Through Savage Eyes: Ticonderoga 2000

A view of Fort Ticonderoga, and the beginnings of the camp (to the left). By later that day, most of that field area was covered with white tents. This view is looking north from NY Route 22, which is one of the oldest roads in America (I'm told), running beyond Crown Point southward to Fort Ti and further south all the way down to NYC (and being one block away from my house on it's way to Manhattan).

Rangers,

Despite the fact that the majority of us made it to Fort Ticonderoga last month there were still several who didn't, so I had intended to do a review. This installment of Through Savage Eyes is a coming a bit late on the heels of the event, so it might even be nostalgic for even those who attended. In any case, I hope you enjoy it.

On the Friday before the event, Yours Truly carpooled with the Major, Travis Fitzgerald and Alec Asten from Connecticut to the event. Riding in the Major's appropriately green Ranger van, we settled in for the five hour trip. Along with us were two baby robins, rescued from a fallen nest by Mike and Travis. They were periodically fed worm-mush by their surrogate mothers - Travis and Alec.

Before long, a lull in the conversation prompted Alec to suggest we listen to the Books on Tape version of The Last of the Mohicans. Narrated by Lou Diamond Phillips, the verbiage on the tape was nearly as thick as the verbiage in Cooper's book. It wasn't long after the part that Hawkeye was first introduced that we opted to listen to our own conversations instead. Our spirits were high, anticipating not only a great event, but great weather as well. We wound our way up the scenic back roads of New York State and arrived at the fort with plenty of daylight to spare. The robins, however, didn't survive the journey.

We pulled up to find a new arrangement in the British camp - the kitchen tents lined the driveway, making it convenient to drop off and set up camp kitchens. Our company street was the last one down the lawn which, while a pain to hike gear down to, would later prove a blessing in that we were far removed from the noise of the kitchens and we were shaded from the afternoon sun. We greeted and were greeted by some of you who we had not seen since Jumonville and some who we had not seen since last year! For those who did not attend, our turnout was fantastic. It was great to see everybody.

On our way to pitch our tent, Alec and I nearly walked by Sarah, who was inconspicuously disguised as a colonial woman. Had she not caught our attention, we would have obliviously walked by, surely to be smacked for not recognizing her. We exchanged pleasantries and learned that she had planned to prepare a meal of stewed chicken and dumplings for us that evening. Looking forward to it, Alec and I pitched our wedge tent, shed our 20th century outfits and transformed into dirty rangers. We headed to the kitchen to help out.

At the dining fly we met for the first time Mark, who was a friend and workmate of Jay and Craig. New to the hobby, Mark seemed like he'd been at it a long time. He fit right in and was solid contributor the entire weekend. It was nice to see our unit growing. That evening our unit numbered seventeen muskets. We sat around and, thanks to Sarah, we ate like kings. As dusk passed the warm light from kitchen fires and lanterns dotted the camps. We were paid visits by several friends, including Commander Royal Sheely, of the 42nd Highland Regiment. For those who don't know him, Roy was the lake commander at Lake George two years ago. He joined our company as we sat around and swapped tall tales. George Herschman had spotted earlier that evening Phil Dunning, proprietor of the Belching Swine, setting up his marquee. Several of us filtered down to check out the action but found it rather subdued, so we retired back to the dining fly. Alec had, unbeknownst to most, broke out some spirits of his own. Intended to be shared at the Belching Swine, he decided to share it right then and there. Three unmarked bottles emerged and began making the rounds. Eventually named Ping!, Pow! and Boom!, they were, Peachtree, Blackberry Brandy and Grappa respectively. At the end of the evening, all rangers made it to their tents with no one hurt, lost or burned. I turned in and slept through a chilly, bug-less, perfect night.

