In the front, [Ebenezer] Cox obeyed his general’s orders and formed his companies to fire straight down the road into a swelling mass of attackers. Their first fusillade held back a score of shouting braves. Jacob Dieffendorf, a lieutenant in the 1st, ran a young Indian through with his sword, heard his name called, turned, and was shot in the face by another assailant. George Casler, seeing this, slammed the butt of his musket into the head of the man who had shot the lieutenant and finished him with a hatchet. As Cox’s men reloaded, they were taken under fire by dozens of Mohawks and Tories who had worked into the deadfall to the north and south of the roadway. Muskets discharged practically in the faces of opponents. Militia who were not cowering in the bloody dirt now thrust out at the ambuscades with bayonets and climbed piles of brush to fall on the enemy with knives and fists…
- Richard Berleth, Bloody Mohawk: The French and Indian War & American Revolution on New York’s Frontier
I’ve struggled a bit to best describe my feelings for this book. I suppose the best – yes, the best – way is by analogy.
Richard Berleth’s Bloody Mohawk can only be compared to a pizza dinner that has been prepared and served by a pug wearing a tuxedo. At first blush, this situation has all the hallmarks of a perfect meal. Pizza. A dog dressed like a person. It’s almost can’t miss. But then you realize the pizza has a crust that is a bit undercooked, and not enough cheese, and it tastes a little bit like a paw. You start to get disappointed. But you think a little harder, and come to the realization that pizza is almost always edible, and besides, it was just served to you by a pug. In a tuxedo.
(It should be noted, I am terrible at analogies).
To explain my analogy a bit further (as though that’s necessary!), the subject of Bloody Mohawk – the French & Indian War and the American Revolution in New York’s Mohawk Valley – is almost impossible to screw up. It is imbued with fascinating characters, dime-novel adventure, and Shakespearian threads of revenge and betrayal. However, while reading Bloody Mohawk, I kept getting the nagging sensation that things weren’t coming together right. All the ingredients were present, but they had not cohered. Halfway through, I thought I was disappointed. At the end, though, after a little reflection, I decided I wasn’t as unhappy as I’d earlier thought.
Bloody Mohawk is divided into two sections. The first deals with the New York frontier generally, and the Mohawk Valley specifically, during the time of the French & Indian War. The second half covers the time period of the American Revolution.
As Berleth explains early on, the geography of the Mohawk Valley gave it strategic importance in the event of a war. In the years before the Erie Canal, the Mohawk was the main inland artery connecting the shores of Lake Superior with eastern civilization. For decades, control over the Valley was closely linked to control over the North American continent.
The French & Indian War section is the more problematic of the two. The issue, I think, is contextual and chronological. It is never made clear how the Mohawk Valley fit into the larger scope of war. Moreover, Berleth does a poor job setting up a timeline. He leaps from one event to another and moves back and forth in time, without ever explaining the simple causality of war, how one event led to another and to another.
(This might not be an issue if you are already grounded in the French & Indian War/Seven Years’ War).
Frankly put, the French & Indian War chapters are a muddle. The paradigmatic example, in my opinion, is Berleth’s treatment of Fort William Henry. This massacre – made famous by James Fennimore Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans – is advertised by name on the back cover. Its inclusion, in fact, is the reason I first came upon and purchased this book. Thus, it was frustrating (to say the least) to discover that Berleth cursorily dispenses with this battle in two pages. And unfortunately, they were not helpful pages.
I don’t know why this part of the book is so confused and bad. It doesn’t have to be. At other places, Berleth shows a grasp of the material and an ability to form a coherent narrative. For instance, he does a creditable job describing the so-called Bloody Morning Scout and the Battle of Lake George, where Sir William Johnsons’ rag-tag army stumbled into and fought their way out of an ambush planned by Baron Jean-Armand de Dieskau. This chapter, at least, takes into account the fundamental elements of military history (the players, the strategy, the tactics and the execution) that are lacking elsewhere.
(Part of the solution may be in the scope of the material versus the size of this book. Bloody Mohawk is just over 300 pages of text, which is simply not enough to contain the epic events that are covered).
The second half of Bloody Mohawk is quite a bit better than the first, which is not meant to damn with faint praise.
Even here, the book still suffers from a lack of focus and an inability to decide what events are important and deserving of amplification, and which are not. It can get a little maddening. For example, Berleth continually mentions the Battle of Saratoga, one of the great colonial victories of the Revolution, which took place in New York. Yet he never takes the time to write about, you know, what happened at Saratoga. Sure, if you are taking the title literally, the battle did not take place in the Mohawk Valley. But Berleth himself isn’t abiding by any such boundaries, as he devotes space elsewhere to the Wyoming Valley Massacre and the Braddock Massacre, which both took place in present-day Pennsylvania.
The main reason why the Revolutionary War section succeeds at all is that Berleth recognizes the set-piece potential of the Battle of Oriskany. Oriskany was one of the bloodiest battles of the American Revolution. A column of colonial militiamen, under the command of General Nicholas Herkimer, were marching to the relief of Fort Stanwix, which was under siege. Herkimer’s men ran into an ambush of Iroquois warriors, Tory rangers, and German light infantry, under the command of Barry St. Leger. The ensuing battle, among the trees, at close range, often hand-to-hand, pitted neighbor against neighbor, in what more approximated civil war than a war for independence. Only a fortuitous thunderstorm, which caused a break in the fighting and allowed a mortally-wounded Herkimer to regroup, saved the colonial detachment. Berleth has no problem managing the inherent drama and confusion of this encounter, as he demonstrates with the excerpt I quoted above.
The battle of Oriskany is the high point of Bloody Mohawk. After it, the punitive Sullivan Expedition (a genocidal excursion ordered by George Washington to erase the Iroquois) and the vicious Cherry Valley Massacre seem anticlimactic.
Part of the reason they seem anticlimactic is that these stories have been told elsewhere, better.
To be fair to Berleth, he never set out to reinvent the wheel. He is very upfront about his purposes (a narrative history of the Mohawk Valley) and his limitations (namely, exchanging detail for a sweeping scope). He is not a historian, and he relies heavily on secondary sources. Indeed, he openly directs his readers to the bibliography section, in order to track down sources offering greater detail.
My problem with this, however, is that it seems to undercut any arguments in favor of the book’s existence. By sacrificing detail and analysis on the altar of “sweep,” you aren’t left with much substance. I find it hard to recommend this book when you can find everything in it – and much, much more – in other, better books.
Still, after all that complaining, I come back round to the fact that I didn't hate Bloody Mohawk. I can’t hate compelling history told by a passionate author any more than I could hate pizza served by a pug.
At the very least, it tantalizes you with all the thousands of stories that exist from those fraught years in the Mohawk Valley. And it points you in the right direction if you want to find out more about them, which you will. It’ll get you interested in battles and massacres and raids and escapes you might never have heard about before. It might even tempt you to pull an old copy of Drums Along the Mohawk down off the shelf, put on something flannel, find a comfy chair, and pour yourself a scotch (which I assume pairs well with semi-dated historical fiction).
In other words, when you’re dealing with history like this, there is no such thing as bad, just varying degrees of good.