When analyzing the key actions of a military engagement in order to pinpoint a decisive moment or turning point, one does not usually come across a retreat and/or rout that actually attributed to the success of an army. However, during the late morning of September 8, 1755, roughly three miles south of Lake George in New York’s Adirondack Mountains, a contingent of men from Connecticut and Massachusetts, and their Mohawk allies conducted quite possibly the first ever organized fighting retreat in American military history – one that would turn the tide of battle and save their army from potential destruction. It is easy for a maneuver like this to be overlooked, but without the crucial time bought for William Johnson’s provincial army at its encampment along the southern shore of the lake by Lt. Colonel Nathan Whiting’s courageous New Englanders, Baron de Dieskau’s French army may well have emerged victorious during the Battle of Lake George and subsequently pushed their way to Albany’s doorstep.

Around eight o’clock in the morning, September 8, 1755, a column of men 1,200 strong was marched out of William Johnson’s camp at the southern end of Lake George. The column’s destination was Fort Lyman, roughly fourteen miles to the south located beside the Hudson River (present-day Fort Edward, NY). There, intelligence gathered by Johnson’s army had placed the 1,500 strong French force led by Jean-Armand, Baron de Dieskau, which was believed to be preparing an assault against the 500 man garrison of New Hampshire and New York provincials.

The contingent of reinforcements dispatched from the English camp was under the overall command of Colonel Ephraim Williams, 3^rd Massachusetts Provincial Regiment, and was comprised of his own regiment, 200 Mohawk Indians, and another 500 men of the 2^nd Connecticut Provincial Regiment led by Lt. Colonel Nathan Whiting. The column marched south down the military road with the Mohawk at its head, followed by the Massachusetts men, and Whiting’s regiment taking up the rear.

Nathan Whiting, born in 1724 and a resident of Windham, was 31-years-old in 1755 and one of William Johnson’s youngest field officers. He was a graduate of Yale and a veteran of the Louisbourg expedition during King George’s War – service which earned him a lieutenant’s commission in His Majesty’s Forces. When hostilities between England and France erupted in 1754 he was commissioned as the 2^nd Connecticut Provincial Regiment’s lieutenant colonel and was sent to Albany to serve as part of the Crown Point Expedition, an offensive designed to oust the French from the Lake Champlain-Lake George-Hudson River corridor. The regiment’s colonel, Elizur Goodrich, was ill and bedridden during the Battle of Lake George, so Whiting served as the unit’s field commander during his absence. Whiting was a loyal officer and earnestly dedicated to the cause in which he was fighting for. Before reaching the southern shore of the lake on August 28, he penned a heartfelt letter to his wife that epitomized his character: “… [P]ray make your Self as easy as possible[.] I know your D[aily] prayers are for my preservation[.] Let it be an article of them that it not be obtained by any unworthy means, but in the prosecution of the Duty I owe at this time to my Self, my Country & my God.”[1]

About two hours or so and three miles into the march to Fort Lyman, the forward ranks of Ephraim Williams’s column of reinforcements were ambushed by Dieskau’s native allies, Canadian militia, and regular grenadiers of the Regiments of Languedoc and La Reine. The French outside of Fort Lyman had earlier uncovered dispatches from a dead courier that was sent to inform the English outpost that reinforcements were going to be sent from the lake encampment to assist it in case of an attack. Using this intelligence, Dieskau marched his army up the military road towards Lake George and prepared an ambush to surprise the oncoming party of reinforcements. Although the ambuscade was initiated prematurely before the entire column could march into Dieskau’s hook-like formation, it still succeeded in throwing the English force into confusion and sent it scurrying back up the road to Lake George. Both Ephraim Williams and Chief Hendrick (commanding the Mohawk contingent) were killed during the confrontation and all order was lost, leaving Whiting, who was now the highest ranking officer on the field, to try to prevent a disaster.

