L A K E   G E O R G E   F & I   T A C T I C A L

Captain’s Log
Armed Boat HORNET
Lake George, 2001

Monday, 8 October
Having an obligation to our friend Pierre Marques, we set out from Huletts Landing on board the HORNET to meet him and the rest of the French forces on Lake George.  Loaded with military stores and provisions for two weeks, we set a course sailing south for a group of islands called the Mother Bunch.  The wind blew erratically out of the south for the first several hours, conjuring up two-foot seas topped with white caps.  It took us an hour to beat clear of Huletts, but once out into the channel we were able to tack well to windward and make all speed toward our destination. 

Just as the sun was setting behind the western peaks we spotted St. Sacrament Island.  The wind began to lessen, and when we were within two cables length of the island’s northern shore the breeze died altogether.  Despite the calm of the evening, the heavy seas of the past three hours gave us nine inches of water in the boat.  To our credit everything was stowed well and our gear remained dry and undamaged.

We piloted the HORNET through the shallows off St. Sacrament and beached near the western shore of Mother Bunch Island.  Franзois Iafrate, the first mate, disembarked with his firelock and secured the island for our camp.  Almost immediately we were hailed by an Indian native with a whippoorwill call.  When he knew we saw him he called out to us “Francais?”, to which we replied “Oui, Francais.”  The native led us quietly to the other side of the island where another of his kind was waiting in a canoe.  Through some rough French, English and sign language, we ascertained that these Indians, known as the Abenaki, were camped for the night on St. Sacrament.  They did not invite us to follow them, and we set about in what little light was left to setup camp.  The temperature, although in the fifties all day, was dropping quickly.  We warmed ourselves in front of a fire and reheated some cooked chicken before settling in for a cold night.

Tuesday, 9 October
We awoke at dawn to a clear, cold sky and rekindled our fire.  After we broke camp, I consulted our charts and was confident of our position in relation to the rest of the French forces on the Lake.  Our orders were to rendezvous with the French on Phenita Island, which was less then half a mile to the south.  Looking toward that direction the islands seem to run together as one.  A crescent moon hung high in a new blue sky, and the leaves on the hardwoods that punctuate the pine forests were turning orange and red.  We enjoyed some hot coffee and dried fruit, and while we were eating we were hailed in French from across the water by a man standing on St. Sacrament's southern point .  He asked if he might share our fire with us, and welcoming the civility of another white man we beckoned him to come over and join us.

The Frenchman's name was David and he had with him an Indian woman who called herself Tsi'ta.  They were both armed with short-barreled fowling pieces that had the sturdy appearance of cut-down muskets.  They said they had been on this part of the lake for three days and were planning to venture further south that afternoon.  They said they had skirmished with a handful of English scouts along the Lake's eastern shore the day before, and their route home was taking them south into what they believed was English held territory.

We said goodbye to our guests and set about loading our gear aboard the HORNET.  As we prepared to leave, we saw David and Tsi'ta depart in their canoe and  head south.  Soon after the Abenaki whom we met the previous evening loaded up their canoes and silently paddled past us as well.  The Indians in the first canoe ignored us.  As the second canoe came past I called out to the Indian in the stern and asked “Red Man…..Phenita?” and pointed to the south.  He replied “Oui, Phenita.”  I nodded, thanked him and turned to pass the news on to the crew.  These Indians were French allies, and we were going to follow them to Phenita Island.

We left the dock and poled our way with oars through the shallow water around the island.  Once past St. Sacrament and into the eastern channel we were in deep water and able to row again.  A breeze was freshening from the southwest and not nearly as strong as the previous day.  Keeping in close to the islands kept us out of the wind, and rowing the boat to Phenita was an easy task. 

