Albany, New York
November 1863
General McClellan had left his wife in New York City and continued by rail to Albany. The Army of the Potomac would disembark from their transport ships in New York harbor. As many as possible would travel north by train, and the rest would have to march. General Meigs has his work cut out for him, thought McClellan. He knew that Meigs was probably the most capable officer in the entire Union Army. He chafed at not commanding troops in the field, but was too valuable as quartermaster general. Significant elements of the army should be in Albany by tomorrow, he mused, but he wouldn’t have his entire force together for at least ten days. Decisions would have to be made. Much depended on Custer’s report.
McClellan was met at the station by Custer himself, with a large entourage of staff. Behind the soldiers was a growing mass of adoring citizens, mostly young women and small boys, anxious to be in the presence of the hero of the hour. The boy general was beaming. “Welcome General. I trust you had a comfortable journey? Mrs. McClellan is well?”
“Quite well, thank you, and sends her regards. I’d like to see the battlefield. I suggest we talk while we ride.”
They mounted their horses and set off through the city, crossing the Hudson and heading north. Very soon they were riding through the New York countryside, the sun shining but the air cold. They could see their breath and that of their horses.
“We’ll go to Bemis Heights, which is two hours of brisk riding from here. From there we’ll be able to see the battlefield, and I can describe in detail what transpired. We will also be able to see Burgoyne’s army from there. He is camped to the north, near Saratoga. My cavalry is south of there, spread between the Hudson and Saratoga Lake. If Burgoyne moves south, we’ll know it immediately.”
“Tell me about your encounter.”
Custer smiled. Was he always smiling? “We rode north from New York City as ordered. The Reserve Brigade, mostly regular cavalry under General Merritt, was in the lead, a couple of miles ahead of my main force. Merritt’s scouts saw a party of British dragoons heading south, so he set an ambush in the woods. He sent two companies of the 5th regulars forward to lure them in. The dragoons gave chase. Merritt then brought up the remainder of the brigade, and the dragoons were forced to turn tail and retreat. But they did so in good order. They had about four hundred men to Merritt’s thousand. As the dragoons retreated through the woods, dismounted troopers sprung the ambush, and it was over in minutes. I’d estimate that two hundred or so got away. The rest were killed or wounded or taken prisoner. We’ve got over a hundred of them under guard in camp. What would you like me to do with them?”
McClellan didn’t hesitate. “They can walk under guard to Albany. The provost guard can take them from there. Put them on the cars to the nearest prisoner camp where they can join their rebel allies for the duration of the war. There will be no prisoner exchange when it comes to the British.”
They rode on, nothing more pleasant than to be in the saddle in the wake of victory. They dismounted twice to rest the horses, walking silently for ten minutes each time, McClellan deep in thought. What next? Custer had given Burgoyne a bloody nose, but nothing more. If Pinkerton was correct, he had at least 50,000 troops with more on the way from Britain. Timing was everything, he knew. Should he wait to consolidate his entire force in ten days? Or strike now, as soon as the advance elements of his army arrived by rail? Everything he’d learned and seen argued in favor of waiting. Nothing was more important than careful planning and precise execution. Still, there was an opportunity. Burgoyne’s supply and communications lines were extended, and he was operating in enemy territory.
“General, how many troops would you estimate that Burgoyne has?”
“Sir, you’ll see from Bemis Heights. Assuming it’s his whole force in camp there, and he hasn’t left troops north and out of sight, I’d say he has about 15,000 men.”
McClellan was shocked, and skeptical. “Pinkerton and his operatives have repeatedly estimated Burgoyne’s force at 50,000 or more.”
Custer slyly smiled again. An annoying habit, thought McClellan. “Sir, unless they sleep stacked on top of one another, ten per two-man tent, that’s not possible. You’ll soon see for yourself. I’m confident in the 15,000 estimate. I was sorely tempted to take them on myself.” Custer glanced over at McClellan, smiling still.
“Yes, in contradiction of a direct order. I appreciate your restraint.”
They reached Bemis Heights in late afternoon, the autumn sun nearing the horizon. Through his field glasses McClellan could clearly see tents, and if he focused and concentrated, he could make out soldiers and horses as well. As an engineer, he was an expert in estimating the size of an army encampment, and Custer was right. There were probably 15,000 troops on the plain below. 20,000 at most. Where are the rest? Was Burgoyne inviting him to attack, with 30,000 additional troops, or more, lying in wait over the horizon? McClellan would have 30,000 men in and around Albany by tomorrow evening, in addition to Custer’s troopers. A puzzle. And an opportunity.