The 2^nd Connecticut was spared from being involved in the ambush because of their distance to the rear of the column. However, they were met with the sights and sounds of the maelstrom unfolding ahead of them as panic-stricken men streamed through their ranks along the military road. Knowing that an all-out rout would spell disaster for Johnson and the rest of the army at the lake – which was surely Dieskau’s next target – Whiting ordered his Connecticut men to take to the woods surrounding the road and use every bit of cover possible to hold back the onrushing enemy. Rallying a handful of Bay Staters and Mohawks, they too rejoined the fighting. If Whiting could not stand and fight, he was going to run and fight in order to buy time for the rest of the army to prepare to meet the inevitable assault heading its way. With tremendous tenacity, the brave band of New Englanders and their native allies returned fire at every opportunity. They loaded, discharged their firelocks, and then ran to the next available form of concealment, repeating the process again and again. Their resistance forced Dieskau to slow his pursuit and even gave his Indians the chance to break ranks and leave the fight or return to the morning’s engagement site to plunder.

Whiting’s fighting retreat was achieving its intended goals. Back at the Lake George encampment the fighting could clearly be heard inching closer and closer. Having the necessary time needed to prepare a defensive position, Johnson ordered his men to throw up a makeshift breastwork of logs and whatever else could be found. Artillery was planted aiming down the military road and a body of men from Lt. Colonel Edward Cole’s 1^st Rhode Island Provincial Regiment was ordered forward to aid Whiting. The added strength brought Dieskau’s army to a near halt. For well over an hour the men of Whiting’s fighting retreat fought desperately against their relentless foe, refusing stubbornly to give up every inch of ground over the three miles from the ambush site to the lakeshore encampment. In the words of Lt. Colonel Seth Pomeroy of the 3^rd Massachusetts, who was fortunate enough to have been ordered to remain behind in camp, Whiting’s men made a “very handsom retreet.” [2]

It was nearing noon when, in Pomeroy’s words, the rearguard, “Came within about ¾ of a mile of our Camp there was ye Last Fire our men gave our enemies which kill’d grate numbers of them [as they were] Sean to Drop as Pigons….”[3] Emerging from the wood line into the clearing made by Johnson’s camp, Whiting and his men caught the first glance of what their courageous actions had accomplished that morning. There in front of them the entire army waited to meet the oncoming enemy behind a long line of newly built breastworks.

For four hours Dieskau attempted to break the English lines, not once even coming close to reaching their defenses.  By nightfall the French army was in full retreat (without its commander, who was left behind on the field wounded) back to Carillon to the north, and William Johnson and his army could finally declare the Battle of Lake George a victory for His Majesty King George II. The southern shore of the lake was still in British hands, and the road south to Albany was again secure. Plans were made to build a large permanent fortification at the site of Johnson’s encampment, and by the end of the month construction of what would come to be christened Fort William Henry began.

Despite the tremendous leadership and collective effort of many officers during the battle, Johnson took all the credit for himself – even though he was wounded early in the fighting and had missed most of it. His second-in-command, Major General Phineas Lyman of Connecticut, who had commanded the army during the fighting after Johnson’s wounding, was not mentioned in the general’s report to the royal governors the following day. Also omitted from this were Nathan Whiting and his men who desperately fought to buy time for the army to prepare the defenses that proved so crucial to deciding the outcome of the battle. It is impossible that Johnson simply did not know what had transpired in the forests south of Lake George that morning – he would have clearly heard the sound of musket fire slowly progressing towards his camp. He mentioned in his report hearing the, “… heavy firing, and all the Marks of a Warm Engagement….”[4] His failure to include the service of Lyman and Whiting in his recollections was nothing more than a want of glory and a personal vendetta that he seemed to hold against Connecticut’s officers. For his victory at the Battle of Lake George, Johnson was later knighted – an honor that would have been better bestowed upon others.

An already underappreciated event in America’s colonial history, the English victory at the Battle of Lake George halted Dieskau’s offensive into New York’s interior and quite possibly saved Albany and everything north of it from falling into the hands of France and being cut off from the rest of the colonies. In my opinion, had the battle been lost by the English its consequences would have been far greater than Braddock’s Defeat along the Monongahela. Not only was the Ohio River Valley already lost that summer, but if the British were also ousted from Lake George then the major water “highway” north into Canada would have been lost as well. This would have given France a direct route south into New York’s interior and even an avenue of approach towards New York City via the Hudson River. Many more would have been in danger following that summer than just the frontier settlers of Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. So if these observations are at least in some part accurate, then the significance of the English victory along the southern shore of Lake George cannot be understated. If this truly was one of the more strategically significant battles of the French and Indian War, then Nathan Whiting’s fighting retreat made the victory possible. It was the decisive action of the Battle of Lake George and quite possibly the first ever successfully organized fighting retreat in American Military History.

