Читать книгу Aaron Burr: A Biography - Nathan Schachner - Страница 21

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The invasion of Canada was one of the earliest strategic moves of the Revolution. There were immeasurable advantages to be gained, both military and political, in winning over Canada to the cause. For one thing, there would be a solid and united front in America and a consequent increase in man-power and the resources of warfare; for another, it would eliminate a convenient base for British land operations against the rebellious Colonies.^[64]

The idea was correct, the hopes based upon its success plausible, but unfortunately Washington and Congress had been furnished with distorted and misleading information. Certain negotiations had already been conducted with the Canadians, seeking their support. The old French settlers were not wholly unwilling to consider the matter; they were not exactly contented under the rule of England. But they were a prudent race and cautious against untoward commitments. If they could be assured of success, if the Americans could prove conclusively that they were well able to battle the might of England—well, then, Messieurs, we shall see ... we shall see!

The American emissaries, unversed in these diplomatic murmurings, hastened back to report that all Canada was seething with revolt, that at the mere sight of an expeditionary force, the countryside would rise en masse and join in driving the English into the sea. These reports were promptly accepted at face value. Time was short, if the conquest of Canada was to be accomplished at all. General Guy Carleton, the British Governor, was an able soldier, and he was rushing fortifications with diligence and speed. Reinforcements were already on the way from England.

The capture of Ticonderoga and of Crown Point by the Americans opened a way along Lake Champlain into the heart of Canada. General Schuyler was placed in command of a force that would strike through at Montreal. On his sudden illness the command devolved on General Montgomery.

Simultaneously with this move, Arnold was to march with picked men through the untrodden wilderness of southwestern Maine and surprise and capture Quebec while Carleton was employed at Montreal. It was a desperate venture, but its very boldness and daring was in its favor. At that, the entire scheme missed complete success only by a hair’s-breadth. The most important element of weakness, and one which was eventually to prove fatal, was the time equation. The maps of the Maine wilderness were not wholly accurate, and the passage took far longer than the calculated period. The surprise element was lost, Carleton was able to man Quebec adequately, and the wholly lukewarm Canadians, seeing that the fat was in the fire, lifted hardly a finger to aid their supposed allies.

Colonel Arnold’s force (he had just received his commission) consisted of two battalions, of about 1100 men in total strength, chiefly mountaineers and frontiersmen from Pennsylvania and Virginia, accustomed to the wilderness. They left Cambridge in two detachments on September 11th and 13th, 1775, and reached Newburyport, the point of embarkation, on the 15th and 16th. Burr and his friends arrived at about the same time. On the 18th they embarked on board eleven transports and headed for Gardinierstown, at the mouth of the Kennebec River, where they put ashore on the 20th. Burr had been accepted as a gentleman volunteer by Arnold and was in high spirits. Along with him were young men whose names were to be linked with his in certain very important crises of his life. Besides Matthias Ogden, there were Samuel Spring and Jonathan Dayton, friends from college days, and—James Wilkinson. Of this worthy, much, much more anon.

From Gardinierstown, what with bateaux and marching, they traversed the six miles to Fort Western, up the river. From there, on September 25th and 26th, they pushed on in two battalions. Burr and his companions were assigned to Colonel Greene’s division and started on the 26th.

They had for their perilous water journeying over 224 bateaux, “hastily built in the most slight manner of green pine,” laden to the brim with men, provisions, cannon, equipment; two men in the bow, and two in the stern to handle each unwieldy craft. Thus equipped, they ventured without misgivings, sensing only high adventure ahead, into the unknown tangle of woods and swamps and rapids and mountains.

It was difficult, tedious work, far more so than any had anticipated. The current of the Kennebec, as they penetrated farther along its course, grew rapidly stronger and more shoal. Time and again the crews had to wade in the icy, rushing waters to haul the clumsy, overladen boats against its force. There were falls and rapids, too. The boats were unloaded, placed on the backs of straining men, together with the supplies and guns, and carried through hampering woods and swamps around the impasse. The weather was shifting too; every day it was perceptibly colder. On September 30th, only a few days along, it was already so cold that the soaked uniforms of the shivering men froze and refused to thaw out even near the fires.

The boats were leaking now, the crews were always in water, their clothes always drenched. Precious food supplies swept away in the torrents or grew moldy; ammunition became wet and was rendered useless. Portages increased in number and difficulty. The river became shallower and swifter, and the mountains were beginning. Snow was on their flanks, and continuous cold, penetrating rains set in. The water of the stream was icy. Rations were reduced to moldy pork and flour and a few barrels of unwholesome salt beef.

