Time Enough for Drums

by Ann Rinaldi

  “I know. I stopped to talk about the news.”

  “I can’t imagine with whom. Except for Quakers, there’s hardly anybody left in town.”

  “With Stacy Potts. Washington’s army left Brunswick with three thousand men and should reach Princeton tomorrow.”

  Mother uttered a small cry and put her napkin to her mouth. Father cast her a worried look and spoke even more sternly to David.

  “How many times have I told you not to worry your mother? Take off your coat and stop dripping on the floor. I’d still like to maintain some civility in this house, and the approach of an army is no reason to act otherwise.”

  “I should be with the army,” David said, sitting down.

  “You push me too far, young man,” Father warned. It was an ongoing argument between David and Father. Our militia had left, and Father had managed to keep David from signing on. He was still only fifteen.

  “Enlistments expired yesterday, the last day of November,” David said. “Washington needs men. I’m joining up when he comes through. You’ve got to let me, Father.”

  My father knew he could not hold David back any longer. “There will be no joining up until your father gives permission, David,” Mother said. “Come, now, eat your soup.”

  David obeyed. My father studied him. “Who gave you the news?”

  “I told you. Stacy Potts.”

  “Where did he get it from?”

  “A spy.”

  Now it was I who uttered a small cry in my throat. My father looked at me and shook his head. “A spy, is it? I’d heard Washington was improving his spying network. But your spy could just as well have been British, David, passing along the wrong information.”

  “The army’s retreating,” David insisted.

  “Oh, now, that’s news, isn’t it?” my father said sarcastically. “They’ve been retreating for months. Since they lost the battle of Long Island in August, it’s been retreat, retreat, retreat. White Plains, Fort Washington, Fort Lee, all lost. Washington’s been retreating across the Jerseys since November. Are they still an army? That’s what I want to know.”

  “Yes,” David said, “from what I’ve heard.”

  “Well, that is news. Eat your supper now and no more talk. We’re upsetting your mother.”

  “I’m all right, James,” Mama said. “I’m fine. Do you think Dan is with them?”

  “Most likely.”

  “How far behind are the British?” she asked David.

  “Not far behind, Mother. Cornwallis entered New Brunswick as Washington left. They cannonaded each other across the Raritan River.”

  “James, do you suppose all those rumors we’ve heard about the British looting and destroying and killing livestock are true?” she asked Father.

  “It is wartime, Sarah,” he said simply.

  “Then we should take our valuables to Otter Hall.”

  “I should like you and Jemima to go to Otter Hall as well,” Father said.

  “We’ll stay together as a family, James,” Mother said firmly. “Most people have left town, but there are still some good people here.”

  How I admired Mother’s courage. All through November, when the news went from bad to worse and I knew how worried she was about Dan, she kept on with her sewing for the army and her letters. Her essays appeared in just about every issue of the Pennsylvania Gazette these days. The last one I’d read had said that Washington was paying for the needs of his army out of his own pocket and that our men were tying pieces of cloth around their legs and rags around their feet. Hundreds of them were so sick they could barely walk. And the doctors had no medicines, no spirits, no oils.

  I didn’t know where Mother got her information. She had been responsible for getting two wagonloads of clothes north to the army in November. Perhaps the driver whom she had paid to take them had brought back news.

  “James, how many pairs of shoes do we have in the shop?” she asked.

  “I don’t know that we have any.” He met her eyes across the table.

  “But you have blankets. And I’m sure you could get other warm clothing from Otter Hall.”

  “Of course, my dear. I should have thought of it.”

  “As soon as we’ve finished supper, I’d like the key to the shop,” she said. “Lucy and I will see what is there. Jemima, eat, child. You look so pale. Don’t let the approaching British army frighten you. I was in Boston when it was occupied, and I assure you, the British are not savages.”

  Gingerly, after Mama had left the table, Cornelius came into the room. “Sir, if I could talk with you.”

  “Yes, Cornelius,” Father said. “If you have any suggestions, I’d be pleased to hear them. Sit. This is no time for formality.”

  Cornelius took a chair a bit away from the table. “Sir, if the British come, they’ll take me. They’ll promise me all kinds of things.”

  “They’ll promise you freedom,” my father said.

  “Yes, sir, that they will.”

  “But they won’t give it.” My father was puffing on his pipe. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Just that it wouldn’t be good for me to be here when they come. David neither, he bein’ almost of fightin’ age. I could take him and join up with the army when it comes through.”

  My father contemplated this. David immediately dropped his fork and was staring, open-mouthed.

  “You can’t fire a musket, Cornelius,” my father said.

  “I could learn.”

  “I know you could. David here could teach you within the next day or so. Couldn’t you, David?”