As we approached Phenita, we heard a loud “Whoooooop” emanate from somewhere on the island.  We piloted the HORNET back into the shallows where we were instructed by a Frenchman on shore to navigate to a cove on the island's western side.  As we came around the island, a half dozen canoes could be seen tied up to a dock.  We secured our boat and were greeted by a group of French scouts.  They were rugged individuals, with a look about them that spoke of long stays in the wilderness.  An Indian came up to us and silently offered some rolled tobacco.  We accepted graciously and shared some French brandy in return.  The brandy warmed us, and we soon became a band of friends anxiously awaiting the arrival of the French commander and his men.  Of particular interest to me was the arrival of Pierre Marques, a friend through correspondence that I had known these past six years, but circumstance up until now had prohibited us from ever meeting face to face.  This was to be our first meeting, and being that he had provided our boat with its new canvas sails, we were indebted to him and sailed the HORNET here at his request.

Pierre arrived an hour or so after us, as did several other canoes of Indians and French militia.  The French commander appeared in a bateaux with a canoe in tow, and despite loud calls from the Indians and muskets fired into the air, the commander continued south past us.  This vexed many of the men, as we were awaiting orders and news of the English.  A man named Renard was anxious to begin a new campaign against the English Rangers, and to this there was general agreement among all the men.  The Frenchmen and some of the Indians held a council and decided to ready the canoes to follow the French commander and see what he was about. 

We took this opportunity to scout the Lake to the south.  Setting sail we navigated around the north side of Duran Island and into the main channel, tacking back and forth past Floating Battery Island and on to Black Mountain Point.  We had passed the main body of the French forces and saw them beach their canoes along the eastern shore at a place they called Ranger Bay.  We continued south and made it as far as Hazel Island before turning to run with the wind.  It took us two and a half hours of beating into the wind just to get a mile or so down the lake, and with a ten-knot breeze and the jib and main drawing well, I ordered the boat's gun loaded with grape.  We stood off from the shoreline by two boat lengths and quietly made our way northward along with eastern shore.  It took us a mere fifteen minutes to travel the mile or so to Ranger Bay.  Smoke floating up through the pines marked the camp, and we found the bay to be a well-protected refuge from the Lake winds.  We were greeted by our friends from earlier that day and got to work building a shelter for the night.  A hot meal was on our mind, and we welcomed the marinated beef that my wife had preserved for us several days before.

As night came on we sat around a low burning fire and discussed our position.  The peninsula on which we were camped was well defended.  Sixteen men made up the forward French position.  The Abenaki had their own camp just north of us, and the French commander was north of the Abenaki.  No one had yet seen the French commander since his arrival, and the fact that we were unaware of any organized plan to attack the English began to weigh heavy on our minds.  

This was not an inactive group, and while we were off patrolling, Pierre and several other Frenchman and natives had a skirmish with the English.  Some thought they knew where the English camp was, and at dawn tomorrow they had planned to find out once and for all. 

We settled in for the night around ten that evening.  Guards were posted at the neck where a stockade wall was built from laid logs, and the fires were doused and lanterns covered.  Several men had just gone to sleep when a loud explosion filled Ranger Bay.  Two English canoes had quietly positioned themselves around the point, one at the mouth to Ranger Bay and the other just off the peninsula’s western shore.  The explosion sounded like a blunderbuss or swivel gun, and it succeeded in taking us all by surprise.  One of the English yelled out from the canoe “See you before morning, Francais,” to which several Frenchmen fired their muskets blindly in reply.

A short time later we heard the Abenaki camp being attacked to the north, and following that the French commander’s camp.  We knew that the canoes would likely make their way past us upon their return, if only to harass us one more time.  Our expectations proved correct, and we saw the dark silhouettes of the two canoes long before they reached us.  This gave us time to prepare a warm reception for them, and I sent for the arms chest.  With a piece of slow match glowing softly in my hand we waited for the canoes to come into range.  As the first canoe approached I lit a grenade and threw it.  Overhanging tree limbs brushed the grenade as it flew, showering a cascade of orange sparks down onto the Lake.  Someone muttered “Stupid Frenchman, throwing his grenade into the water.”  We couldn’t see any sign of the fuse, and Pierre and I had just remarked to each other about the fuse going out when it exploded.  The flash lit up the Lake, and fragments of the grenade launched skyward into the night sky.  Immediately both canoes picked up their pace and began to race south past our camp.  I lit another grenade and threw it side-armed under the trees to land ten feet from the second canoe.  This one exploded with far better effect, and water rained down all around the retreating English.  We doubted that the English would visit us again before morning.

