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Lake George Tactical 2004 2004 Lake George Tactical main page | All Lake George Tactical Reports
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Monday, October 11
Our advanced guard, some of Major Rogers’ and a few other volunteers, scouted the eastern shore on Monday. The wind was quite contrary as it pushed the water over the bow of our canoes. The primary objective was to secure one of two predetermined rallying points where the main body, two detachments of rangers and a squad from the 55th o’foot, would join us on Tuesday. The secondary objective was to gather as much intelligence as possible as to the number and location of the enemy. We made camp at Fort Bear Necessity for the evening. With myself being the only officer present, I assigned Chauncey Goodrich the duties of sergeant. Although officially only a private in the Rangers and a bit young, Goodrich had demonstrated his leadership abilities in previous special missions and his enthusiasm is rarely equaled. General orders, including the parole, were reviewed along with Tuesday’s battle plan. Guards were posted and we enjoyed a warm and peaceful meal well after the sun had set. Tuesday, October 12After having been awake much of the night listening to the sounds in the night and conferring with me quietly in the early hours, Sergeant Goodrich had the men up and fed before morning light. We broke camp and cached our gear and were on the trail by 7 O’clock. Goodrich and the men had a full morning and many miles of scouting to the north ahead of them. I returned south to meet up with Major Rogers, Lt. W. Stevens, a number of Rangers, and the men of the 55th. Just as I began heading back to join Goodrich, assuming they had been otherwise detained, four of Major Rogers’ men caught my attention. I was informed that the Major and most of his men, along with Mr. W. Stevens and his men had been recalled to Fort William Henry but that Lt. Paul Stevens should be catching up to us late this afternoon and that the 55th would find us in the morning. Two of the rangers (Pvt. “Capt’n George” Hershman and Pvt. Bob Stone aka “Stony”) canoed up the shore while two more (Pvt. Ed Radowitch and Pvt. Roger Mansfield) accompanied me over land.
Less than half way back to our gear, I found a note left by a runner sent by Sgt. Goodrich — they had discovered the enemy heading south with several boats and canoes and felt the need to warn us. We made haste in our return hoping that we would be able to ambush them as they tried to come ashore. Goodrich left several men in place to observe the French while he made his way to meet up with me. Of utmost concern was the future of our two rangers in the lone canoe — certainly no match for this flotilla of French. Unfortunately, we had lost sight of them and had no way to warn them of the impending danger. The two rangers with me, laden with gear, took up a defensive position at the Stone Fortress and remained behind while Goodrich and I moved smartly toward Red Rock where we expected the French to land. Once we confirmed the French were already on Redrock, efforts were made to quickly regroup Goodrich’s men who were scattered about setting ambushes and a runner, Bob Stoner (yes, a close relation to Wade Stoner and not to be confused with Bob "Stony" Stone) was sent south to get Ed and Roger. With our relatively low numbers, we needed all the men we could muster. After what seemed an intolerable amount of waiting, the three from the south had not caught up with us. Having lost all patience, I covered the short distance back to them in only a few minutes. It seems they had discovered a Frenchman (Billy Cleveland), shadowing them from the hillside above the trail. Pvt. Mansfield had been shot at and sustained an annoying but insufficiently dangerous flesh wound. He seemed more upset about the hole in his canteen. The men conducted a quick search of the area, but we found no signs of the enemy's flotilla. While we were spending much time trying to re-assemble our small force, our canoeing rangers were quite active. They not only made their way ashore, but successfully dispatched General Soule before being discovered and then executed. By the time we reformed, it was near dark. We did not have the numbers necessary to fight our way across the neck of Redrock, let alone to take and hold it. I ordered Goodrich to get the men back to our gear, post pickets, and make camp. With the enemy that close, it would be very easy to make our way there in the early morning and attack at dawn. I finally had a chance to hear Sergeant Goodrich’s full report on the mornings’ activities. Also, we were joined by Pvt. Steve “Weasel” Topliff.
