Prelude to Glory, Vol. 4 by Ron Carter

Author:Ron Carter [Carter, Ron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Deseret Book Company
Published: 2000-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Hubbardton Trail

July 6, 1777

CHAPTER XXII

* * *

The hot wind died an hour after sunrise, and the sun became a huge brass ball pounding heat into the sweltering dead air of the Hudson River valley.

The rebel soldiers came frightened, exhausted, cursing, sweating, filthy, empty-bellied, stumbling on the narrow winding trail hacked through forest so thick the only sky they could see was directly overhead. Piles of felled trees and stripped branches rose above their heads on either side. They swore at the endless ragged tree stumps and the heavy tangle of roots that caught at their feet to slow them. They struggled on, hot with gut-wrenching anger, teetering tenuously on the ragged edge of rebellion against their officers for having been ordered to pack what they could and abandon Fort Ticonderoga, like cowards in the black hours of a windswept night. The young, untried, green militiamen were sick to death of it. Singly, in pairs, threes, they bolted away from the column, into the woods, plunging headlong for home, unable longer to stomach the humiliation of the retreat or the soul-draining grind of the insufferable trail, winding toward Hubbardton, then Castle Town.

Repeatedly the soldiers turned their heads, dreading the first glimpse of red dodging through the trees behind them. Strung out for more than a mile, marching single file, they knew they were nearly defenseless. If General Simon Fraser and his British regulars engaged the rear guard, and flanked the column, the fight would be over almost before it started. It would be a massacre. The single, unanswered question that rode heavily on every American was how far behind are they? It drove them on, past exhaustion, until they knew only one thing: place one foot ahead of the other. They’re coming. Keep moving. Keep moving.

The call came down the line from General St. Clair at the head of the column. Not far ahead—Lacey’s Camp—north end of Lake Bomoseen—open ground—rest—food—not far ahead—not far—Hubbardton just one mile after Lacey’s Camp—ten miles from Castle Town—not far—keep moving.

At five minutes past one o’clock, with the sun directly overhead hammering down like a blacksmith’s sledge, few soldiers saw the farmer run to St. Clair, stop, and point ahead, exclaiming excitedly. Nor did they notice St. Clair’s shoulders sag for a moment before the farmer turned and ran back up the trail, out of sight. Only General Poor knew the message the farmer had delivered to St. Clair, and Poor sucked air as it struck home.

Thomas Hubbard had received a grant to a parcel of property in 1774 and built a crude log cabin and outbuildings as the beginnings of a settlement. Eight additional families had come, the Sellecks being the most recent, and together the families had cleared the land to graze their cattle, sheep, and pigs, proudly calling their settlement Hubbardton. That was before the British advance raiding parties struck two days before, and took some of the families prisoner while the others grabbed their children, threw some cheese, dried meat, and bread into

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