I awoke at 5:30 AM and rekindled our fire, getting ready for breakfast. The weather was cool and clear and promised to be a great day. Our unit stirred slowly, people wandering down in intervals. Most ate breakfast in camp while George, Fred, Mel, Ed and Bob wandered to the Fort for their routine Ticonderoga breakfast. Dan Williamson joined us that morning, having arrived late the previous evening. Chauncey also put in an appearance, eager as always to scrap with the French. We were also joined by ranger Bill Filkins, newly arrived after having moved back to New York State from Oregon. A member of Black's Rangers out of Oregon, Bill found a home with us that weekend. Now, up to nineteen muskets strong, Sarge moved us down the driveway to drill. Everyone did an outstanding job settling down and learning the French & Indian War manual of arms - a simpler, shorter version than the drill of 1764, which is closer to Von Steuben's manual of arms during the Revolutionary War. After some time spent on the manual, we practiced our maneuvers, wheels and extensions. After we had gotten the hang of it, we retired to meet the Major, who marched us behind the Fort, so that he may debrief us on what he learned from the Officer's Call. Rumor had it that Jon Soule and the French may pay us a visit, so we powdered up hoped that they had the courage. We marched down, were debriefed, practiced more maneuvers and returned to the Fort without firing a shot. The French were cowards and didn't show.

We marched up through the Fort and stopped for a group photo in front of the gateway. It soon turned out to be a huge photo opportunity as guests and spectators began snapping away. I can't say I can blame them - we looked darn fantastic. I have no doubt Sean will have that photo up on our website soon.

Rogers' Own Company of Rangers at Fort Ticonderoga, July 24, 2000. Back row (standing), left to right: Jonas Sanchez, George Herschman, Mel Walts, Jay Fiedler, Dan Williamson, Ian Fiedler, Mark Pelletier, Alec Asten, Sean Kavanaugh, Maj. Mike Fitzgerald. Front row (kneeling), left to right: Bob Stone, Fred Herschman, Craig Villeneuve, Bill Filkins, Travis Fitzgerald, Ed Radowitch, Chauncey Goodrich, Sgt. Paul Stevens.

Afterwards, we took a brief rest and a quick lunch before it was time to form up for the battle.

Left: Rogers' Own Coy. of Rangers following behind James' Rogers Coy. into position for the start of the battle.

Right: Rogers' Own followed by Gorham's Rangers.

Left: Pvt. Chauncey Goodrich and his Rangers.
Right: Our Indian scout, Jonas, with the fort in the background.
The field of battle was beyond the trees in the distance.

The battles at Ti don't change much year after year. The deployments are pretty much the same. We worked the middle of the Ranger line with Speakman's and James Rogers' Companies to our right while Jaeger's and Dunn's Companies held our left. We engaged Indian and Canadian skirmishers at the onset, then slowly pushed forward and wheeled as a battalion to the left, effectively pushing their flank to the middle, as our regulars pushed into their regulars. We seem to have done a good job wrapping them up.

Our unit seemed also to have captured the limelight that afternoon. A small camera crew from PBS was there to film different aspects of reenacting for a documentary series they were producing. The final piece would air at some undetermined point, and would also be available on video through the fort. One camera man stuck to us like a bee to honey during the battle. It took Yours Truly a while to suddenly realize my attempts to sneak up the hill to peer at the French lines were in vain due to the camera man beside me who didn't bother to duck and remain unseen.

At Fort Ti in 2000, a film crew asked us to let them film close-ups of us in action.  This filming, as well as footage shot that day, at the previous year's events, and later at the Rev War event, culminated in a fabulous video on reenacting at Fort Ticonderoga, called Then Again. Produced by PBS and Fort Ti, it is a really lovely look at the fort and the events that go on there. Highly recommended. The video is available at the Fort Ti Museum Store.

After the battle he and his partner asked if some of us were interested in getting in front of the cameras for some directed actions. Some of us obliged regardless of how tired we were. The Major, Travis, Alec, Chauncey and myself re-donned our gear and headed down to the field to act out surveying the French lines, advancing, shooting and being shot. Huzzah to Chauncey and Alec for being stunning corpses. Afterward the shoot everybody but me gave brief interviews in front of the camera. Once wrapped we said our farewells to the crew and exchanged contact info with the hopes of getting a copy of the footage they shot. We retired off the field, myself having lost a small wooden box, a horn comb and my flint wallet, which all fell out of my food quiver during the shoot. Thankfully no large ticket items were lost.

