Proceed, Sergeant Lamb Page 11

  I have always had a great love of the regular, the orderly and the neat; and as a sergeant in this corps I was able to indulge it to the full. My sergeant’s wig, which was paid for by the Colonel, and fitted for me by the Regimental perruquier, was of the finest hair; and I kept it always in irreproachable trim. Smutchy Steel took kindly to this mode of life, but it can be imagined that Mad Johnny Maguire found it difficult to alter his old slovenly habits. He was always in trouble.

  Richard Harlowe was drafted to The Thirty-Third. It then proved that, by one of these extraordinary accidents that occur frequently on extraordinary occasions, Smutchy Steel had hit upon the exact truth. The Shakespearean fop was indeed a close relative of Harlowe’s and rather than again risk the indignity of being accosted in the street by a common soldier who could call him cousin—or it may well have been brother—had undertaken to purchase his discharge: on condition that a substitute were found, which among the destitute Loyalists was not a difficult task. So this bad soldier was lost to the Army.

  CHAPTER VII

  Of the expeditions which we made from our base of New York in 1779 I need not write in detail. The first was undertaken on May 30th, when we were sent up Hudson’s River in boats against Stoney Point and Verplanck’s Neck, some forty miles beyond New York, where the Americans had forts. These forts were placed at King’s Ferry, a narrowing of the river, which was the way that the revolutionary forces habitually took when crossing from the middle provinces into New England, or contrariwise. If this passage were seized they must make a circuit of sixty miles through the mountains. To me the chief interest of the expedition was that I beheld for the first time the beautiful scenery on the lower reaches of Hudson’s River, here about two miles in breadth, which surpassed description. The western bank showed at first a continuous dark wall of rock which by its vertical fissures suggested Palisades, and bore that name. It was occasionally broken by a watercourse and everywhere fringed and chequered with the bright foliage of early summer. The eastern shore—which I regarded with interest as the country which I had traversed as a fugitive in the previous winter—gradually assumed a wild and heroic character, with woods, pastures, towering cliffs. All the noblest combinations of forest and water, light and shade, were now here seen in the greatest perfection, and by the pleasure in Nature which I discovered, I knew that I was myself again, emerged from the slough of disgust and disinterest into which captivity had for awhile sunken me. Yet the American houses, sheds, sawmills and forts, that I beheld, all of undressed wood and many in ruins on account of the war, had for me a dishevelled and melancholy appearance when I contrasted them in memory with the neat whitewashed houses and handsome churches with glittering tin spires that had lined the St. Lawrence River in Canada. Considering the matter in my mind, I decided: ‘No, no, a modest and decent prosperity will always outweigh for me the most romantic prospect of peak, chasm and tangled forest.’

  The division that we were in landed a little before noon at a point seven miles below King’s Ferry. Another continued up the river, and before night had, with the loss of one man wounded, seized Stoney Point. This was a place of great natural strength but the works being not yet completed by the enemy were abandoned by them in haste. We meanwhile, advancing over rugged and difficult country, invested the fort on our side of the river, named Fort Lafayette, and bivouacked within musket-shot of it. By five in the morning our people on the other bank had hauled cannon and mortars from the fleet up to Stoney Point and bombarded Fort Lafayette from across the water. This proved to be a small but complete work with palisades, a double ditch, trees felled with branches outward, chevaux-de-frise, and a bomb-proof block-house in the middle. The seventy Americans in it soon beat a chamade, or demand for a parley, and Major André was sent in under a flag of truce by General Clinton to receive their surrender. The sole condition made by the Americans was that we should promise them good usage. Having garrisoned these two forts, we soon dropped down the river again.