[1] Nathan Whiting, “The Letters of Colonel Nathan Whiting,” in The Papers of the New Haven Colony Historical Society, vol. 6 (New Haven, CT: New Haven Colony Historical Society, 1900), 137.

[2] Seth Pomeroy, The Journals and Papers of Seth Pomeroy: Sometime General in the Colonial Service (New York: Society of Colonial Wars in the State of New York, 1926), 114.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Milton W. Hamilton, “Battle Report: General William Johnson’s Letter to the Governors, Lake George, September 9-10, 1755,” in Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society, vol. 74 (Worcester, MA: Published by the Society, 1965), 22.

• By the spring of 1781, British military forces under the able command of General Charles, Lord Cornwallis, were moving north. It was clear that the southern campaign had not gone quite the way it was planned.  Though successful initially in South Carolina in 1780 with the capture of Charleston and the subsequent battles of Camden and Hobkirk’s Hill, the British had been handed some setbacks by the end of the year.  Twice had Lord Cornwallis lost his left wing through defeats at Kings Mountain in October and Cowpens in January 1781.  In March, a contentious battle at Guildford Courthouse in North Carolina left the British in control of the field but badly mauled by American forces under General Nathaniel Green.  By April, Cornwallis had devised a plan to move north, into Virginia, to conquer that province which he believed would be critical to achieving ultimate success and ending the war in favor of His Britannic Majesty.

By June 1781, Cornwallis was in Richmond.  Joined by forces under the American turncoat Benedict Arnold and General Alexander Leslie, Cornwallis commanded a fighting force of around 7,000.  To counter this threat were fewer than 1500 American soldiers under the young Marque de Lafayette.

While encamped near Hanover Courthouse, Cornwallis learned that Virginia Governor Thomas Jefferson and the General Assembly had relocated to Charlottesville, around 50 miles west of Richmond.  He decided to send the brash Colonel Banastre Tarleton there with a small strike force to bag the whole lot.  On June 3, Tarleton’s force set out.

Today, as it was 235 years ago, June in Central Virginia is hot and almost unbearably humid.  To avoid the extreme heat of the day, Tarleton decided to rest his men and resume the march after dark.  His route would take him through Louisa County via modern Route 33.  Just before halting for the night, Tarelton passed by Cuckoo Tavern, a small and out-of-the-way place that got its name from the cuckoo clock that once ticked off the minutes inside the tavern.  Slumped against the picket fence in the tavern yard, trying to catch some sleep after a long day of work and a few drinks in the taproom, was a local lad by the name of Jack.  John “Jack” Jouett, Jr., known as Captain Jack due to the military coat he was fond of wearing, routinely freighted produce from his family’s farm in Louisa to the tavern his father kept in the town of Charlottesville.  The Swan Tavern was certainly a going concern and, at that moment, was playing host to several of the lawmakers of the Virginia General Assembly.

Captain Jack, 26 years old, had just returned to Louisa after a long round trip to the tavern.  Sitting out in the yard that night, he was aroused by the sound of marching feet. He stood and there saw Tarleton’s column moving along to Louisa Courthouse.  It wasn’t difficult for Jouett to figure the destination of these midnight marchers and he knew he couldn’t let them get to Charlottesville and capture the government.  So once the soldiers had marched past, he saddled up his horse “Sally” and lit out for town.

He rode all night, covering the 40 plus miles to Charlottesville ahead of the British.  He traveled by narrow, little-used roads under low-hanging tree branches; paths certainly unknown by most save a few locals.  By the time Jouett reached Charlottesville, his face and arms were scratched and bloody.  He rode first to Monticello and warned Thomas Jefferson, although Jefferson took such a long time getting himself together that he narrowly escaped capture by Colonel Tarleton’s forces who came trotting up onto the west lawn of Monticello only minutes after Jefferson had finally departed.  

Jouett went on to his father’s tavern where he warned several of the delegates staying there of Tarleton’s approach.  The British were only 3 hours behind Jouett by the time he splashed across the Rivanna River and into Charlottesville.  Even with this warning, several of the legislators were captured by Tarleton including a representative from Kentucky County by the name of Daniel Boone.

Only a year after his ride, Jack Jouett left Louisa County and moved west to the Kentucky territory where he later flourished as a horse breeder and influential member of society for the rest of his life.  Jouett died in Kentucky in 1821.

