Soon A Few Stars Appeared In The Sky, Where The Dark Points And
Ridges Rose Against It Like Airy Battlements.
In the east the
moon looked down on the lake and made a path of gold on its
placid surface.
In the distance a boat, a fairy shallop, glided
noiselessly out across the radiant water until we lost it among
the deep shadows of an island. Scarce a ripple on the surface of
the lake or a fluttering leaf disturbed the peaceful scene. As
we made our way to the automobile which carried us back to the
village of Lake George we said, "What moonlight scene or sunset
hues have we ever beheld on the Tyrol that could rival this?"
"Saratoga lies in an angle formed by a long valley whose beauty,
aside from its historical associations, is fair enough to stop
whole armies of tourists as they come and go through this lovely
region. The old Indian War Trail was indeed the pathway of
armies, and the beautiful Hudson and Mohawk rivers here bore on
their waters many swift canoes filled with Algonquins and
French. The English marched and fought here from Hudson's time
and that of Samuel Champlain until the close of the
revolutionary period. This fair land, with its green, velvety
meadows, peaceful, fruitful valleys, and broad, majestic streams
has indeed been rightly named 'the dark and bloody ground.'
"The Five Nations built lodges on the shores of the lake near
Saratoga, and here it was that the French and Indians came down
from Quebec and Montreal to meet them. In 1690 the French and
Indians bivouacked at these springs as they descended to the
cruel massacre of Schenectady. The French, urged by Frontenac,
came down the valley in 1693 and destroyed the village of the
Mohawks and started on their return with the prisoners they had
taken. Here one thousand hostile warriors threw up intrenchments
on the exact place where the gay streets of Saratoga now stand.
They retreated in a storm after the English sustained three
furious assaults.
In 1743 there occurred a terrible massacre at Old Saratoga. All
of the houses in the village were burned to the ground and only
one or two of the inhabitants escaped to tell the tale. For
seven years the French and Indian war raged through the valley,
proving its importance as a northern gateway. The rattle of
arms, the tread of soldiers, the hurrying of street boys were
heard in town from morning till night. Indians in war-paint and
feathers joined each side, burning with the hate of over a
hundred years. Garrets were ransacked for great-grandfather's
swords, rusted with the blood of King Philip's war. French
officers in gold lace, trappers in doeskin, priests in their
black robes, soldiers in the white uniform of the French king,
gathered on the banks of the St. Lawrence. English grenadiers in
red coats, Scotch Highlanders in plaids and colonial troops in
homespun rallied from all the frontiers; and again this great
gateway knew the horrors of a long, devastating, and bloody war.
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