  On July 4th, the Regiment was sent in an expedition against the coast of Connecticut, a province which abounded with men as well as provisions and was a principal support to the American armies. Since the Connecticut people had long boasted that we feared to attack them because of their martial prowess, Sir Henry Clinton decided to undeceive them. By doing as much destruction as possible to public arsenals, stores, barracks and the like, he hoped to tempt General Washington into quitting the Highlands. If he took the bait, well and good—for his troops, though then being exercised by Baron von Steuben, a Prussian drill-master, were no match for ours; or if he stayed behind, better still—he would earn a reputation, among the people of Connecticut, either of not caring at all what losses they might suffer or of not daring to come to their aid. The reason that Connecticut had been so long spared was that most inhabitants of the coastal districts were of the Episcopalian faith, and loyal by inclination, though kept in awe by the dissenting and revolutionary minority; it had been thought unwise to destroy the wheat with the tares. However, since these Loyalists were so slow to come out in their true colours, Sir Henry now gave them the chance to declare themselves—let them treat us either as foes or liberators, however they wished.

  To be brief: our small expedition, of regulars and American Provincials intermixed, disembarked on either side of the Connecticut fort of New Haven, which lay about eighty miles up the coast from New York, and seized the fort which protected it. The vessels in the harbour and all artillery, ammunition, public stores ashore were either taken or destroyed; yet the town, which was a pleasant and substantial place, was not burned. However, as was to be expected, the presence of Colonel Fanning’s Provincials among our forces caused some irregularities. They could not at first be restrained from the plunder of private houses; and the inhabitants, being thus provoked, fired from windows at the sentinels placed as guards to prevent any further damage. The people of New Haven were, by the bye, universally known in New England as Pumpkin-heads, because of an ancient law in Connecticut which enjoined every male to have his hair cut round his cap every Saturday; the hard shell of a pumpkin being often used instead of a cap. The intention was, it seems, to prevent those who had lost their ears for heresy from concealing their misfortune under long tresses. After a proclamation had been made to persuade these Pumpkin-heads to renewed allegiance the fort was dismantled and we re-embarked.

  The expedition next proceeded to Fairfield, a town about twenty miles nearer to New York, and a little inland. Fairfield, and Norwalk its neighbour, had been spared from destruction two years previously during an expedition made by Governor Tryon of New York, who was now again in command, against the arsenal of Danbury. The Americans, therefore, trusting that the same indulgence would once more be shown to the place, used private houses as ambuscades against our people, when we advanced to the seizure of the public stores. We lost a number of men killed or wounded. Governor Tryon, remarking that the Americans must be taught to use private houses only for private purposes, or else accept the consequences, ordered the little town to be burned to the ground. This would have been a very painful sight to all our eyes, had not the resentment that we felt for the loss of our comrades mitigated our mercy. Yet I for one was grieved to see the English church go up in flames, among the secular buildings; and a poor woman with an infant in her arms who came running to my platoon, calling upon us wildly to stay our hands, was the wife of the incumbent, the Reverend John Sayre. He had been very badly treated by the Whigs for the four years foregoing, his wife babblingly told us, and reduced to reading on a Sunday, to his congregation, no more than the Bible and the Homilies; for the Liturgy was forbidden him. Yet how had his forbearance and saintliness been served, she cried, even by those for whose victory he offered his private prayers to God nightly! His fine church was in ashes and his snug parsonage too, the Communion plate destroyed, and she and he, with eight children, were now left destitute of provisions, home and raiment. Our company commander offered her safe conduct back to New York, but sh
e refused it. She had been separated from her husband, in the bustle, and from two of her children, and would not budge unless the whole flock were assembled. So we left her there raving distractedly.

  Norwalk and Greenfield, places taken immediately afterward, suffered a similar fate, since the opposition of the militia, called out in great numbers, was of a nature that no regular army could patiently endure. Governor Tryon’s name was productive of such hatred among the population, who regarded him as the main influence for the continuance of the war on our side (as we regarded King Hancock and the Adamses as the chief agitators on theirs), that every shed or barn became a fortress against our advance and, before we had done, our loss in killed, wounded and missing amounted to one hundred and fifty.