The men spent most of the evening getting reacquainted and exchanging tales of their exploits, and the new arrivals got caught up on the orders and rules of engagement. Guards had been posted, including one down on the point to monitor the small group of French and/or unfriendly Indians setting up camp just a stone’s throw away on Hazel Island. Although we never saw them, we certainly could hear several canoes heading north and by the singing, I assumed it was Long Toe and his savages. After dark, Lt. Paul Stevens of Rogers’ Rangers found his way into camp and reported a very busy afternoon. He had been harassed by a canoe with three Indians, but was able to outrun them, his being a significantly faster canoe, by heading south again and sheltering on shore. Not long after, he again ventured north and again found the enemy, and again outran them, his time to near our location where he was able to hide his canoe and approach us from the landward side. Once we had the Lt. unloaded, set up, and fed, I made plans for him and myself to dispatch our new neighbors and then reconnoiter south to see if the main body of French stayed on Red Rock or moved further south. We paddled north around the island and approached from the west. Paul stayed with the canoe in case we needed to make a hasty departure while I searched the camp for the French flag. No flag. How could there be no flag? I checked again. Not at any of the tents nor at the fire pit. Certainly not “conspicuously displayed” as per the Articles of War. Oh well, I did approach one tent, affixed a “death card,” awakened the occupant, and informed him that his tent had just been set a–blaze and he should consider himself dead. I made my way back to the canoe and we headed south. The low easterly moon was not in our favor as we were illuminated on the water, yet the shore was shrouded in complete darkness. We passed one campfire a little way’s south of Red Rock and headed on down to Commission Point. Hmmm, another campfire. We paddled along quietly surveying the south side of the peninsula, but we were easily spotted. Musket fire erupted from several positions as we quickly opened the range. Not overly discrete, but mission accomplished. On the way back to camp we did swing through the incredibly dark Red Rock Bay and concluded that the main body had indeed moved further south. Unfortunately, that would make an evening visit or an early morning raid difficult.
Facing Wednesday morning significantly under-manned and outnumbered, I decided to maintain a defensive posture for a few hours. The men were up before light and rotated through standing guard and getting something to eat. Anticipating a potential three-way attack — canoes from Hazel Island, boats from the south, and infantry from the trail — I communicated our battle plan, established fall back positions, and put the men and swivel guns into place. Bill Filkins jumped at the chance to man a swivel down by the point overlooking Hazel Island.
An hour passed, then another. Nothing was happening. I made a round, visiting each of our posts. When I got down to the point, Pvt Filkins informed me that he has seen most of the occupants from Hazel had left, headed north, and that they never came within range of his swivel. I asked, “So is that officer the only one over there? The one by himself with a fully loaded canoe?” “Um, yes sir.” “Well go get him!” I ordered. “Capture him. Don’t kill him.” Weasel and Lt. Stevens immediately set off in a canoe. I went to inform the others as to what was going on and to remind them not to be distracted. When I returned, the French officer was still fiddling around, but now with a sense of urgency. “Where are Weasel and Paul?” I demanded. “Over there. They just landed.” I couldn’t believe it. They were sneaking across the length of the island while this guy was about to get away. I ordered Pvt. Mansfield to come with me. We threw a canoe in the water and hastily made straight for our prey across the short distance to the island. The doomed officer made a valiant attempt to out-run us but to no avail. The two of us landed on the island with Weasel and Stony coming up from the other direction. Amazingly, the Frenchman conducted himself with much honor. With him being an officer, I extended the offer of not shackling him if he agreed to not resist nor try to escape, which he accepted. As I was interrogating him, I spotted another loan canoe, fully loaded, and with a single occupant. I ordered two of the men to go get that one and bring him to the island, alive. Watching intently, both canoes disappeared behind a large rock. A few minutes past, then a shot was fired. A few more minutes past but nobody reappeared. I got back in my canoe with Pvt. Mansfield and we went to see what was going on. It seems my young privates were better suited at killing than capturing as one of them was negotiating terms of surrender (negotiating???) while the other was itching to just shoot him. I ordered them to escort this scout (Billy Cleveland) over to the island with the other prisoner. Just after we got him and his canoe secured, we spotted another loan boat headed north. This one, however, was under sail. Recognizing that our canoes were no match for an armed boat, I figured to lure him in. We paraded the prisoners at gun point along the shore facing the open lake. It wasn’t working. One of our canoes did go out to try and sucker the boat in, but that wasn’t working either. As it turned out, it was General Soule and he was being very cautious. Finally after a good thirty minutes had passed, I announced my presence and suggested a parlay — if he was interested in recovering his prisoners. Skeptically, he agreed and we allowed him to safely make his way ashore.
