Captain's Log of the Armed Boat HORNET

Monday, October 13th - We set sail aboard the HORNET from Huletts Landing at noon, and towing a canoe loaded with gear we set a course to “The Narrows” on Lake George.  With a steady breeze and accompanied by Francois Iafrate and Mitchell Davis, we made good time to the Mother Bunch Islands.  Landing first on Saint Sacrement’s north shore, we scouted to the island's southern edge to see if anyone was about.  Seeing no one, we returned to the boat and continued on our way.  As we passed around Sagamore Island's southeastern shore we saw two dories flying French colors docked at a nearby island.  Our rendezvous put us in contact with General Soule and his crew of French regulars who were busy finishing a repair to one of their boats.   We shared with them our intentions of camping for a few hours at Floating Battery Island and having a hot supper, after which we would proceed down the Lake under cover of darkness to meet at Fork Island, deep in English held territory.  

Late that afternoon we watched General Soule head south, and as the sun set in the southwest the French boats appeared as black spots on the glistening water.  We observed two unknown canoes watching the procession of French boats from the Lake's western shore.  An hour later they were lost in the shadow of the west mountain, and from what we could see the General and his men arrived unopposed at Fork Island.

As the sky grew dark we finished our meal of cold chicken, bread and cheese, and striking camp we loaded our gear back aboard the HORNET for the three-mile journey south.    There was just enough ambient light left to see our destination, and I picked a bright star above it to mark our course.  Under light airs we drifted some distance with the jib set, but found ourselves rowing the first mile down the Lake.   After forty-five minutes darkness had completely enveloped the Lake.   Francois lit a lantern forward to give some light in the boat, and seeing that the wind was picking up he let go the topping lift.  The HORNET's large mainsail filled under a freshening breeze, and ten minutes of wind we found us another mile down the Lake. 

The breeze died away and we again clewed up the mainsail and got under oars.  The moon had not yet risen, and the only thing discernable was the dark border where the mountaintops ended and the star-filled sky began.  At nine that evening we were close enough to Fork Island to smell the French fires.  As we rounded the northern point of the island's anchorage we saw the French dories moored at a well-protected dock.   French infantrymen stood with a lantern and took our painter as we moored.  We were greeted by General Soule, and after securing the HORNET and the canoe for the night we unpacked our gear and listened to a briefing on the pending action with the English.   A dawn attack was in the works, and every man was to be in the boats and ready to shove off at six- thirty the next morning.  Many of the men were already asleep, and since a guard had been posted for the camp, I told Francois and Mitchell to get some well-deserved rest.

It was just before midnight that I had laid down against a tree with a blanket when I heard whooping and gunshots from the southern end of the island.  I tore off the blanket and grabbing my gun ran with the French guard toward the sound of the disturbance.    Several Indians who were traveling with the French regulars were camped to our south, and as we came into their camp we saw they had the bodies of two English Rangers.  One was an officer named Wade Stoner.  The other was a private named Chauncey.  We learned that General Soule had offered a bounty of fifty dollars for this English officer, and the natives were taking his body to collect the reward.   The General quickly appeared on the scene, and with an air of extreme satisfaction commended the natives for their fine work. By now many Frenchmen and natives had gathered around the dead Rangers.  A native woman named Tsi'ta came forth and made to mutilate Private Chauncey in front of us, but for some reason she stopped short.  Then among shouted whoops and jeers the scene died away with the natives returning to their camp and the French regulars crawling back into their bedrolls.  The General turned in at midnight and the regular guard was posted for the remainder of the night.

Tuesday, October 14th - We awoke well rested just before dawn and readied the HORNET for the attack on the mainland.  The French regulars were already in their boats and awaiting the command to disembark.  The wind had changed sometime in the early morning to blow out of the south, and the jib and mainsail were set to carry us across to Red Rock Bay.   Our native allies scouted ahead in their canoes, and the three French boats set off together.  We landed unopposed at Red Rock Bay and moored at a dock that our native scouts had secured for us.  With a guard posted at the boats, we set off to investigate Red Rock and the neck leading to the mainland.  Finding no one, we secured the trails and high ground on the mainland and began a methodical search to the north. 

A short distance further on we surprised a small group of Rangers as they were walking toward us on the trail.  When they saw us they retreated, shedding their packs and diving off into the brush.  Our party ran in pursuit and kept up a steady fire.    Two grenades smoked the Rangers out from their position behind a fallen tree, and Francois, Mitchell and several natives pushed the Rangers up the terrain where they took up a fortified position some three hundred feet above the trail.  The French Regulars were already up the hill on our right flank, and as they advanced I saw one fall from the Rangers' fire.  In the time it took for the Rangers to reload, the majority of our party was upon them.  Another grenade took care of a native who was with the Rangers, and the fight was over.  Shortly after another native came down from the terrain above us and surrendered.  The tally was two Rangers and one native dead, one native captured to one French regular killed.  