Today, Cuckoo is little more than a dot on a Virginia roadmap.  The tavern is long gone; only an empty field now.  Across the road stands Cuckoo, the brick, federal style home built by a family of physicians in 1819.  Hard to believe that such a quiet place could have once been the scene of such high drama.

Last week marked the 235th anniversary of the Battle of Green Spring, which occurred near historic Jamestown in Virginia.  A couple months ago, historians form many different Civil War battlefield parks went to Jamestown, Virginia to get a tour of the Green Spring battlefield.  For many of these public historians, it was their first visit to the battlefield.  The battlefield is very sparsely marked, has no interpretative trail, no formal or regular tours and not usually given much thought.  However, with new initiatives like the Civil War Trust’s “Campaign 1776,” there has been a surge of Civil War historians looking to learn more about the War for Independence and the efforts to preserve its history and battlefields.

The Battle of Green Spring, while it is a little known footnote in the history of the Revolutionary War, was the largest open field battle of that war in the state of Virginia.  The battle was fierce and bloody, and part of a chain of events that ultimately resulted in the George Washington’s victory at Yorktown.

On July 6, 1781, General Marquis de Lafayette was looking for an opportunity to catch General Charles Cornwallis’ army unaware.  Cornwallis and his army of nearly 7,000 troops was near Jamestown Island and was looking to cross the James River.  Lafayette with his much smaller army of only about 4,000 men was looking to attack and raise morale in the invaded state.  He wanted to wait until Cornwallis’ army was in the middle of crossing the river, with half his force on the opposite side, and then launch an attack on the much smaller and cut off force.

Cornwallis, though was no fool and went about setting up a trap to deal with this annoying force of American troops that had been trailing him now for months.  He planned to lure Lafayette’s army into bringing on an engagement with his entire British force.  Lafayette took the bait.

On July 6, 1781, Lafayette sent forward his army in a column formation with General “Mad” Anthony Wayne’s Pennsylvania regiments and Virginia militia (about 900 men) in the van.  They began to engage British pickets on the road to Jamestown and pursued them towards the James River for a few miles, crossing over the 17th century Green Spring plantation.  Wayne’s men made it to the Harris farm at about 5:00 in the afternoon.  The 900 Pennsylvanians and Virginians were far in the advance of the rest of the American column when the British finally launched a withering counterattack on the heavily outnumbered American troops.

At this point, rather than fall back, General Wayne, in a very unconventional and bold decision ordered his outnumbered force to fix bayonets and advance on the British line.  This advance momentarily stunned the British officers.  Did Wayne know something they did not?

For the next few minutes the British line and the American line stood about 50 yards apart  and fired volley after volley of musket fire into each other.  With an effective range of 80 yards, this part of the battle became the most intense and most bloody.  The skilled British regulars aimed low at the legs of the American.  This way, when the musket fired and kicked back, the musket ball would go slightly higher and hit the enemy in the body.  To have stood and fought in an open field at that range would have been an absolutely terrifying ordeal.  But there they stood and fought.  One contemporary later called it “Madness!”  Troops after the battle could actually tell how close the lines stood based on bodies of the men killed and the torn cartridge tops that littered the field.

After a few minutes of this close fighting, the American troops were forced to fall back quickly, leaving two cannon on the field.  The impromptu advance Wayne ordered though succeeded in stalling the British advance and allowing American reinforcements to cover their retreat.  Lafayette successfully disengaged and fell back that night.  Cornwallis chose not to give chase, and crossed successfully over the James River.

The battle was technically a British victory, but once again, as on many fields in the Revolution, the young American army had gone toe to toe and proved it was on par with British regulars.  Lafayette and the American press heralded the bravery of the American troops and viewed Cornwallis’ movement as a retreat.  Cornwallis would ultimately be forced to surrender that October at nearby Yorktown.

On July 6, 1781, the British suffered about 75 men killed and wounded and the American army suffered about 150 men killed and wounded.  The battle and the land it was fought on soon became forgotten.  Today, though, through the efforts of James City County, easements have been placed on much of the historic land and they and other organizations have bought and preserved much of the land where the fighting occurred.  Work continues to ensure the hallowed ground is preserved for the future.

However, the site contains very little interpretation, with really only a state historic marker.  Hopefully the site will get more attention in the coming years as an important historic site in a very historic area of Virginia.  Just this year there have been a few events to mark that bloody battle.

