Saratoga Springs

The Battles of Saratoga: The Turning Point That Changed the World

Few places on the American landscape can claim, with any real precision, to have altered the trajectory of global history. Saratoga Springs, New York, and the surrounding countryside along the Hudson River are among them. In the autumn of 1777, across farm fields, wooded ravines, and fortified bluffs just south of what is now the city, two armies collided in a campaign that would decide not only the fate of the American Revolution but the willingness of European powers to wager their treasuries and fleets on an experiment in republican self-governance. What happened at Saratoga was not merely a battle or even a pair of battles; it was a catastrophe for the British Empire and a lifeline for a struggling nation, and its consequences rippled outward from the Hudson Valley to the courts of Versailles, Madrid, and The Hague.

To understand why Saratoga mattered, one must first understand what the British intended. By the summer of 1777, the war was entering its third year, and British strategists believed the rebellion could be strangled by severing New England—the cradle of revolutionary fervor—from the middle and southern colonies. The instrument of this strategy was Lieutenant General John Burgoyne, a man of considerable charm, literary ambition, and military confidence. Known in London's salons as "Gentleman Johnny" for his theatrical interests and urbane manner, Burgoyne proposed a bold campaign: he would lead a force of nearly 8,000 British regulars, German auxiliaries, Loyalists, and Native American allies south from Canada through the Lake Champlain corridor, descend to the Hudson River, and link up with British forces moving north from New York City. A smaller force under Colonel Barry St. Leger was expected to support the plan by marching east from Lake Ontario into the upper Mohawk Valley, and the combined armies were to converge near Albany. The result, Burgoyne believed, would be a strategic knife drawn across the colonies' midsection.

The plan was elegant on paper and disastrous in execution. Burgoyne's army moved agonizingly slowly through the dense forests and broken terrain of upstate New York, its enormous baggage train and artillery bogging down on primitive roads. Supply lines stretched thin. St. Leger's force moved up the Mohawk Valley and laid siege to American Fort Schuyler (Fort Stanwix) on August 3, 1777, but retreated after the Battle of Oriskany because of losses and the approach of an American relief force under General Benedict Arnold , leaving Burgoyne without any support from the west. A disastrous foray to seize American stores at Bennington, Vermont, in August cost Burgoyne nearly a thousand men. Additionally, many of the Native American allies in Burgoyne's army began to leave following the defeat at Bennington. Meanwhile, the expected support from the south never materialized in meaningful form; General William Howe had other ideas—leaving only a small force under Sir Henry Clinton in New York, he planned to move against the patriot capital at Philadelphia via Chesapeake Bay.

Colonial Secretary Lord George Germain approved this, believing that Howe would return to New York in time to cooperate with Burgoyne, but Howe was already at sea and committed to the Philadelphia campaign when Germain's approval reached him. By September, Burgoyne found himself deep in hostile territory, his force diminished, his options narrowing. He pressed on toward Albany anyway, crossing the Hudson on a bridge of boats near Saratoga on September 13, 1777—a fateful decision from which there would be no easy retreat.

Waiting for him was the Continental Army's Northern Department, commanded by Major General Horatio Gates. In August, Congress had replaced the previous commander, General Philip Schuyler, with Gates —though Schuyler's earlier delaying tactics had already done much to slow Burgoyne's advance. Gates was a cautious, methodical officer, a former British soldier who understood the value of defensive terrain. He had established his army on Bemis Heights, a commanding plateau overlooking the Hudson River and the narrow road running beside it. The choice of this ground owed much to the advice of Colonel Thaddeus Kościuszko, a brilliant Polish military engineer serving with the Americans, who identified the raised bluffs near Saratoga as the ideal site to build fortifications and stop the British advance to Albany.

Kościuszko identified Bemis Heights, a bluff overlooking a bend in the Hudson and near a thick wood, as the spot for Gates' troops to build defensive barriers, parapets, and trenches.

From the crest, American artillery had the range to hit both the river and the road below , while the dense forests on the American left made conventional British flanking maneuvers treacherous. Gates later credited his engineer with the victory in revealing terms: "The great tacticians of the campaign were hills and forests, which a young Polish engineer was skillful enough to select for my encampment."

Gates had approximately 8,500 men at his disposal and was supported by General Benedict Arnold and by Colonel Daniel Morgan, leader of 500 Virginia riflemen —a corps of frontier marksmen whose deadly accuracy with the long rifle would prove pivotal in the days ahead. The stage was set for two of the most consequential engagements of the entire war.

The first collision came on September 19, 1777, at a clearing known as Freeman's Farm, roughly a mile northwest of the American fortifications. Burgoyne divided his 7,500 men into three columns to probe the American defenses. Arnold, more aggressive than his commander, had argued that the Americans should not simply wait behind their entrenchments but should meet the British in the woods, where the redcoats' disciplined volley fire would be neutralized and American skill at woodland fighting would tell. Gates was usually content to keep his forces behind their fortifications, but he yielded to Arnold's pleas for a bold offensive move.

Morgan's riflemen and Henry Dearborn's light infantry advanced to Freeman's Farm, where Morgan positioned his sharpshooters so that, when the British first began to emerge from the trees, they would have clear shots; Morgan's riflemen targeted the British officers, marked by their resplendent scarlet coats.

Every officer in the British advance party died in the first exchange, and the advance guard retreated. The battle that followed raged for hours across the farm's fields, the advantage swinging back and forth in savage fighting. Although the British controlled the battlefield at the end of the day, they had lost 556 men killed or wounded, compared to 319 losses for the Americans —a Pyrrhic victory that blunted their momentum and left Burgoyne shaken.

Two and a half weeks of relative quiet followed.

During that time, the British forces grew weaker—starting out with about 7,500 men on September 19, their numbers fell to about 6,700 by October 6.

Food stores dwindled, and the troops were reduced to half-rations.

The American forces, meanwhile, grew stronger, swelling from about 8,500 on September 19 to about 13,000 on October 6 as militia from across New England streamed into camp. The disparity was becoming fatal.

On October 7, Burgoyne attempted to break the deadlock with a reconnaissance-in-force toward the American left—the Second Battle of Saratoga, fought on and around Bemis Heights.