  In the neighbourhood of Norwalk, Mad Johnny Maguire asked permission from our officer to leave the column for ten minutes while we halted in a field. The officer enquiring the reason, Maguire replied that he owed a native of the place a debt of four shillings and threepence and wished to discharge it. The officer, acceding to this curious request, sent a sergeant and two men with Maguire to observe what he did. I was the sergeant selected.

  We passed up a wagon-track to a group of farm buildings through an orchard of cherry-trees, bearing a fine crop of the common black cherries which they used hereabouts for their cherry rum, and little red honey cherries which were good for eating. Maguire, leading confidently, said to me: ‘This is the farm of my brother Cornelius the rebel; and yonder is my nephew and namesake Johnny. Come here, halloo, come here, Johnny, my fine rogue and greet your uncle!’ But the little fellow hung back, and ran screaming to his mother at the sight of armed red-coats. She was gathering cherries in a tree, standing on a ladder; and being a little deaf had not heard our approach. When we came up, she screamed too, though with the presence of mind not to overset her basket. Descending the ladder precipitately, she fell at my feet and begged us to spare her life and that of the family.

  ‘I think I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Cornelius Maguire,’ I said politely. ‘Your brother-in-law has just come to the house to pay your husband a small debt.’

  ‘Oh, it is but that rascal and thief of a Johnny?’ she cried, fear giving way to an impetuous indignation. ‘He that near killed my poor innocent husband, who was so good to him, cracking his head open with a cruel stroke of a loggerhead? Oh, by the Angels, I’ll be equal with him.’ She caught little Johnny by the hand and rushed towards the farm, picking up a hatchet from the wood-pile as she went.

  We hurried after her and were spectators of a curious scene—a family tussle between Maguire and a swarm of his half-grown nephews and nieces, who had been at work on various household tasks in the kitchen, for the possession of Cornelius’ ponderous firelock. Cornelius himself directed the operations of his family from where he lay, his head bound with a cloth, on a straw pallet in the corner of the kitchen. He was feebly calling: ‘Trip him up, boys, fly at his eyes, girls, the black rapparee! Were it not for these cursed mumps I would be up myself, and oh, then wouldn’t I knock him edgewise into Glory?’

  Upon Mrs. Maguire entering the fray with her hatchet, we interposed and disarmed her, and I received the captured firelock from Maguire. ‘Now,’ said I, ‘what do you say, Private John Maguire’—for in our new regiment sergeants were required to distance themselves from the men and it was never ‘Johnny’ and ‘Gerry’ between us now, unless we were alone together—‘what do you say, are we to make a prisoner of your brother?’

  Mrs. Maguire began to sob and weep and to speak of the ingratitude of her brother-in-law, who thus returned evil for good, and how she would ‘never see her darling Corny again, and him so bad with the mumps and all, so that his poor vitals were swelled to punkin-size’.

  I did not wish to cause more hardship than could be prevented; and it seemed unjust that Johnny, whose only thought in visiting his brother had been to pay a debt of honour, should deprive this hardworking family of its ‘king-post’, as Mrs. Maguire described him. However, that Cornelius Maguire was suffering from an infectious disease which also prevented him from walking was sufficient excuse for not taking him with us, especially as he was neither armed nor in military uniform. Yet we knew perfectly well that, the moment he was recovered of his complaint, he would return to his militia regiment. Johnny Maguire, nearly in tears himself because of the predicament into which his generous impulse had thrown us all equally, was struck by a helpful thought. ‘Sergeant Lamb,’ he cried, ‘I have a notion where our duty lies. The greatest lack of General Washington’s army is clothing and arms, but especially clothing. Now, listen, suppose we sequestrate this rogue’s coat, gaiters, shoes, breeches, musket, powder flask and all—the same being private property to be returned to him after the war is won—that will be a deal better than either killing him or taking him off. For we shall deprive the enemy of a soldier without depriving this poor, decent family of a father.’