A couple months ago, archaeologist Dr. Alan Outlaw led a re-internment ceremony for one of the Pennsylvania continentals that was killed in action at Green Spring.  His bones had been recovered over thirty years ago in the Harris farm.  After being studied by the Smithsonian Institution and being properly identified as one of the Pennsylvania continentals, he was re-interred with a proper Christian burial near the battlefield in the graveyard of the Church on the Main.

Also this past Saturday, the National Park Service and the Friends of Green Spring held a Revolutionary War living history program at the Green Spring Plantation about the retreat of the American troops and the aftermath of the battle.

Next time you find yourself in historic area of Williamsburg, Yorktown or Jamestown, make a trip out to the Green Spring battlefield or the Church on the Main and reflect on the sacrifices that occurred there to secure our independence.

No military engagement fought in America prior to the Civil War was bloodier or more costly than the Battle of Carillon (Ticonderoga). For over four hours during the afternoon of July 8, 1758, British and French forces ruthlessly clashed in upstate New York atop the heights west of Fort Carillon, producing over 2,400 casualties – nearly 2,000 of them English. In a year of such memorable British triumphs this was truly an incredible and most tragic disaster. By nightfall, Major General James Abercromby’s army was in full retreat up Lake George, and the Marquis de Montcalm’s courageous Frenchmen remained behind their earthworks, celebrating one of the most miraculous victories ever won on the continent.[1]

It had been over four years since George Washington ordered his small detachment of Virginians and Mingo warriors to open fire on the French-Canadian party encamped within Jumonville Glen, and England’s military efforts against the French in North America were still abysmal. Seventeen fifty-eight was meant to turn the tide in favor of King George II. With William Pitt’s ascension to Secretary of State for the Southern Department, it became his duty to prosecute the war in earnest, sparing no expense. After the failed operation against Fortress Louisbourg and the capitulation of Fort William Henry the previous year, plans for a four-pronged offensive in North America began to formulate. These large-scale movements were directed against Forts Duquesne and Frontenac (located along the eastern shore of Lake Ontario), Louisbourg (yet again), and finally Fort Carillon atop the promontory between Lakes Champlain and George. The effort against the French at Carillon was to be led by the newly instated Commander-in-Chief of His Majesty’s Forces in North America, Major General James Abercromby.

James Abercromby was born in 1706 in Glassaugh, Scotland and received his first commission as an ensign in 1717 with the 25^th Regiment of Foot. He saw action and was wounded during the War of Austrian Succession, and by 1756 he held the rank of major general, serving under Lord Loudoun in North America. By December of the following year he was officially commissioned to replace Loudoun after his recall. To compliment Abercromby during his offensive against Fort Carillon, Brigadier General George, Viscount Howe (the older brother of Richard and William) was given the role of second-in-command for the expedition.[2]

During June 1758, Abercromby’s army of British Regulars and colonial provincials gathered along the southern shore of Lake George beside the still present ruins of Fort William Henry, which was burned by Montcalm following its capitulation the previous August. By July 5, when the army began its embarkation down Lake George, the British could count a total of 16,000 men amassed to assault Carillon – it was the largest military force ever assembled for a campaign on the North American continent. Nearly 10,000 provincials from New England, New Jersey, and New York had joined ranks with eight regiments of British Regulars. To oppose them over thirty-two miles to the north, Montcalm had roughly 3,500 men at his disposal with another 500 that would join him before the battle commenced.[3]

On July 5, nearly one-thousand small boats and other crafts departed from the shore of Lake George and headed north. The spectacle must have been amazing. Extending seven miles in four rows covering shoreline to shoreline, Abercromby’s army rowed towards its destiny, arriving at its debarkation point the following day around 10:00am.  The landing party, consisting of Rogers’ Rangers, Thomas Gage’s 80^th Light Infantry, and Phineas Lyman’s 1^st Connecticut Regiment, staggered ashore with George Howe at the head of the advance. The men were immediately met with resistance and a running battle commenced that ran several miles to the north near Bernetz Brook. Leading on foot at the head of an advancing force is no place for the second-in-command of an army, but Howe was not your typical general and that is why his men adored him. At 4:00pm the fighting became the hottest it was all afternoon as the French continued their hasty withdraw back to Montcalm’s lines. During this contest, Howe lost his life. With their beloved leader now dead, confusion amassed and the British left the field and returned to the landing site. While the skirmishing yielded no true tactical significance, Montcalm was alerted of Abercromby’s landing and began to fortify the heights west of Fort Carillon, choosing to face the British in the field rather than defend against a siege with his army so outnumbered.[4]

