The British burned Kingston the other day.
We went up to watch.
The British burn Kingston every other year. They've been doing it for a while. This year they did it twice. Once on Saturday, and again on Sunday. We were there Sunday. The first time the Brits torched the place was in October of 1777. That time they meant business. British troops under the command of General Sir Henry Clinton were on their way up the Hudson River from New York City to reinforce Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne and his army who were having some trouble at Saratoga.
Burgoyne had marched down from Canada with the plan of capturing the entire Hudson and Mohawk Valleys and cutting New England off from the rest of the colonies. Clinton was supposed to meet up with him in Albany.
Sir Henry, writes Page Smith in A New Age Now Begins, "with the assistance of a thick fog, got his force across the river to Sony Point. The British moved by inerior roads with roughly half the force sent to assault Fort Clinton and the remainder continuing on to attack Fort Montgomery."
But every direction Burgoyne's troops marched, they ran into fierce American resistance. They went west and got licked at Fort Stanwix and Oriskany. They went east and got licked at Bennington. They went south and at Saratoga they got more than licked, thanks largely to the Americans' best fighting general at the time, Benedict Arnold.
Clinton had an easier time, but then there were very few American troops in his way. Most of them were up North taking care of Burgoyne or down in New Jersey with Washington.
Smith says:
Sir Henry was able to clear away the obstructions in the river. An alarmed [American general Israel] Putnam abandoned both his headquarters at Peekskill and the two forts on the east side of the river, Fort Independence and Fort Constitution. Sir Henry Clinton had thus in a few days, by a skillfully coordinated attack, opened the river. [The royal governor] of New York wished to make a dash for Albany, with the troops alternately marching and sailing to speed their progress and preserve their strength; Clinton, however, felt his force was too small to permit such an expedition. General Sir John Vaughn did sail up the river to Kingston, which he burned on October 16.
Sir Henry was on his way to Albany when he received word from his commander in New York City, Gen. Howe, that he needn't have bothered, Burgoyne didn't have an army any more for Clinton to meet up with. Gentleman Johnny had surrendered his entire army to the Rebels.
Howe ordered Clinton back down the Hudson. New England was saved, the Hudson was secured for the Americans for the rest of the war, Kingston was rebuilt, and some time afterwards, two hundred years, give or take, somebody got the idea of commemorating Kingston's cameo role in one of the pivotal moments of American history by re-enacting the "battle."
Which is why a hundred and fifty or so Revolutionary War re-enactors in full authentic uniform, British and American, armed with working muskets and field cannon, plus some history buffs in Colonial dress, a large crowd of citizens and tourists, the blonde, the two boys, and I all joined up on the Kingston riverfront Sunday.
The re-enactors fought it out on Broadway and Strand, trying to be as historically accurate as they could while still putting on a show for the crowd. The real battle wasn't much of a fight. The American defenders were vastly outnumbered by the British and they got out of town as fast as they could. To get an idea of what really happened you had to imagine that every British re-enactor represented 10 real soldiers and every American re-enactor was worth about .3 real Colonials.
But as Shakespeare said to Ben Jonson one night over a pitcher at the Mermaid, there's history, and then there's history. A historically accurate re-enactment would have been nothing more than a parade. The crowd and, the re-enactors, were there for some shootin'.
The British marched. The Americans met them. The cannons went off, blowing amazing smoke rings, and their concussions set off car alarms all over town. The lobsterbacks fired their muskets in volley after volley. The air was filled with acrid smoke, but the battlefield was devoid of blood and bodies, which was accurate---the American casualties for the day aren't known; there may not have been any. The British lost three men who were standing too close to a burning warehouse when something inside blew up. The kids in the crowd were a bit disappointed by this. "How come nobody's dying?" the 8 year old asked. I pointed out that one American was dying. He was dying every twenty yards or so. He'd get shot, fall over, lie dead until his comrades retreated behind his corpse, then he'd get up, run after them, take another bullet, and do it all over. He was the designated die-er.
I figured that because it was a wet day nobody else was willing to fall down and risk getting mud on their uniforms which are probably very expensive to have cleaned. The dying soldier was wearing a leather jerkin.
The Americans stood their ground for as long as they could and then retreated. The British pursued. There were a few more skirmishes and then the British marched in and took "the town." Afterwards everybody adjourned for lunch at the many restaurants on the riverfront. We ate at Mariner's Harbor Seafood Restaurant where we saw Redcoats and Rebels rubbing elbows at the bar.
I don't know what to make of the fact that a battle is being remembered with what is essentially a large street carnival, except that it's very human. Any excuse for a party.
Yes, we say, terrible things have happened, worse, maybe, is to come, lots of people sacrificed awfully so we could be here today, but here we are and here's to them, cheers, salud, skoal, prosit, l'chaim, drink up and pass me another hot dog!
I like that about us.
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