We exchanged pleasantries for a few moments and he offered some libations before we discussed the details of a possible exchange. While his man was retrieving the rations from the boat, we spotted yet another lone boat headed our way from the south. This was just too good to be true and I rhetorically asked, “What is this, Fishing for French Day?” Gen. Soule and I continued our discussions and agreed to the idea that in exchange for his men, the four of them would exit to the north and remove themselves from the battle, in all manner, for two hours. While hashing this out, the other bateau (bearing Gregg Champlin at the tiller and his son Brent at the gun) continued north and finally passed directly between the point (where we had a swivel) and Hazel Island. Gunfire erupted from everywhere, as Lt. Stevens and Sgt. Goodrich emerged in a canoe from a nook around our little point, and fired on the unsuspecting bateaumen. Filkins, meanwhile, let off his swivel with considerable glee. No one had called the gunner on the boat, however, so I politely excused myself from the General, stepped up, shot the gunner, then returned to the conversation. These fellows graciously acknowledged their demise and after a few minutes of hello’s, we all went on our way.
Although it had been a very busy morning, more than half of my men had still not seen any action. Having not yet seen Commander Damian
Siekonic, we quickly formed up and headed south. Brazen with the knowledge that we would not be
Several hundred yards ahead, I could see one boat already out and the last one preparing to get underway. We started running, first at a trot, then at a full-out sprint. It was the French Commander, Damian! I dashed out onto the peninsula, and using a large tree for cover and to my fusil I shot at Damian. “I missed? I couldn’t have missed at that range.” My estimation was 30-35 yards. Damian indicated that it was much further, hence the splintered gunwales. As we exchanged pleasantries, Damian drifted back closer while I was joined by Chauncey, Weasel, plus Peterson and Handy from the 55th. Chauncey fired at the ever-closer ship and shot directly in the chest young Master Groom directly who faced us full-on while attempted to fire their swivel at us from the bow, 20-25 yards away. I had quickly loaded and fired, as did the others, but the remainder of the French forces labored north. Thirty seconds sooner — that’s all we needed to have got Damian: 30 seconds. Even though this last engagement was a bit disappointing, we were enlivened. We had clobbered them this morning and even though they slipped away here, we had taken the fight to them. But now what? I had a handful of blood-thirsty rangers and two British regulars to go take on a force three times our size. I guess that’s what rangers do. Stony and George had already set off by canoe to follow them while the rest of us were returning to camp to grab canteens and a few rations. Within a few minutes, several of us reformed and were again on the trail and moving quickly; this time, north, to Black Mountain Point. The French made no point of hiding their position. They were like ants crawling all over the point. Assuming that they were going to be pre-occupied with making camp and having their cocoa, we planned to set an ambush using the two regulars to draw out a few pickets. At the same time, Stony and George had become an annoyance to them, so together, we kinda “stirred up the hornet’s nest.” They came out in a swarm. Several of the rangers engaged down along the shoreline and either retreated or were killed. Weasel and I were holding our position, but watching with great concern as the French line continued to extend well to the south, our left. If we fired now, both ends of their line would surely wrap around up the hill and pin us down. We remained silent and still, hoping that they would file back passed us allowing us to pick off the rear guard. Unfortunately, the sly dogs had too much energy and the southern end of the line began to wheel around would certainly sweep right through our positions. I signaled Weasel to make a hasty retreat up the mountain. He moved quickly but quietly and didn’t seem to attract any attention. When he was about 20 yards out, I turned and began to follow him. Having taken less than three steps, I was shot dead in the back by Jon who had seen me take cover earlier and was stalking towards me. At least Weasel lived to pass on the intelligence we had collected. Back at camp, we discussed battle plans for the evening and the next morning. Private Filkins and I would paddle north around midnight to identify exact locations of fires and men. Weasel and Dave Broach assembled a bit of gear and marched to within yards of the French, where they made camp in order to keep an eye on them in case anything should change. The rest of us would march out before dawn, meet up with Weasel and Dave, then attack the French at daylight. Around 2000 hrs, Bill and I began a leisurely paddle into the moonless night, as clouds had moved in to shield us from the moonlight. We closed to within about 100 yards of the nearest campfire and Bill let off several shots just to get their attention. It worked! Muskets and swivels thundered in the darkness at random intervals. When things calmed down a bit, I yelled out to Damian: “be sure to leave a light on for me as I will be back to visit in a few hours.” I guess they took the taunting seriously as we heard cannon fire all through the night, keeping themselves awake on watch. Later the next day, Weasel reported that they really did leave a light on — lanterns were strung through the trees and all the French stayed up all night. Weasel and Dave penetrated the darkness “killing” lanterns and generally keeping the enemy quite paranoid of the ghostly figures they feared might be me — but were in fact Dave and Weasel) penetrating their camp. Weasel reported that the French shot at an owl, accusing it of being me doing a bad impression of an owl. Dave reported that a falling tree limb also drew their fire.