The following day, Abercromby’s army marched to within a mile and a half or so of the French at Carillon and encamped for the evening. From this position near a saw mill the commander-in-chief added the finishing touches to his battle plan on the morning of July 8 – it was from here as well that he would observe the engagement, staying far behind the frontlines. With the loss of his trusted subordinate, Howe, and the information newly at hand that a large body of French reinforcements numbering 3,000 men was approaching Fort Carillon, Abercromby seemingly lost his wit. Rather than sending an experienced engineer such as Major William Eyre of the 44^th Regiment of Foot to observe the French position, he instead ordered two of his personal aides, Captains James Abercrombie and Matthew Clerk to ride forward and report the situation. The two officers returned and suggested to the commanding general that the French earthworks were incomplete and that the position could easily be carried with a frontal assault. Abercromby accepted the report as gospel and began preparations for an attack.[5]

Truth be told, by the morning of July 8, the French had indeed completed their defensive works a half-mile to the northwest of the fort. The series of fallen logs – stacked some six to seven feet high with loopholes cut into them to fire out of from behind cover – extended from the lowland near the La Chute River to the south across the peninsula to Lake Champlain to the north. The area in front of the earthworks was cleared for about one-hundred yards, and a line of abatis was erected in front of the line to hinder the enemy’s advance. The earthworks were defended by seven regiments of French Regulars, each manning roughly a hundred yards of entrenchment. To the right of the line a company of Troupes de La Marine (Canadian Regulars) was positioned and a battery of six cannon was placed in a redoubt constructed on the left. Canadian militia defended the lowland near the La Chute River. This area was the weak point in Montcalm’s line, but Abercromby failed to exploit it. A battalion of the Regiment de Berry was left behind to man the fort and run ammunition to the front. While Montcalm had selected the best ground near the fort to make his stand, his position was nevertheless dangerous. His army was bottled up on a peninsula and if his defensive measure should fail his force would be trapped and surrounded by the overwhelming numbers of the British. Things could all begin tumbling down for Montcalm if his earthworks were blasted to splinters by the might of the English artillery before a frontal attack commenced. Lucky for him, however, Abercromby opted that an artillery barrage to precede the assault was unnecessary, and in fact, that no cannon would be needed at all to assist in carrying the French position.[6]

At half past noon, July 8, 1758, the 80^th Light Infantry, Rogers’ Rangers, and a battalion of Massachusetts light infantrymen advanced forward to the abatis in a long skirmish line, driving the French pickets before them back to the earthworks. With the ground in front of the French position clear it was time to launch the grand European-style assault. Stepping out from the tree line at the base of the heights, over six-thousand men garbed in scarlet red moved forward in a line three ranks deep. The beating of drums and the shrill of the fifes pierced the air, and the wale of Scottish bagpipes reverberated from the musicians amongst the 42^nd Regiment of Foot – the “Black Watch” – near the center of the line. Forward they went with undaunted courage only to be cut to pieces by French small arms fire upon reaching the abatis. There the dead and dying lay tangled amidst the branches as their comrades struggled to press forward. “The fire was prodigiously hot,” Captain Charles Lee (yes, that Charles Lee) of the 44^th Regiment of Foot vividly remembered, “the slaughter of officers very great, almost all wounded, the men still furiously rushing forwards without any leaders.” Staring through the smoke up towards the French line, only the tops of the regimental standards were visible above the earthworks.[7]

The devastating effect of the French musketry forced the British lines to waiver. They could not obtain enough momentum to make their way into the enemy entrenchments, let alone even climb near them. Abercromby was no help during all of this. He remained behind at the sawmill camp delegating orders as his men were being sent into a meat grinder a mile and a half away. His decision to not order up his artillery to bombard the French or support his infantry’s attack was beginning to show how costly it truly was.