  “Oh yes, sir! I think Cornelius’s idea is a good one. I don’t think he or I should stay. John Fitch has gone across the river to Bucks County.”

  “If I were John Fitch I would go to Bucks County too,” Father said, “with the large contracts he has for the repairing of American arms.”

  “I would look out for David, sir,” Cornelius said. “And him bein’ with me, you’d be sure I’d come back.”

  Father set down his pipe. Then he looked around the table, to each of us in turn. “Jemima, go into my study and get some parchment, a pen, and some ink, and bring it here.”

  I stood up.

  “Cornelius, it’s time,” my father said. “I shall write up the documents tonight and set you and Lucy free. David, go and get Stacy Potts and ask him to come and witness the documents. I shall register them with the courthouse tomorrow.”

  And so that evening my father drew up the papers and gave Lucy and Cornelius their freedom. We all sat around the dining room table and watched. Stacy Potts arrived and approved, being a Quaker. “Although I do wish you had done it in the Lord’s good sunlight, James, so I wouldn’t have to get drenched in the rain.”

  “Lucy”—my father looked at her over his spectacles—“I was hoping you’d stay on with us for the proper recompense. There will be some hard days ahead.”

  She stood there with her hands on her hips. “Now, Mr. Emerson, where would I go?”

  “She’ll be stayin’.” Cornelius stood with his arm around her shoulder. “And I’ll be back someday too, if you need me.”

  “We need you, Cornelius, that we do.” Father answered, choked with emotion. “You just keep an eye on David for us.”

  “You mean I can go? I can join when the army comes through?” David couldn’t believe it.

  I saw Father seek Mother’s eyes across the table. “It’s best, Sarah,” he said. “Cornelius is right. He’ll be in more danger here when the British come through.”

  “Of course, James.” Mother stood up. “Come here, David.”

  He went to her and she looked up at him. “If you insist on being a soldier in Washington’s army, you must be a good soldier. Remember all we’ve taught you and always say your prayers.”

  “I will, Mama,” David said.

  “What is it, Jem?”

  I lingered in the dining room when everyone had left. “Father, do you think the spy was John?”<
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  “No, I think it was idle gossip. Such news is not new. You’ve heard from him, haven’t you?”

  “The last I heard he was inside British lines in New York. He said there might not be letters for a while.”

  “He’ll be all right, Jem. His work is needed more now than ever. Go to bed. Tomorrow you must take Bleu to Otter Hall.”

  When I awoke the next morning Father and David and Cornelius had already taken a load of furnishings to Otter Hall. Mama’s good silver pieces and her best pewter and Delft plates went. So did the Persian carpet and Mama’s wedding chest, which was filled with two crewel bedcovers and some of Father’s precious books.

  When they came back around noon on that second day of December, they said that General Washington had arrived in town.

  “Where?” I asked excitedly.

  “He’s been seen down at the river,” Father said. “He seems to have about half his force with him. We inquired and were told that Dan and his men are still at Princeton.”

  “Where do you think he’ll stay when he’s in town?” I asked. “Oh, I would so love to see him!”

  Father smiled at me indulgently. “His men have been destroying bridges and gathering boats all up and down the river. It looks as if they plan to build a makeshift embarkation dock. I think they mean to cross into Pennsylvania.”

  “In this weather, the way the river is so swollen from rain?” Mother asked.

  “It’s better than standing and fighting the British, the condition they’re in,” David said.

  “But doesn’t Washington have to stay somewhere?” I persisted.

  “He’ll most likely be anywhere on the roads between here and Princeton,” Father speculated. “Probably staying at random houses along the way. And the less anybody knows about where he is, the better. God help the man. The fate of the country is with him, and it doesn’t look like a very good fate right now.”

  I fell silent. Father put his hand on my shoulder. “He’s retreating, Jem. When a man retreats, he doesn’t send out invitations to tea. Here, where are you off to, David?”

  He was on his way out the door, musket in hand. “You said Cornelius and I could go down and enlist this afternoon.”

  “You’ll sit down and eat a proper meal first,” Father ordered. “Washington has enough hungry men. He doesn’t need more.”

  That afternoon I made a trip to Otter Hall with Lucy and my father. I dressed in my warmest clothes and followed the wagon on Bleu. It was a sad ride. Bleu’s and my happy times were over now. I patted him to warm my hands and tried to keep from crying.

  The December wind whistled around me. I pulled my blanket coat tighter. My eyes darted up and down the deserted streets. Perhaps Washington would just take a ride through town and then I could get a glimpse of him in his fine blue coat with the buff facings and his sword and polished boots. Dan had written about what a commanding figure he was and how the men were so in awe of him.

  Everything would be all right in my threadbare soul, I thought, if I could just see him. But I did not.