I was accompanied by Travis and Alec to the fort concession stand for my customary milkshake only to find that they weren't serving milkshakes this year. A change in management brought on a change in menu.

We returned to camp to a fantastic meal prepared by Dave Shaw. Dave was kind enough to tend the hearth while we went off to war and, over the course of the day, had made a meal consisting of sliced roast on the skillet, grilled ham, corn on the cob, stewed carrots and potatoes. It was absolutely delicious. Huzzah to Dave, and anyone else who helped prepare that perfect meal. We ate like kings two days in a row!

I sat with new ranger Bill by the side of the road on his trade blanket, digesting my meal as he tried to sell his rifle. We were joined by some others and we passed the time swapping stories. At one point a company of the 77th of Foot (Montgomery's Highlanders) marched past on their way down the driveway towards the front gate. Curious as to what was up, the Major, Sarah, Jay and Mark followed behind. They returned later to tell us of a ceremony that had taken place at the memorial cairn. Sarah provided me with the following update:

"They started marching up toward the Cairn, the memorial to the highlanders who fell in that dreadful battle of 1758 where the British outnumbered the French but in attacking the Fort the Brits lost thousands of men, beginning with the beloved Lord Howe, and went back down Lake George with their tales between their legs. Anyway, we followed the 77th up the road. When we got there, they held a small ceremony, with bayonets and salutes, and then lay down their arms. The piper was also an Episcopal minister, and he said a prayer and played something wonderful on his pipes (well, ya gotta like bagpipes to say that!). Then those of us who had followed (the four of us, plus Robert Griffing himself, a couple other men, and some women and children) were invited to join them in a circle, which we did. They passed around a small chalice containing Scotch Whiskey. Each person made a toast and sipped, or skipped the toast or the sip and passed the chalice. The regiment went first and each of the men toasted the soldiers, the fallen, those who gave their all, etc. etc. The women toasted the mothers and wives and daughters who came to war or who stayed behind; and a young girl toasted "all the children". We four each toasted something appropriate. I was the last (and toasted the many blessings that allowed us to be there that night)."

As dusk drew near, Don Keleher brought out his fencing gear. He fenced Angus from his own unit right beside our kitchen. Don and I had spoken at our yearly meeting and discussed how we both had started taking fencing lessons. He had said some people were interested in fencing at Ti after the public all went away. So, he broke out the gear and commenced stabbing. After their bout, Travis and I got our chance to have at it. For someone who had never fenced, Travis was a quick learner and well suited to the sport. We had a great time. Don and I bouted afterwards, and after that I gave his daughter some pointers (no pun intended). It was after that that Stefan from James Rogers' Co. laid down the gauntlet. I could do nothing but accept. We had a blast. Don intends to keep this tradition up. Hopefully we can draw in some new folks and get a chance to fence some Frenchies next time. T'would be great fun had by all.

With the coming of evening came the need to socialize. A few of us headed over to the Indian camp to watch some dancing and singing. It was disappointing to get there to find singing but no dancing taking place. After waiting a while we turned our attention to a different dance circle. where Ken Hamilton and friends were ready to do some serious dancing. The drums started and the dancing commenced. Alec, who had nervously put on a breechcloth for the first time and told no one until I noticed, joined in the dancing, as did I. We danced several rounds before bowing out. Alec did a great job, despite Sarge's disco remarks! Feeling the rhythm, we retired across the field to the Belching Swine.