Thursday morning came quickly but it was very dark. So dark in fact, that I decided to postpone our sunrise raid out of concern for trying to move the troops through the blinding darkness. Sgt. Goodrich (maintaining his field promotion for the duration of the campaign) and I paddle north to inform Dave and Weasel of the change in plans. We continued on north from there, around the other side of Black Mountain Point where we challenged and daunted Damian to pursue us, but to no avail; no amount of insults would stir them — it was their cocoa time again, after all. The two of us, in a lone canoe, had command of the water. We returned to camp, mustered the men and headed back north. Stony and George paddled as the rest of us marched. Their canoe was easily spotted and once it got close enough, they finally decided to engage. Several of the rangers tangled with them down along the shore, almost in the same spot as yesterday. The rest of us began to extend up the side of the mountain, but we had company. Both sides were pushing to control the high ground. We lost several men during a few moments of confusion at the initial contact. I was quickly able to restore order and we leap-frogged our way up the hill, insistent on not allowing them to flank us. The Rangers were calm and now fought as they were trained. At one point, it appeared that Goodrich had been shot, as he was unable to catch his breath. A moment later as I was working my to him, he finally exhaled. The amount of smoke that came out of his mouth was amazing. It was as if a musket was fired. It turned out that his flash guard had rotated around and firing in an awkward position from behind cover, the spray of the vent was directed straight into his mouth and lungs. After we learned that all was well, we had a good laugh at Sgt. “Dragon Breath” Goodrich. Meanwhile, five of us continued firing and moving up the hill, preventing the French from getting around us. It was every bit invigorating as it was exhausting. Finally, the French disappeared leaving us a chance to rest, grab a bite, and laugh some more at Goodrich. We took stock of our cartridges and grenades, then formulated a plan to go up and around the French and conduct a hit-and-run harassment raid as we passed by them southbound. Private Filkins provided us with a scenic tour of the mountain side before we rallied at the old chimney. There we distributed the grenades and matches and refined the details of the raid. As the men moved down the trail with Lt. Stevens, I traveled through the woods, paralleling them at about 30 yards. I figured this would help hide my red coat as well as providing them with coverage on the flank, should an sentries be posted. The raid was a fiasco, a complete flop. Grenades ricocheted off of trees and none found their mark. Several of the French, including Damian actually pursued us for a short distance, but when we got to cover, they turned and went back for more cocoa. Private Filkins, still having powder and one grenade, requested to stay behind as a rear guard and offer additional harassment at any opportunity. (Please be sure to read Bill's very entertaining story!)
Meanwhile, the rest of us returned to camp and prepared for the parlay scheduled for later that day. Pvt. Broach, however, had orders to return and left us at that time. Once Filkins returned (with a very funny story to tell) and we had the colors affixed to my canoe, we all headed north by water. It was very rewarding to look back at our small flotilla — the men fought hard today, and they were as smartly-dressed in their uniforms as was possible under the circumstances. We beached the canoes on the south side of Black Mountain Point and Lt. Stevens led the march to the parlay, a very formal and well-done affair (the French always have been good at throwing parties). There was food and drink for all the men, but more importantly, it allowed us all to meet each other. Looking down the table, with all the Brits on one side and the French on the other, I noticed a very stark contrast. I commented to Damian, “Look down your side of the table. Now look down ours. Including myself, we have nine men here (all rangers, the redcoats having returned also), and the average age is over 50!” Damian suggested that I need to do a better job of recruiting. I simply asked, “Why? For every sizeable engagement this week, these old men brought the fight to you.”
The weather was quickly turning sour and the French decided to head north for the night, forgoing any additional hostilities. Back at our camp, the night was rather uneventful, although the men did all receive double rum rations. Based on our few numbers, this was a good year at the Lake. Some of the rangers would have benefited from more contact and it was unfortunate that the weather ended things early. In the end, we learned some things, about our tactics and our gear. We fought hard and upheld the reputation of the rangers. I would like to personally thank all those on all sides who participated. Regardless of the number of engagements, body counts, or who wins or loses, this is a magnificent event, unlike any other. YMHOS, Capt. Quintin Kennedy |
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