On October 8th they reached the headwaters of the Kennebec and there was a twelve-mile carry to the Dead River. This was the worst of all, through choked forests, swamps and miry lakes, across the looming flank of a mountain. The men were in a very bad state by now. Dysentery had weakened them, fevers and colds had sapped their strength; they were ill, exhausted, starved, their clothing in rags, drenched by the eternal rains, frozen by the sharp frosts of a Maine autumn. But they made it, and on October 16th set those boats that remained on the Dead River.

Arnold wrote letters to his correspondents in Canada, announcing his imminent arrival. Two Indians were the messengers. They and their letters fell into the hands of the British and gave the first warning of the approach of Arnold’s expedition.

The Dead River was a deep, sluggish stream, black and ugly. It was too deep to pole and the bateaux had to be hauled with ropes by men on the banks. The rain fell torrentially. One bitter evening the river rose like a spring freshet and washed boats, provisions, guns and tents to irremediable destruction. The surrounding forest for hundreds of square miles became a vast, choked lake. The men died of hunger and exhaustion; pneumonia took its toll. Food was non-existent; everything was eaten by the desperate soldiers—dogs, moccasins, leather. And, to add to their miseries, it began to snow on October 25th. Winter and all its attendant terrors was at hand.

Finally, however, after indescribable hardships and superhuman efforts, they struggled with their few remaining boats over a terrible portage, surmounted the steep ridge of the Boundary Mountains, toiled down to Seven Mile Stream, and into Chaudière Pond. They were in Canada!

Burr and Ogden were participants in that dreadful march. They helped pole boats, waded in icy streams, struggled through swamps, ate dog meat when available, were ragged and hungry and footsore equally with the tough frontiersmen of Morgan and of Greene. Ogden kept a hurried journal, of which only a portion is preserved. On October 28th, he and Burr and two others, with “about ½ of a pound of pork per man, and five pints, scant measure, of flour, which was to last us to the inhabitants,” left the ridge of the Boundary Mountains and made their way by boat down to Chaudière Pond.^[65] On the way they found one of Captain Smith’s boats dashed on the rocks and all her lading lost. Because the stream was too swift they abandoned boat, and joining forces, seven all told, proceeded on foot, steering northeast, until they caught up with the rest of their Company. “At 3 o’clock we hailed Capt. Derborn and one more going down stream in a birch canoe. They informed us that Capt. Morgan had his boat split upon a rock, the most of his effects lost, and one man drowned.”^[66]

The next day they found the wreck of their informants’ canoe. It was every man for himself. Discipline and ordered marching had long since vanished. They straggled through as best they might, singly and in couples and in little ragged, always hungry groups. Men died on the way and there was no one to bury them.

Meanwhile the rear division, under Colonel Enos, had held a council of war, and foreseeing only suffering and eventual death ahead in this frightful wilderness, had determined to abandon the expedition. Accordingly they turned back, taking with them the larger share of their scanty food and ammunition; for which Enos was afterward to be tried by court-martial and regrettably acquitted.

Arnold had pushed ahead of the toiling, still faithful detachment to Chaudière Pond. There he met a messenger from French sympathizers with the cheering information that there were “few or no regulars at Quebec, which may be easily taken.”^[67] He went on down the Chaudière River and on October 30th reached Sartigan, where there were, praise be, supplies to be purchased and sent back to his starving troops.

Ogden records their pathetic emotions at the vision of food. It was “the finest sight my eyes ever beheld ... Scarce one of us but with tears of joy expressed the gratitude of his heart at seeing five horned cattle and two birch canoes loaded with mutton and flour brought forward by French men.” It was November 2, 1775.

The wilderness march was over. From then on they traveled through settled country to their objective. But half the force had deserted, many had died in the terrible passage, and the rest were ill and exhausted.

After a rest at Sartigan, the little band, some 500 effectives, moved on to Point Levis on the St. Lawrence, directly opposite the frowning steeps of Quebec. The advance force camped on the ground November 7th; the last faint straggler came up by November 13th.

Meanwhile cheering news had been received from Montgomery. He had advanced into Canada, captured Chambly and St. John’s in succession, and was pressing on to Montreal. General Carleton, hearing of the new threat caused by Arnold’s sudden appearance, hastily abandoned Montreal to the foe and raced back to Quebec to put it in a state of defense.

Meanwhile there were no boats. The British had burned them all, and a frigate and a sloop patrolled the river. But somehow the Americans were able to purchase a supply from the natives, and secretly, the night of November 13th, 500 men crossed to Wolfe’s Cove before the alarm was given. They met no opposition as they climbed in Wolfe’s footsteps to the Heights of Abraham and encamped before the walls of Quebec.

A flag of truce to the English with a peremptory, threatening message to surrender was decided on. It was a gesture, nothing more.^[68] Ogden, who carried the message, was, to his vast astonishment, promptly greeted with cannon balls. He tried it again on the following day, and the emphatic salute was repeated. Obviously the English were in no mood to listen to insulting demands.^[69]