Wednesday, 10 October
We spent three hours that night on guard duty at both the neck and the point.  At first light we got a fire going and set about making some eggs and heating dried sausages.  After our breakfast we unloaded the remaining gear from the  HORNET and set off to patrol south.  The French commander had not yet sent us orders, and having been paid a visit by the English the night before we felt compelled to return the hospitality.

Pierre left on foot with several scouts and worked his way south along the Lake’s eastern shore.  We left in the HORNET around eleven that morning, again beating into a strong southwesterly wind.   Rumor spoke of a large English gunboat in this region, and we were determined to smoke it out.  We landed on Fork Island and after a quick but thorough search we secured it for the French.  Then with the wind in our favor, we left Fork Island and headed east into Red Rock Bay.  Seeing no canoes or bateau, we tacked and headed downwind along the Lake's eastern shore.  With the swivel gun loaded with grape, I ordered the jib struck and for Franзois to begin raking the trees along the shoreline as we passed.  With the main sheet let out, the mainsail boom swung nearly perpendicular off the starboard beam.  The wind remained strong and we moved quickly down the Lake.  The swivel belched fire and smoke, and the sound of the report and the shot ripping through the trees echoed northward along the mountains.  After firing five rounds in this manner, we found ourselves rapidly approaching Black Mountain Point.  We were disappointed that no one fired back and that no boats came out to pursue us.  It took a mere twenty minutes to get from Red Rock Bay back to the French camp, and when we returned we were greeted with more stories of skirmishes that had taken place that morning along the Lake's eastern shore.  Pierre had succeeded in making it to the English camp, and he confirmed that they had taken up a fortified position off of Hazel Island just north of Red Rock.  We were correct in our estimation, and felt confident that we shook them up with our cannonade.

That afternoon a handful of English scouts made their way to within fifty yards of our camp.  They were noisy and we heard them coming some way off.  The alarm was raised and we gathered at the stockade wall to repel the attack.   Franзois tossed two grenades into the trees to push back the less cautious of their group, and the explosions at close quarters seemed to have the desired effect.  Several of the rangers took shots at us from across the bay from behind a row of fallen trees.  One appeared about eighty feet off with his head and backside clearly visible from behind a large pine.  I primed my Jaeger rifle and took careful aim, engaging the set trigger as I sighted the front blade on him.  The Jaeger jumped into my shoulder and the ranger fell.  Many Kills, a Kahnawake Indian standing to my right, laughed and yelled into the woods “We have Jaeger, Englais.”  Two more English were killed before they retreated, but not before one of them got a shot off at Franзois.  He had been coming back from the HORNET with more cartridges for our guns when one of the English shot him.  The ball grazed his left thigh, but he managed to make it into camp where upon we cleaned and dressed the wound.

That evening we mounted a waterborne attack to the south.  We removed the sail rig from the HORNET and readied her for a landing expedition.  Pierre led the way in his canoe, and Franзois mustered four volunteers to row for us.  Three of the men were young Indian natives, and the fourth was a Frenchman named Blu.  We promised to pay them in rum for their hard work, to which they were anxious to provide the necessary labor.

We set out from Ranger Bay at eight that evening with the winds calm and the water smooth like glass.  As we reached Black Mountain Point the wind picked up again out of the south, making our progress more difficult.  We saw Pierre and Renard waiting for us at a dock near the Point and we altered course to meet them.  Franзois, the three Indians and I left the boat with Blu and met up with Pierre to go over the plan.  Nothing seemed to be moving near Hazel Island.  We expected to see something – a lantern, fire, smoke, sentries, but we didn’t see or hear a thing.  The wind began to freshen even more, and our chances of making it to their camp by water were diminishing with the weather.  Pierre decided to cancel the attack, and he and Renard scouted a bit further south before returning to meet us at camp.

