Sorrowing, Peters told him that the Queen's Loyal Rangers were now reduced to 62 all ranks. At the second battle around Freeman's farm, 80 more had been killed or captured.9 Also, 24 had been discharged, two had died and two had deserted. All told, in the course of the campaign, Peters' officers and agents had recruited 643 men, more than full strength for a regiment, although so many had been lost. Peters would try, on the basis of total numbers, to have all the officers' commissions signed.
Peters was about to set out with 34 men, Major Wright and John Jr. The other able-bodied men had already left with Lieutenant Dulmage, although he had been unwilling to leave Justus. The colonel, too, was bereft at abandoning any Queen's Loyal Rangers, but he held out one note of hope to his doomed senior captain. General Phillips had told him Burgoyne and his officers would rather die than hand over a single provincial to the mercy of the rebels.
Ebenezer Jessup and his two brothers, Edward and Joseph, were going to remain with Burgoyne. Some King's Loyal Americans had left, but the Jessups had kept a detachment of volunteers. These men were running bateaux of supplies past General John Stark and an army of New Hampshiremen who had moved in from the north to intercept the retreating army, and still had useful work to do.
Justus bade Peters farewell, limping out of the tent to watch him on his way, appalled at what he saw around him. The whole camp stank. Many animals that had died for want of forage lay where they had fallen. Men had scarcely the strength to bury their own dead. Feeling utterly depressed, Justus returned to the tent to await the next news of Burgoyne's plans. As the hours dragged by, a long rejected Puritan doctrine helped sustain him. God had placed him on this earth for a set purpose and predestined time. If his time had come he should accept his fate with resignation. Yet he resolved to escape if any means came his way, and Peters had told him that Burgoyne intended to protect his provincials.
The day after Peters left, Justus was startled by the unexpected appearance of Elijah Bothum. He had set out with John Dulmage, but had turned back because he could never look Sarah in the eye if he deserted his brother-in-law. He told Justus that the staff officers had accompanied Burgoyne to the new encampment of the rebels, to the south, to discuss surrender terms with General Horatio Gates. Justus pictured Gentleman Johnny treating with a man who had once been under his command, but after his poor performance Burgoyne deserved the humiliation. Justus felt sorrow only for the tragic souls who were dead or dying because of poor generalship. Soon Edward Jessup came to see him with news that the provincials were to be protected under what Burgoyne called the Saratoga Convention, because words like capitulation and surrender offended him.
All persons were to be regarded as British subjects, and none were to be treated as traitors to the Continental Congress.10 The British and German regulars were to march to Boston where they would embark on transport vessels for Britain. All would be prisoners of war on parole, ineligible for future service in America. The provincial rank and file were to sign paroles to take no further part in the hostilities, after which they would be escorted to Fort Ticonderoga under a flag of truce and handed over to Brigadier Powell. Most of the women and children had already left for that post.
The provincials who would march to the surrender ceremony the following morning would carry muskets. All were officially privates and eligible for parole because Burgoyne had never signed any officers' commissions. If he had, Edward explained, the officers would have been held until prisoner exchanges could take place, which might have been a long time since the rebels had so many more prisoners than the British. Grateful for the reprieve Justus decided to attend the surrender ceremonies.
On the morning of October 17, he washed, dressed in his shabby uniform, and joined the other able-bodied provincials for the march to the village where Horatio Gates and his officers waited. He could have stayed in the hospital tent, but if he had to face any of his former associates from the Green Mountains he intended to be standing on his own two feet. He did not want his enemies to know how bunged up he was.
The provincials formed two companies, Ebenezer Jessup leading the first, Justus the second. With Ebenezer went his brothers, the King's Loyal Americans, and the remnants of Captain Daniel McAlpin's men. None of Samuel McKay's who were fit to march had been left behind, for the scoundrel had cleared out the moment Burgoyne had given the order. Samuel Adams and a few of his men who had not escaped joined the company Justus was leading. The two companies followed after the regulars into Saratoga, where General Gates and his officers stood in front of an inn, the rebel troops lined up along the road, a band playing ‘Yankee Doodle’. By the time it was his turn to lay down the musket he carried, Justus’ strength was spent.