  To this I acceded, and in spite of the screamed remonstrances of Mrs. Maguire, we rendered her sullenly groaning husband an ‘invalid’; which was the usual term for those many soldiers of the revolutionary forces who were unable to parade owing to mere nakedness. However, she had her revenge. As Johnny said good-bye to her and offered to kiss little Johnny, into whose palm he pressed a shilling, she seized a great handful of the black cherries from the basket by the door and, calling to her children to do likewise, began crushing them against his uniform and accoutrements. ‘Pipe-clay that off, you thief, you villain, you wretch! You would strip your poor sick brother naked, would you, O fie, you blood-thirsty ogre! Now, what will your officers say, eh, Johnny, tell me that—won’t they put you among the Invalids, the same as my poor Corny, that you won’t disgrace them?’

  This remarkable family then burst into a great cackle of laughter, in which Johnny Maguire himself joined as heartily as anyone.

  Mrs. Maguire was right about the disgrace. When we returned to the company, our officer put Maguire under arrest and returned him to the transport, such a poor spotted figure he cut amongst us. What is more, he took the mumps—which were very prevalent in the American army—from the contagion of the children with whom he struggled, and was very sick as a result.

  The seaport town of Greenfield was next fired by Governor Tryon’s order—I do not know upon what provocation; and we were proceeding to New London, the chief centre of the privateering trade in Connecticut, when news that the Americans were gathering in great force led us to postpone the attack until reinforcements could be fetched. We did not number three thousand men. In nine days we had caused the people of Connecticut such prodigious losses that Sir Henry Clinton was informed by his secret agents in this province that there was a movement on foot to make a separate peace with us, the inhabitants despairing of help from General Washington. However, New London was not attempted, since General Washington moved suddenly against Stoney Point and Fort Lafayette and dispossessed us of both forts by a charge-bayonet executed at night. Our forces were therefore drawn off to recover these important points; which was done.

  It should be fairly said that General Washington could have effected no more than he did against us. He was starved of troops by Congress, who now evidently expected the active work of expelling us from their country to be accomplished chiefly by the French: as in previous wars the expulsion of the French had been left chiefly to us. General Washington himself expressed the fear that virtue and patriotism were extinct in America, and that, instead, ‘speculation, peculation and an insatiable thirst for money’ had got the better of almost every order of his fellow countrymen. This was written in despair; but the anxiety of rich and poor alike at the increasing depreciation of the paper currency and the great want of coin, must have spurred everyone to provide himself with some form of wealth that would still have value when Congress declared a bankruptcy. And so they not long afterwards did, by repudiating their paper, to the tune of nineteen shillings and sixpence in the pound.

  The simple and impartial na
rrative of this Connecticut expedition, which I have just given, may be profitably set against the accounts given by the American writers Ramsay and Belsham. These have endeavoured with all the artifice of wilful misrepresentation so to colour the facts as to make the British name odious to humanity. In expeditions of this sort scenes naturally occur at which the feeling heart revolts; but in war the humane soldier can do no more than alleviate its horrors—he cannot prevent them entirely, especially if those whose residence unfortunately becomes the seat of war do not govern themselves prudently. Mr. Ramsay strangely asserts: ‘At New Haven the inhabitants were stripped of their household furniture and other moveable property. The harbour and waterside were covered with feathers discharged from open beds.’ It is true that New Englanders and, indeed, all Americans, so far southward as the Carolinas, have an over-fondness for large feather beds, which the British find stifling and uneasy couches, yet no revenge was taken upon them for this peculiarity. Strange indeed that soldiers weighed down with arms, ammunition and provisions, should carry feather beds so far, merely in order to destroy them! And as for the household furniture, what were we to do with it? There was no space in our tents for wardrobes and clock-cases and the like, even had we exerted ourselves to remove them from the houses of the enemy. Such slanderous improbabilities refute themselves. I never saw anything of the kind.