had a busy day, because the survivors had no energy to chase me to my canoe.

The sun was just beginning to rise when I passed Hazel Island on my way back. One Ranger was already up and about at camp. It was Jay, who looked at me with eager anticipation and said, "Are we going to go get them now?" It nearly broke my heart to tell him I had just come from doing what he wanted to do now.

Soon, the rest of the camp was up and about, checking muskets, fixing their prime, and getting a bite to eat. I had hoped that my early morning activities would have stirred the French souls and we kept careful watch on the water, hoping to see some signs of activity. By 9 O'clock a loan scout in a small boat informed us the French on Floating Battery were already well into their wine! Frustrated we decided to try and beat the incoming weather and, with luck, get back to the wagons with dry gear. It wasn't long before all the equipment was loaded and the camp was empty. Dave and Jay took the trail while the rest of us pushed our small flotilla off for the trip south. The wind was stiff and the swells were tall. Bill and Weasel had a tough time with the birch-bark canoe catching a lot of wind. If we hadn't been laden with all the gear, the arguing swells would have actually been fun. It took a bit of skill to avoid being captured by them; a fate none of us were interested in experiencing. After nearly a couple hours of strenuous paddling, we made it to the landing without incident, bringing the campaign to a quiet end.

My deepest and sincerest thanks to those who fought in service of the King!

Respectfully submitted,
Wade Stoner