Knowles and St Clair entered a large building of gray stone, above which the British flag fluttered.
The captain leading them stopped in front of a door and turned to the general, hesitating.
"H-He… Uh, the governor is inside, but… he has been in a foul mood these past few days. Actually, it's been this way for two months now."
"Hardly surprising," Knowles remarked. "Who would be in good spirits with a city in this state?"
"His mood is of no concern," St Clair said sharply, intimidating the young captain.
The captain bit his lip slightly, his cheeks reddening under the general's imposing presence. With great elegance, he knocked on the door. Immediately, a firm voice rang out from within.
"What is it?"
The officer cautiously opened the door but remained on the threshold.
"Governor, Vice-Admiral Knowles and Lieutenant General St Clair have just arrived from England and have presented themselves at the fort's entrance. They request an immediate audience with you."
The governor did not respond immediately. He abruptly stood up, making his chair scrape against the wooden floor.
"Really?! What are you waiting for?! Let them in!"
"At once, sir!" the captain snapped to attention before turning to the two visitors. "You may enter," he said, opening the door wider to allow the senior officers to step inside. "If you'll permit me, I shall take my leave."
Knowles and St Clair returned the officer's salute before stepping into the governor's office—a clean and orderly space. It was a vast rectangular room with cold, austere gray stone walls, but they were adorned with several paintings, including an imposing portrait of King George II.
There was also a detailed map depicting the island of New York and its immediate surroundings.
A fine rug of oriental design, perhaps from India or the Ottoman Empire, covered the rustic floor, adding warmth and character to the space. The furniture was of excellent quality as well, especially the massive mahogany desk and the high-backed chair that looked particularly comfortable.
In one corner of the room stood a magnificent antique pendulum clock, its rhythmic ticking producing a steady, reassuring sound.
DeLancey crossed the room and greeted the two visitors with proper formality—he had been expecting them for several days. The moment he heard that a lieutenant general was among them, he had immediately understood that significant changes were about to take place.
The question was whether those changes would affect him.
Despite appearances, he had only been in office since 1757. His position as governor was merely provisional, as he was replacing Governor and Vice-Admiral Hardy.
The latter, due to his rank and status, had been appointed to participate in the expedition against Louisbourg.
Unfortunately for him and the Crown—though less so for DeLancey—the expedition had gone terribly wrong, and Hardy had been captured along with his ship, HMS Royal William.
James DeLancey, however, had prior experience as governor, having held the position between 1753 and 1755. Once again, his appointment had only been temporary, as he had used his influence in London to have the previous governor, George Clinton, recalled to England.
"Gentlemen, welcome to New York! Please, take a seat. I am James DeLancey, governor of this colony… until a new governor is appointed to replace Governor Hardy."
The Governor of New York Province, having just settled into his high-backed chair behind his imposing desk, paused briefly to gauge the reactions of his two distinguished guests. Seeing none, he continued in an apparently relaxed tone.
"Hmm, perhaps His Majesty has issued orders regarding this matter?"
Behind his courteous smile, the old St Clair detected a certain nervousness. He narrowed his eyes slightly but kept his thoughts to himself.
"No, sir," St Clair replied in a neutral tone. "His Majesty has given no instructions on this matter."
"Oh, I see," DeLancey murmured.
The politician displayed a feigned expression of disappointment that made both military officers frown. Even Vice-Admiral Knowles was not fooled.
In reality, and quite understandably, Governor DeLancey had no intention of relinquishing his position to anyone while he was still alive. He had many plans in mind and did not want to see them fall apart by being replaced now.
More than anything, he had grown accustomed to holding this prestigious office.
"Ahem! In that case," he resumed, clasping his hands before him, "how may I be of service to the Crown? Ask, and I shall do my best to comply!"
"I have here a letter from Minister Pitt that will explain better than I could," said St Clair, pulling out a small envelope sealed with wax and sliding it across the desk. "To put it simply, His Majesty wishes to retake Fort Edward and, if possible, rebuild Fort William Henry in preparation for a massive attack on New France. However…"
The general paused briefly and observed DeLancey from the corner of his eye, watching for any reaction.
"However, on the eve of our departure, we were informed of what happened in Boston. Here is a second letter that alters our orders."
"Oh? Hmm, thank you."
The governor tore his gaze away from the first letter and eagerly opened the second. His sharp eyes quickly scanned the few lines written inside, his expression hardening as he read.