Knowing that a potentially larger English force was somewhere to the north, we worked our way back to the boats, picking up the dead Rangers' gear along the way.   By the time we were back on board the southerly breeze had freshened.  Francois cleared the swivel gun and setting sail we enjoyed a leisurely trip back to Fork Island.   Over coffee, bread, sausage, fruit and wine we discussed the success of the attack and speculated over what our next move would be.  It was then that I saw two canoes a mile to the north heading in our direction.  Francois fetched my glass and we observed four Rangers in the middle of the Lake.  It appeared that they were going to try and pass us to the west, and we left our breakfast and boarded the HORNET.  Three young natives gave chase in a canoe while we skirted the southern end of Fork Island to cut off the Ranger’s escape.  With four oars pulling we made good time against the wind, and as we came into the channel we saw that the Rangers had beached their canoes on Little Harbor Island and that the natives were already upon them.   We heard sporadic gunfire as we tied up to the dock and made our way across the island with all haste.  Upon meeting with our native allies we found four Rangers dead, one apparently shot right out of his canoe for his body was soaking wet.

Back aboard the HORNET we set all canvas and sailed back to our camp.  Moving in close along the shoreline we fired off a salute with the swivel, and doffed our hats to the General who was watching the action from the western shore of Fork Island.  We tied up at our mooring and disembarked to collect our gear and pack the canoe.    Spirits were again high, as six Rangers and two natives had been taken before noon.  With the Officer Stoner and Private Chauncey the night before, and a reputed several more Rangers killed the previous day, we reckoned the total English killed at twelve to only one French regular lost.

It was noon and the French camp on Fork Island was being struck.  Our orders were to sail north to secure the Dollar Islands and then make our way to Floating Battery Island for the night.  A storm was coming and was reported to contain high winds followed by a cold front, and we wanted to get the boat secured and us comfortable in camp long before the weather turned bad. 

Leaving Fork Island we spotted a Ranger canoe standing off of Red Rock.  We tacked in pursuit, and with a southerly wind on our starboard beam we made to intercept them.   When they saw us coming, the Rangers began to paddle in earnest.  The canoe we were towing slowed us down, and we were forced to reduce sail in order to keep the canoe from broaching to.  We gave chase for fifteen minutes, and at one point we set to rowing in an attempt to work more directly into the wind.   The Ranger canoe proved to be more weatherly, and they made their escape south.  Using the glass, Francois said he saw the body of Private Chauncey lying in the canoe.  It appeared that these Rangers were leaving the Lake, and we gave up the chase and turned to run with the wind.  

We headed north past Fork Island and had just set a course to the Dollars when we spotted two more Ranger canoes a mile off our port bow.  We gave chase, and at about two cables distance the Rangers cut a course across our bow and made for Hazel Island on the Lake's eastern shore.  Again the canoe we were towing hindered our speed, and we had to take in more sail now that we were running with the wind.  Ahead of the Rangers, General Soule and his boats were just entering the channel between Hazel Island and the mainland.  The Rangers entered next, followed by us.  Once in the channel, the Rangers fired a volley at the General's boat.  As we approached, more Rangers who were hiding behind trees on the mainlandd fire on us.  We stuck close to Hazel Island and fired the swivel, but at that range the cannon was more a gesture of belligerence than an effective instrument of war.  Unintelligible shouting was exchanged from both sides until we were safely through the channel and back on our course.  With the wind off our port beam we sailed due west to the Dollar Islands where we landed at one and then the other, scouting and securing both.

It was four in the afternoon when we made camp.  We had scouted the western side of Floating Battery Island for a beach where we could haul the HORNET out of the water to better weather the storm.  Not finding a suitable place, we poled around the northern to the bay where we moored the pervious afternoon.   The two French dories were tied up to the dock, and we came up alongside to land the canoe and unload our gear.  Then with the mainmast struck and all the canvas stowed, we broke out a grapnel and secured the HORNET in the cove next to the dock.  We supped on the remaining chicken and ate cheese, hard-boiled eggs and pumpkin bread.  Afterward we shared some of our supply of hersha-hay with our native friends and brewed some fresh coffee while we awaited the arrival of the storm.

Wednesday, October 15 - The wind and rain hit us shortly after two in the morning, and our canvas lean-to kept us dry while our gear was safely stowed under tarps.   I stood guard with the General until midnight, and Mitchell and Francois stood their shifts with the French regulars during the early morning hours.  The anticipation of bad weather kept everyone hunkered down throughout the night, and all the next day the wind and sporadic rain showers kept us close to camp and the warmth of our fire.  A regular guard was posted throughout the day, and many trips were made to the south side of the island to assess the weather and watch for any sign of the English Rangers.