Thus far the rebels had been quiet, standing beside the captured army's route. Then some of them recognized the Jessups and a rumble ran through the crowd. This was mild compared with the volley of abuses and insults that arose when some Green Mountain Boys recognized Sherwood. They rushed forward shouting his name, and Benedict Arnold was calling for a hangman's rope.
General Gates, the one time British officer, would not allow a breach of the rules of war, and he dispatched men he trusted to guard the provincials and escort them to a safe place. Through all the hubbub Justus tried to steady himself, knees weak, body trembling. His worst thought was that someone might construe his wobbliness as fear. Heaven forbid! Justus was not afraid of Arnold nor anyone else in the damned rebel army.
The loyalists were assigned tents near Gates' own, under guard, and given a decent meal, the first in three weeks. At dusk General Phillips arrived with a junior officer bearing a Bible, paper, pen and ink. Ebenezer Jessup hesitated when Phillips wanted him to take the oath, but Justus and his two brothers urged him to comply. This was a stay of execution, and Ebenezer was a fool to stand on his dignity. Once all the paroles had been signed, Phillips took leave of them. Guarded by some of Gates' Continentals, the paroled loyalists marched to the bank of the Hudson, where bateaux were waiting. As the escort rowed away from the rebel camp, Justus caught sight of the lonely figure of Phillips waving to them. That haunted him. The general faced a long march to Boston through unfriendly territory.
All night the provincials and their escort rowed, passing the camp fires of General Stark's New Hampshiremen. By the time they reached Fort Edward, Justus was feeling stronger, for the food continued to be adequate. With help from Elijah Bothum he hobbled the sixteen kilometres to Lake George, where more bateaux waited. They passed several small British outposts, and because many in the bateaux were wounded, the officers waved the rebel flag past. By October 22 they were outside Ticonderoga's walls, waiting while Ebenezer Jessup informed Brigadier Watson Powell that the rebels were ready to hand over the prisoners of war. Jessup returned with a British flag and escort, and the formalities were soon completed.
At the fort, Colonel Peters was overjoyed to see the men he had left behind, and he told Justus that having the written permission from Burgoyne had been worthwhile. Captain Samuel McKay, who arrived with no written permission, was in disgrace with Brigadier Powell for deserting his commander-in-chief. The garrison was preparing to withdraw, and Powell had orders to destroy anything that might be of use to the rebels. Justus spent the next few days resting, and then the remnants of Burgoyne's once proud army wound their way in bateaux towards Fort St. Johns.
The 62 Queen's Loyal Rangers were reunited, Justus, Elijah and ten privates prisoners of war, the rest able to do duty and recruit to fill the depleted ranks. All told, of 796 provincials known to have survived Burgoyne's campaign, 272 officers and men could be active, 196 were prisoners under the Saratoga Convention, while 328 were being held prisoner by the rebels.11 The most battered corps was the Queen's Loyal Rangers, many of whom had been with the vanguard. The units that had brought supplies forward had suffered fewer casualties.
Relaxing in the bateau after his long ordeal, Justus' thoughts turned to Sarah. He would not be going near New Haven for some time. Once the
baby she would have about the beginning of January was old enough to travel, he wanted her to join him in Canada. He would find some means of livelihood around Montreal when he was well enough, and take care of his family until the war came to an end and all could return home.
Chapter 6
Under Convention
In New Haven, Sarah Sherwood soon learned that Justus had been wounded. Some of Seth Warner's men had reported, in the presence of loyalists, that he had been among the prisoners at Saratoga, and that he had a painful limp and wasted features. Soon after the news that Burgoyne's army was encircled reached New Haven, the Bothum family returned to Shaftsbury, but Simon had remained to help Sarah run the farm. When she heard the distressing news about Justus she begged Simon to escort her and the children to Ticonderoga, but he cautioned her against rushing there like a refugee. To be sure, Ty was only forty-three kilometres away, but if she simply packed up and left, Justus' property might be confiscated. The proper procedure was for her to go to Bennington and request a safe conduct on compassionate grounds.