"You are also tasked with reclaiming the lost territories since the start of this conflict and reestablishing the northern colonies? That is a… hmm, difficult mission that His Majesty has entrusted to you."
"How many men do you have here that can be mobilized?" asked the lieutenant general in a calm tone.
"I'm afraid New York's garrison is unavailable. I'm sure you understand why after passing through the city. It's even worse in the outskirts. However, we do have a fairly large garrison in Albany that would be quite pleased to receive reinforcements. You could likely retake Fort Edward with them. Hmm, how many soldiers have you brought with you?"
"Two thousand. Do you think that will be enough to accomplish my missions?"
The governor hesitated, deep in thought.
"I have no concerns about your initial mission. The French have occupied Fort Edward for a year now and have significantly reinforced it. However, according to our observers, its garrison is not particularly strong. With your help, I am confident it can be taken. As for your second mission…"
"Yes?"
"The French have largely withdrawn on their own to focus on subduing the northernmost territories. They are concentrating their forces there, and it is not impossible that we will be their next target."
St Clair crossed his arms, the fabric of his fine scarlet uniform stretching slightly. He reflected in silence for a full minute.
"I see. I will need all the information you have to devise an attack plan. I intend to send the majority of my men there and a few hundred to Albany."
DeLancey smiled broadly, clearly pleased with this decision. The French worried him far more than the Boston refugees, for never had his city been so vulnerable.
When Albany had fallen the previous year, he had feared that the French would follow the Hudson River, attacking every village in their path before ultimately reaching New York itself. Fortunately, they had not attempted such a risky maneuver.
Governor DeLancey had tried to negotiate with the northern colonies before they fell, hoping to revive the proposal for colonial unity to defend against external enemies—a project championed by his friend Benjamin Franklin. But even in the face of imminent danger, the colonies had refused to come together.
Those fools had stubbornly clung to their autonomy and power, even at the risk of their own destruction.
Their refusal, even in these dire times, to face reality had left him in despair. He was beginning to think that if even the inhabitants of a burning house refused to evacuate, he could not force them to do so.
It was not as if he could raise an army to invade the neighboring British provinces and create this union by force. It had to be formed through the will of those provinces.
Another solution would be for the order to come from the King, but was that what he truly wanted?
Probably not, the governor thought with a silent sigh. Divided colonies were easier to govern. If His Majesty decided to grant them even a small measure of power by merging just two or three provinces, there was no guarantee they wouldn't use and abuse it to free themselves from the Crown's authority.
He then imagined the administrative boundaries of his province expanding far beyond their current limits. Once all the lands north of Boston were reclaimed, he could play his cards to redraw the borders.
And he could rid himself of all these refugees!
"You have my full support, sir," the governor declared fervently. "If you need anything for this endeavor, just ask. Given the situation in the city, I believe it will be possible to recruit a good number of soldiers to retake Fort Edward."
"That won't be necessary," St Clair said, shaking his head as he recalled the ghostly figures he had encountered. "It would be far better to rely solely on trained and disciplined regular infantry. We cannot simply hand weapons to civilians and expect them to become soldiers. They would hinder us more than anything."
"I understand, General. On behalf of all the colonists, I thank you. Thanks to you, we will surely turn the tide and make the French pay!"
"That is my intent! If, with your forces combined with mine, I cannot retake Fort Edward and all the lost territories, I will not be able to return to London with my honor intact."
James St Clair grinned broadly, revealing fine white teeth and slightly prominent canines, giving him a feral appearance. Indeed, though this old man could have passed for a kindly grandfather, he was a proud and fierce Scot who had joined the army at the age of six!
By twenty-six, he was already a captain and had continued to climb the ranks until he reached his current position as lieutenant general in 1745.
He had held this rank for fifteen years, and at his age, he feared he would never attain the next one, which would make him a full general!
He had accepted this mission from the King to restore the prestige of the British Crown, tarnished by successive defeats in Europe and America. But it was also in the hope of finally taking that next step.
He did not seek this promotion to pass it down to his descendants—he had none—but to crown his military career, which would end after this final campaign.
"Allow me, sir," the governor said, nearly moved to tears by the old general's dedication, "to introduce you to a man who will be of great help to you. He knows the region you must enter like the back of his hand and has good relations with the Iroquois, even though they have grown closer to the French in recent months. He accompanied Brigadier Townshend in his attempt to defeat the French before their arrival in Boston and successfully organized the retreat of our troops to the city after Townshend tragically lost his life."
"Really? What is his name?"
"His name is William Johnson."