Near Bemis Heights, New York
December 1863
George McClellan didn’t like being outnumbered. Decisive victories had eluded him before, especially at the gates of Richmond, because his army had been badly outnumbered by the Confederate troops. Lincoln didn’t believe it. Some of the newspapers questioned it. But it was a fact. Pinkerton had shown him the numbers.
He had always sworn that if he ever got another chance, the chance he so richly deserved, that when the time came, he would face the enemy with overwhelming force and achieve the final victory.
So, he was extremely uncomfortable with the plan that he had agreed to, the plan that Custer had hatched and placed before him. It was bold and decisive; McClellan would grant him that. But Custer was just twenty-three years old and had never known defeat. He seems to believe that it’s all a great game.
Poring over maps with his corps commanders, with Custer present as commander of his cavalry, McClellan had pondered his next move. Every bone in his body urged him to wait to consolidate his entire force—just a few more days—then move on Burgoyne. With luck, British reinforcements would not yet have arrived.
Custer, speaking up in front of men twice his age, and who outranked him, suggested another plan entirely. The boy general proposed that he, of course, lead his cavalry north to intercept British reinforcements before they could get to Burgoyne. McClellan, taking the troops he had on hand, which outnumbered the British, though not by a lot, would attack and destroy Burgoyne. McClellan could then move north and join Custer in dealing finally and decisively with the British reinforcements.
The plan was sound and prevented Burgoyne from consolidating his forces. But McClellan liked better odds, more lopsided numbers, especially since he would be on the attack.
I’ll say this for Custer, his enthusiasm is contagious.
As he made sweeping gestures over the map, the corps commanders and staff officers nodded, smiled, looked at each other approvingly, and it was clear that he had brought them all over to his plan. I could disapprove, McClellan thought, but the others would always remember that Custer had favored bold action and that I had urged caution.
After the meeting, Custer presented himself for final orders before setting out with his troopers. McClellan found himself speaking to Custer in a way that he, McClellan, hated to be spoken to.
“General, your orders are clear. I’ve written them out, but I’ll say again. Your job is to slow the British down. Delay their arrival, by days if possible. Harass, annoy, attack supply trains, skirmish with their cavalry, but under no circumstances bring on a general engagement. Once I’ve dealt with Burgoyne I will come to your aid, and we shall destroy them in turn. Is that clear?”
Smiling, as always, Custer replied, “Clear as this bright December morning, sir. Harass. Annoy. Delay. No general engagement. Await your arrival. Looks like snow sir. I haven’t seen a real snowfall since West Point. That should work in our favor, slowing them down.”
With that, Custer mounted and wheeled his horse, which snorted and reared, as if on cue. Custer doffed his plumed hat, holding it aloft as he cantered to the head of his column of mounted men.
God help me, thought McClellan. Could that really be for my benefit? That boy will learn humility one day, but I hope it isn’t this week. I need him to carry out his plan and buy me time.
McClellan was atop Bemis Heights with his Corps Commanders and staff, each gazing through field glasses at the British Army encamped below them.
“They’ve dug in since yesterday and placed artillery. It looks like they’ve decided to fight there,” said General Gouverneur Warren, commander of II Corps.
General John Sedgwick smiled as he watched the army below. “Yes. It seems the father wasn’t the only Burgoyne with a flair for the theatrical. ‘Gentleman Johnny’ would be proud of the son. The mother as well, for that matter. Saratoga. Betting that two Burgoynes can’t meet defeat in the same place. At the hands of the rustics. I’ll take that bet.”
McClellan was silent, then finally turned to Captain Wilson. “Captain, I need a precise estimate of when we can expect our troops to arrive by ship.” Then to his officers, “Gentlemen, we shall discuss in detail when we return to camp, but please have your men formed up a half hour before dawn, the day after tomorrow. We shall provide General Burgoyne with his own memories of Saratoga.”