Again and again the regulars were ordered to advance, only to be met with the same result each attempt. Nearly four hours had passed since the initial line had stepped off and the situation was beginning to become desperate. In a last-ditch effort to pierce the French earthworks and turn the tide of the battle, the 42^nd Regiment of Foot emerged from the abatis and with a terrible cry the “Ladies from Hell,” charged forward. As the “Black Watch” advanced up the heights, an officer of the 55^th Regiment of Foot watched in admiration:

With a mixture of esteem, grief, and envy, I am penetrated by the great loss and immortal glory acquired by the Highlanders engaged in the late bloody affair. Impatient for the fray, they rushed forward to the entrenchments, which many of them actually mounted. Their intrepidity was rather animated and damped by witnessing their comrades fall on every side. They seemed more anxious to avenge the fate of their deceased friends than careful to avoid a like death….[8]

The “intrepidity” of the 42^nd Regiment was not enough to carry the works. Their dedication and valor that day cost them tremendously. Of the 900 or so men that the regiment took into the field with them that bloody day, 647 were casualties – 314 of that number dead on the field. In any other battle of any other war fought in North America, only one other regiment, the 1^st Maine Heavy Artillery at Petersburg on June 18, 1864, suffered a near greater loss of life in a single engagement. This is a sacrifice that needs to be better remembered.[9]

Around 5:00pm, Abercromby called off the attack and ordered his army to retire from the field. The men, battered and bruised, made their way back to the sawmill camp and later that night were led back down to the landing site from two days before. Rumors that Montcalm was following closely in pursuit to destroy the English army spread rapidly and the retreat became extremely hasty – if not an actual rout. The campaign was over.

Montcalm’s victory against the British at Carillon was nothing short of a miracle. His army was outnumbered four-to-one and had essentially trapped itself on the Ticonderoga peninsula in order to meet the English army in open combat to avoid a siege. Abercromby made zero use of his artillery to weaken or destroy the French defenses – which were somehow complete in less than two days and conveniently during the morning of the battle – and he failed to exploit any of the weak points on Montcalm’s flanks.

The British had failed to bag the French army at Fort Carillon and therefore left the enemy in possession of the crucial north-south waterway of Lake Champlain that offered direct access into the Richelieu River and henceforth Canada. The bloody defeat had cost Abercromby nearly 2,000 men with upwards of 800 of that number killed. Montcalm on the other hand incurred just fewer than 400 casualties – still roughly ten percent of his army present on the field that day. In the history of military conflict in America prior to the Civil War, only the Battles of Long Island and New Orleans come close to the 2,400 lost July 8, 1758.

The Battle of Carillon was England’s most humiliating defeat of the French and Indian War. At no other battle during the conflict did a British/Provincial army outnumber its foe so greatly in both manpower and artillery, only to be beaten as terribly as Abercromby’s army was before the French entrenchments at Carillon. This defeat should not be put upon the shoulders of the brave men who fought with such rigor that July afternoon though. Their commanding general let them down. Abercromby’s failure to conduct proper reconnaissance and utilize his army’s artillery cost him the day. If George Howe had not been killed two days before, maybe things would have been different. But who knows? Lucky for Abercromby, the other three British offensives on the continent succeeded, so his defeat only cost him his job and not the war for his countrymen. He was replaced by Jeffrey Amherst two months later. The following year, another effort was made to take Fort Carillon with Sir Jeffrey at its head. The French ignited their powder supplies and abandoned the fort, blowing it up before a shot was fired in anger. France’s attention in North America had turned solely to defending Canada as James Wolfe’s army was threatening Quebec.

[1] William R. Nester, The Epic Battles of Ticonderoga, 1758 (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2008), 156.

[2] Ibid., 60-62.

[3] Rene Chartrand, Ticonderoga 1758: Montcalm’s Victory against All Odds (New York: Osprey Publishing Ltd., 2000), 29.

[4] Fred Anderson, Crucible of War: The Seven Years’ War and the Fate of Empire in British North America, 154-1766 (New York: Vintage Books, 2000), 240-241; Nester, The Epic Battles of Ticonderoga, 1758, 126-131.

[5] Ibid., 137-138.

[6] Anderson, Crucible of War, 242; Nester, 139-140.

[7] Anderson, 243-244; Quoted in Stephen Brumwell, Redcoats: The British Soldier and War in the Americas, 1755-1763 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 28.

[8] Quoted in Archibald Forbes, The History of the Black Watch (N/A: Leonaur, 2010), 44.

[9] Ibid.