Several of our unit breezed through the Swine that evening, some staying longer than others. Bowls and camaraderie flowed, and our rangers did well for themselves, avoiding any embarrassments. That night there were no insurmountable small hills and no port-o-lets that couldn't be exited (although we were concerned when Fred said he needed to relieve himself, walked into the darkness and never came back). There was nothing but good times and good company, and a heck of a lot of Ping!, Boom! and Pow! going around. Our unit was even toasted by the entire tavern when Alec prevented an early last call by pulling out and donating a personal stash of rum. This Indian learned many things that night. I learned that evening that our token Irishman, Sean Kavanaugh, not only preferred beer to hard alcohol, but also couldn't remember any traditional Irish folk songs save the choruses. I learned that Bill Filkins, a self admitted cheap date, had it in him to close the Belching Swine and only had a small difficulty in locating his bed. And, I learned that Alec can walk a straight line and carry on a regular, sober conversation with me before passing out cold as soon as he hit his bedroll.

That night I intended to turn in early. I retired at 1:30 AM and was glad to have done so.

Sunday began with a good breakfast with all our rangers fully functional from the previous evenings festivities. The day was ordinary save for two events.

Before the battle, the Major, Bob Stone, Bill Filkins and myself set out to check out the original French lines. While we were reading the summary of events from the sign, Jay, Ian and Travis approached hastily and delivered news that a dozen Indians stopped by at camp and were looking for me. Jay had told them where we were and challenged them that if they were any good, they'd find me and deal with me then and there. While the savages pondered the challenge, Jay and company beat-feet to warn us of the war party coming our way. We decided to continue what we were up to and faded into the woods, following the back of the French redoubt. I took up the rear, loaded my musket and kept a watchful eye over my shoulder. We wound our way through the woods and eventually came back out onto the road. We encountered no Indians. Bill and I trailed into camp well behind the others. The Major told us that our dozen Indians rushed them from the woods as they marched in. I later found out that this Indian press gang did venture into the woods after us. They saw us enter and followed our trail, and were totally stumped when they suddenly lost our trail! Score one for the rangers! These Indians turned out to be our British allies, looking for me to force me to join them at an event in Hubbardton, VT. I unfortunately had to pass on that one.

The second event came at the tail end of the second battle. The weather seemed to hold our for us, but during the advance it started to rain lightly. The skirmishing was better than the day before and moved much more quickly. Everyone was anticipating a downpour, so the battle was planned to be considerably shorter. The same scenario played itself out, but this time the whole unit took a hit. I think three musket shots from the French line took down twelve of us. We all died, save Bill, who charged forward! As I lay there, dead on the battlefield, a woman asked if I needed water. I was parched, so I told her I needed some desperately. After I took a small swig I heard this hissing noise behind me. I turned over to take a peek and saw a wall of water traveling in my direction across the lake! The downpour was approaching rapidly. George and I, along with some dead Canadians exchanged silent, panicked looks, before we all stood up, grabbed our muskets and ran for the sidelines. Suddenly, before their time, the dead arose and ran. One French officer looked at us and asked where we were going. A few seconds later he too was scrambling off the field. Some regulars were disciplined enough to leave the field in formation, while we, like good provincials, broke and scattered. After a few seconds it was futile to run, seeing as how we were already as soaked as we could get. The front came through, drenched everything, subsided for a spell and drenched everything a second time before passing through.

But, despite it all, the weekend was a great success. Next year promises to be better. There will be a Friday event reenacting Howe's landing in or near the town of Ticonderoga. Bob Bearor appears to have uncovered the true landing area and is organizing an event independent from the fort's event. And, they may allow some morning tacticals in the woods for reenactors (no public) only. It should be something to look forward to.

A group of us left Ti and adjourned for a while at the local MacDonald's for a quick bite. Afterwards everybody turned their vehicles towards home. The Major, Travis, Alec and I spent the evening driving through the storm that blasted through the fort that afternoon and cleared it in Massachusetts. With the event behind us, it left me looking forward to seeing those who couldn't make it next year.

Farewell! Til we meet at Ticonderoga!

Yr most Humbl & Exhausted Servant,
Jonas