Sarah allowed Simon to drive her to Shaftsbury in a chaise to see whether their father agreed with him. They packed a supply of clothing and set out with Samuel and Diana, accompanied by Caesar Congo, for the 150 kilometre journey to the Bothum farm. Elijah Sr. was in full accord with his second son. Sarah must see the Grand Council of Safety in Bennington and Elijah would accompany her.1 He was in the council's good graces, for the situation in the Green Mountains had changed by the time Burgoyne's expedition had set out in June. The people of the New Hampshire Grants had proclaimed themselves the independent Republic of Vermont, and were defying both the Congress and Britain.
While Seth Warner and his rebel Green Mountain Boys and the Bennington Militia had rallied in August to drive the invaders away, to the people of the illicit republic the Continental Congress was as much the enemy as the mother country. Loyalists in the Green Mountains were having a breathing space, and now the leaders of the secessionist movement were resisting demands from Albany that Seth Warner take his regiment to join the Continental Army. Seth himself was ill from severe sunstroke he had suffered during the battle near Bennington.
Sarah had not been pressured to leave, and many women in her situation were living quietly in their homes, unmolested. The rebels had stopped evicting loyalist families, and only the properties of those who had already fled were being confiscated. In deciding to ask for a safe conduct Sarah was casting aside concern for her own welfare, thinking only of Justus. On October 24, Sarah and her father drove to Bennington and appeared before the Grand Council of Safety in the Green Mountain Tavern, the seat of what passed for government in Vermont. At that time Major Joseph Fay, landlord Stephen's younger son, wrote to Colonel Samuel Herrick, the commandant of Fort Vengeance, half way between Castleton and the shore of Lake Champlain:
Whereas Capt. Sherwood's wife had applied to this Council for Liberty to go to her husband at Tyconderoga, the Council would Recommend to you, or the Officer Commanding at Pawlet or Skeensboro to convey her (by a Flagg) if you think most Expedient. Her necessary clothing and one bed is to be allowed her.
In Shaftsbury, Dorothy Bothum selected the bed, secreted a few useful items into Sarah's baggage and added some provisions. Then with the children and Caesar Congo, her father drove her to Fort Vengeance and entrusted her to Colonel Samuel Herrick — a onetime friend of Justus. That officer arranged for her to continue by wagon as far as Skenesborough. From there a bateau took her to the vicinity of Ticonderoga, which her escort found deserted.
Sarah's was an epic journey, for the rebels panicked and left her on the west shore of Lake Champlain, fifty kilometres from the British post at Pointe au Fer, lest a patrol operating from that base capture them. The wagon trip left Sarah aching down both sides. Well into the seventh month of her pregnancy, each sway of the wagon had torn at the muscles that supported her swollen abdomen. Now, aided by Caesar Congo, himself only a boy, Sarah cached her belongings and marked them. The little party walked slowly along the trail, Sarah carrying Diana, holding three-year-old Samuel by the hand, while Caesar Congo carried provisions and blankets. On they trudged, pausing frequently for Sarah to rest. Sleeping rolled in blankets at night, they reached the British post. Sarah waited in relative comfort while Caesar went back along the lake with some bateaumen to retrieve the bed and other baggage.2
Even the remaining part of the journey to Fort St. Johns by bateau was miserable for Sarah. Early November was damp and raw, and snow filtered below the canopy that was her only shelter. Her arrival at the barracks where Justus was living startled him. He never dreamed she would try to leave New Haven until after the birth of the new baby. Yet he was relieved that they were together again, sharing his exile. While Simon was looking after their interests in New Haven, the immediate future was far from rosy. For the present, Sarah and the children were dependent on provisions from the government and she would be housed in the barracks with other families until he could find better accommodation. That posed a problem, for Justus could not draw his captain's pay of 10 shillings a day, because he was not allowed to be on duty. He hated to think of the Queen's Loyal Rangers who were active. The regiment now mustered over 100 men, for many of those who had been removed for other services during Burgoyne's campaign had been returned to Colonel Peters.