A lone canoe was spotted leaving Black Mountain Point shortly after our return.  It headed west across the Lake where it was lost in the darkness.  We suspected that this canoe might turn north once it crossed the Lake and then reverse its route to descend upon us from that direction.  We heard several shots fired from the French commander’s camp, and despite heightened anticipation nothing came our way.  We supped light and set about preparing for another night of guard duty. 

Around eleven that evening movement was noticed outside the stockade.  The entire camp was awake and we stood for the next two hours peering into the darkness.  Many Kills was on watch and he called out into the darkness “We can hear you Englais,” but no one made a reply.  Lance, a mountain man from the western territories, was next to me on the wall.  After another hour of hearing nothing I sat down on the ground with my rifle beside me.  Lance joined me and we both discussed in whispered tones what the chances were of our being stalked by a band of squirrels.  By midnight we were exhausted and with no movement being seen or heard in the last hour, many of us turned in.  Franзois and I took guard duty from two-thirty until four-thirty and found it very hard to stay awake.

Thursday, 11 October
The Rangers attacked at first light.  Many Kills was back at the fortification when they fired their muskets and rushed the stockade.  They threw themselves over the wall, taking part of it down with them as they leapt.  Blu was nearly killed when an English musket went off inches from his face.  Franзois and I came out of our tent with our guns loaded and saw several English overrun our camp.  The chaos of surprise dissipated quickly and we realized that the English had not reloaded their muskets.  They quickly regrouped and took off running from our camp with several of our scouts in pursuit.  A small skirmish ensued, and the main body of the English moved south.

We regrouped and assessed the damage to our camp.  There were several men killed and wounded, but the boats and canoes were all accounted for.  We knew that we had to break camp and move, and it weighed on our minds the fact that the English waited silently outside our camp for six hours before attacking.  It was a bold move, one that took skill and discipline to achieve, but why they didn't reload their weapons perplexed us.

It was agreed that Pierre, Renard and the rest, now fifteen in all, would set off on foot and attack the English camp at Hazel Island.  Franзois carried a haversack with the remaining grenades, and in just over an hour we were split into three parties and moving cautiously to advance on the English camp.  As we came up over a rise and crossed the fortifications we found the camp deserted.  The fire pit was wet, and a message was scrawled onto a rock that said “See Ya!”  We stood there incredulous to the possibility that the English had left.  We moved on to Red Rock and searched for a second camp but found none.  They had run!  Standing there where they had bedded down it all began to make sense why there were no sentries or pickets along the path to Red Rock.  No one challenged us the entire way southward.  No boats came out to meet us on the Lake.  The English were gone, and it was only Thursday morning.

We took our time walking back to camp.  Once there we shared the news with the rest of our garrison that the English had left the Lake.  We now controlled the waterways from Fort William Henry in the south all the way north to Lake Champlain, but the victory somehow seemed a empty. 

Everyone was quiet as we broke camp.  We loaded our gear aboard the HORNET and under jib alone sailed northward following a long line of canoes.  Renard, Blue and some of the Indians decided to leave for home and headed north that day, leaving half our original number to make camp that night.  We retired to Duran Island where I offered up a fine ham, fresh corn and the remaining French brandy and rum to any who wished to share.  We feasted like the Frenchmen we were, and later that night Franзois, Pierre and I sat on Duran’s northern shore and for two hours watched the Aurora Borealis light up the northern sky with spires of red and green.

Friday, 12 October
We breakfasted light, broke camp and began loading our gear.  The wind was blowing from the north for the first time that week, and we knew that our journey home would take longer than we had planned.  We said goodbye to Pierre, Many Kills, Lance, Harry, Bow Hunter and Ryan and began the arduous task of beating northward through the narrow eastern channel.  We saw the canoes quickly leave us behind as they kept close to shore and out of the wind.  It took us an hour to clear the channel, and in less than three hours we arrived at Hulett's where we docked the HORNET and prepared for our journey home to Pennsylvania.

Captain Damian Siekonic
Armed Boat HORNET