Intermittent firing was heard during the afternoon, and around three o’clock there were Rangers spotted on the mainland just east of Floating Battery.  It was doubtful that they had canoes with them, and the two-foot seas with whitecaps that dominated the lake all day long would prevent the Rangers from using them if they did.  As night approached there was no sign of the winds subsiding.   The wind was gusting severely from the south, and although a canoe might be able to make it down the Lake to us, the return trip would be nearly impossible.

By five o’clock that afternoon the cold front was moving through, and by dinner the temperature was beginning to drop into the forties.  Around eight o’clock that evening the winds gave some indication of subsiding, but persisted through to the early morning hours.  Many of the men decided they would stay awake past their required shifts, and we broke out the boat's rum store, a half pound of butter and brown sugar to make a pot of hot buttered rum.

Thursday, October 16 - The wind died down between one and two o’clock in the morning.  A double guard had been posted and the remainder of the camp was asleep when a single musket shot woke us.  There was a shout and we could hear running footsteps move south through our camp.   Francois, Mitchell and I found Msr. Blu Butt waking the rest of the camp and organizing a hunting party.  We learned that Mr. Stoner had been in our camp and that he made it as far as the General's tent before being spotted.  When a French guard went to investigate the commotion, Stoner fled, killing the guard with a knife.   Stoner made it to the southern perimeter of the camp where he was shot by Msr. Blu, the second guard on duty.  The entire camp, less the occupants of the General's tent, made a complete sweep of the island but found nothing.  It was now near dawn, and with the sweep of the island completed, I set off in a canoe with Med Chandler to secure the western part of Floating Battery Island that was inaccessible by foot.   We traversed the island, going off in opposite directions and meeting on the other side.   Our immediate territory secure, we returned to the canoe and paddled back to camp.

The men had stayed awake until daybreak and kept the fire going to boil water for coffee.  Dawn brought more clouds and a fresh southerly breeze.  There was no further sign of the Rangers, and the men set about making a breakfast of fresh eggs, cheese, horseradish and bread.  We decided that if the winds cooperated we would try to weather the cold front and make our way north off the Lake.    

The storm had left eight inches of water in the HORNET.  Getting the water bailed and rigging the spars and sails was our first concern after a hot meal, after which we hired one of the natives to do our dishes for us, paying him for his labor with jerky, summer sausage, cheese and hersha-hey.   With our camp work delegated, we set about mooring the HORNET at the dock.   Twenty minutes later we finished the bailing and packed up our gear for the journey home.  Using the rest of our hersha-hey, we paid our native friends to help us carry our gear to the boat.

Our last hour with the camp was a quiet one.  The three days that we had spent on the Lake passed by with lightening speed.  We bade our farewells and exchanged addresses, and at noon set off from Floating Battery Island with the canoe again in tow.  The native Sadoques stood on a rock point at the island's edge and with his musket raised high in the air yelled to us "I am Sadoques!   I am Sadoques! Know, Fracais, that you are my friends!  I am Sadoques!"   We doffed our hats and waved to our friends one last time before we came out from under the island's lee and caught the wind.

The cold front that was moving through the Adirondacks kicked up a strong southerly breeze, so much so that despite sailing under jib alone we were beginning to pick up speed.  The canoe we were towing behind us was also affected by the strengthening wind, and it began to run wildly to either side of our stern.  As we came upon Sagamore Island we saw that our speed was such that the canoe was beginning to ship water over the gunnels.  We immediately cut her loose, and as Francois took in the jib we came up into the wind under oars to secure the canoe and our gear.   Wind and waves continued to have their effect on the canoe, and seizing it against our port side Francois and I made fast while Mitchell reached in and transferred our gear to the HORNET.   The burlap bags were wet, but the contents were safe inside their layers of oil treated canvas.  We towed the canoe to a small island where we hauled it out of the water and emptied it.   Seeing our trouble, General Soule along with Gregg Champlin rowed down to us in one of the dories to make sure all was well.  Within ten minutes we were back on our way, and with the canoe empty and riding high we made good time on our journey northward.  

Despite the gusting winds we arrived at Huletts Landing without further incident.    It was another successful campaign on the Lake, and the usual lack of cohesiveness on the part of the Rangers made them easy prey for the well organized, disciplined and well fed French force.  Many of the Rangers could not readily engage us because they trekked in overland and were without boats or canoes.  Not having watercraft, they were often stranded on the mainland during much of the action and afforded the French with a safe haven on any number of islands, even ones deep in English territory.

Every year we leave Lake George with a greater understanding of our own abilities and shortfalls.  There are few opportunities today to experience the challenges afforded by living in the wilderness, traveling by water and sharing in the beauty of nature while under the constant challenge of an opponent.  We live for days with the most primitive of resources, all the while feeling more alive than we ever did in the comforts of the modern world.  This is what drives the human spirit, and stands as the sole reason why we return to the Lake year after year.

LA VICTORIE AUX FRANCAIS!
Captain Damian Siekonic
Armed Boat HORNET