Soon a little help came for Justus' financial embarrassment. Governor Carleton allowed him a pension of 30 pounds per annum to support his family.3 This was a paltry one shilling and eightpence a day, and his family was in for a thin time. Justus resolved to seek some employment as soon as his leg had healed fully, to add to his light purse and to help him forget his frustrations at being unable to serve the cause he had embraced at such cost.
His immediate concern after he received the first installment of his pension was a decent place to live. He found a small house for rent in the village of St. Johns, and for some time he was very busy with domestic affairs, making furniture with the help of Caesar Congo, and doing a lot of baby sitting for Sarah. Then, to his alarm, Sarah's labour pains began on December 12, three weeks too early. Fearful that the journey from Bennington had been too much for his wife, Justus ran to fetch one of the military physicians.
The baby was a boy whom they named Levius Peters Sherwood — the middle name in honour of Justus' commanding officer.4 Despite the furtive circumstances of his conception, the fears that haunted his mother during the absence of his father, her exhausting journey to Canada and his premature arrival, Levius was a healthy boy who closely resembled his father, ruling out any gossip that he might not be Justus' son.5 Like Justus, Levius was long-boned and slender, with blue-grey eyes. Justus was delighted with all three children, but there must not be any more, until they were resettled in New Haven.
By early March, his wife was able to cope at home, and Justus rode to Montreal to purchase items which he and Sarah could not make. Then, too, he needed to escape from the military comings and goings at Fort St. Johns, a constant reminder of his own impotence as a soldier. While in the city he wrote a memorial to Governor Carleton, pleading that the men who had joined Captain Samuel McKay be returned to his company, which at that time stood at twenty-four men.6 He claimed twenty-three of McKay's, ignoring Edward Carscallan and John Wilson because he had satisfactory replacements in Lieutenant Dulmage and Ensign Moss. He needed men desperately to fill his ranks, especially when they rightfully belonged to him. He complained to Carleton:
I think no man has had so much Fatigue and Risque as I have to Bring those men into His Majesty's Service that are now with Capt. McKay. I humbly Pray Your Excellency to Consider my case and if in your wisdom it seems meet which Please to Grant me those men for the Ensuing Campaign.
Back at Fort St. Johns he met some refugees from Fort Edward who complained about the way Brigadier Watson Powell had received them. Powell, the commandant of the fort because General William Phillips had been captured with Burgoyne, suspected all refugees of being rebel s
pies unless they could prove otherwise. Much embarrassed, Justus asked Brigadier Powell to permit him to interrogate newcomers, for he could distinguish between genuine loyalists and spies. Frowning, Powell shook his head. Any involvement with incoming refugees might be viewed as a violation of his parole by the rebels.
Meanwhile, Thomas Sherwood and John Dulmage were frequently out in New York and Vermont, carrying dispatches and bringing in recruits for the Queen's Loyal Rangers. Returning from a mission in April, Thomas had news for Justus. His youngest brother, Samuel, had left Connecticut and leased land in Kingsbury Township, not far from Thomas' own farm.7 Furthermore, Samuel was a loyalist, and had provided Thomas with information on rebel activities. That alarmed Justus, and he prayed Samuel would be cautious, but at least his brother was working for the cause.
To supplement his meagre income Justus looked for work, but he found that his surveyor's training was of no use. The Province of Canada was divided into seigneuries that were scantily populated. Seigneurs merely allotted each tenant a narrow frontage on water, and an American surveyor was not needed to lay out townships and lots. Work always available was loading and unloading bateaux, and Justus accepted this lowly employment.
As April turned into May, Justus suffered another staggering blow to his pride, not to mention his purse. Scouts returning from Vermont informed him that on April 23 the rebels had confiscated his property, except for “400 acres” in New Haven where many people still held him in high regard.8 These tracts were the 50-acre farm occupied by Simon Bothum, and three others close by. Here was some consolation. When the war ended Justus would have his home intact, but all his other wealth was lost, the years of hard work that had gone into accumulating his thousands of acres wasted. He longed to strike back at the men who had wronged him. That damned parole! If only he could be active and feel that he was working for the cause. He paced the confines of St. Johns like a caged catamount from his beloved Green Mountains, longing to pursue his prey.
Buckskin Pimpernel Page 8