  CHAPTER

  22

  It was dusk on the seventh of December. At midmorning we’d had word that the rest of the army had arrived. Mother and Father and Lucy and I bundled up some clothes, warm blankets, and food, and headed for the river. Along the way we picked up the Moores.

  The scene when we arrived around one in the afternoon was like a nightmare. The river was full of rowboats, ferry boats, and galleys from the Pennsylvania navy. It was a day of gray skies and no sun and biting cold, which added to the nightmarish quality. The crossings from New Jersey to Pennsylvania had begun in early afternoon, and I was desperately afraid Dan would cross before I found him.

  Betsy Moore and I had gotten permission from our parents to wander up and down the banks and try to find Dan. We’d been searching for what seemed like hours, meeting each other every so often to commiserate and start looking again. It was getting to be dusk already. All up and down the river where the endless stream of the army was gathered, bonfires and torches were lit, adding an unreal quality to an already unreal scene.

  I turned suddenly, bumping into a tall officer who was shouting orders at the stunned and weakened men as they approached the embarkation point.

  “Damnation!” He turned to peer down at me. “What’s this? You shouldn’t be about alone in this mess, miss.”

  “My parents are nearby. I’m Jemima Emerson from Trenton, sir. I’m looking for my brother, Daniel. He’s a captain. He wears the blue and red of the Second New Jersey.”

  “Our men wear anything they can get their hands on these days, miss.” His uniform was filthy and ragged, but he still wore his crimson silken sash and sword, and in spite of a day’s worth of beard he bowed politely.

  “Lieutenant Colonel David Henley, at your service. From Trenton, you say? I didn’t think there was anyone left in Trenton who cared. I did see some New Jersey men over there to the left, near the artillery.” He gestured beyond the rim of torchlight. “This way, soldier, right here, come on, lad,” he was saying.

  They came up to him like ghosts out of the dusk and wordlessly boarded the boats. They were like skeletons, scarecrows. Their clothes hung in tatters. The once-fine coats of the Continental army were muddied and torn. Rags were wrapped around their necks, and their breeches were threadbare, with bloodied legs showing through. The lucky ones had tied blankets around them with pieces of rope. Their knapsacks and cartridge boxes and muskets and canteens dangled from their emaciated bodies.

  Some had sores on their faces, and their lips were cracked and blue from the cold. Only a few had shoes. Most had rags wrapped around their feet, and their hair hung limp and unkempt. Many stumbled, held up by comrades.

  But they kept coming, passing me with eyes that saw nothing because they had seen too much. And yet their eyes had a peculiar fire in them, a dull, persistent gaze. I could not take my eyes from them as they streamed by me. They looked like a lost tribe that had wandered the earth homeless. Yet something about them, some sense of shared experience, made them look as if they all belonged together. That look made them an army and clothed them far better in sameness than any bright uniform with dashing swords and plumes and buttons.

  I found Dan standing near some artillery pieces with a group of tattered soldiers. The torchlight behind him silhouetted his figure against the bleak winter sky.

  I would have known him anywhere. I would have known him in hell. He said something to one of his men. His broad shoulders were straight and commanding in the faded blue and red coat. His breeches were dirty, his boots worn and muddy. His wrists were thin and chafed. But he wore his sword with authority, and there was something about the way he held his head and wore his cocked hat that would make me single him out in a field of a hundred men.

  “Daniel!” I could barely speak his name, lest the speaking of it make him disappear. And I could barely see him for my tears.

  He turned. “Jem? Is it really you?”

  I ran to him, slipping on the frozen ground.

  “Be careful, Jem. Don’t fall.” His voice was older, huskier, more confident. Oh, how could he be confident in the middle of all this?

  I ran across the frozen ground into his arms.

  Both of my brothers crossed the river within the next hour. There was scarcely time for Dan and Betsy to have a few moments together and for him to visit with Mother and Father.

  Scarcely time for him to tell the Moores that he’d had to leave Raymond north of New Brunswick at the house of a farmer and his wife, for Raymond had fallen ill with dysentery and fever. He gave the Moores the name of the farmer and told them where he lived.

  Mother and Lucy gave him the bread and meat they had brought, and he shared it with his men, along with the blankets and blanket coats. Father’s voice was low and sad when he told Dan that there hadn’t been any shoes in his shop to bring. I know he considered it a personal failure.

  The crossings continued far into the night
and the afternoon of the next day while we stayed in our house. Father closed his shop, the first time I ever remember him doing so.

  “What good is a shop,” he said, “when I couldn’t supply my son and his men with what they needed?”

  At supper that night there was a knock on the door. Father went to answer it and came back to the dining room with Stacy Potts.

  “Did thee not hear the music?” Mr. Potts asked.

  “No,” Mother answered, “we have been in the house all day.”

  “Oh yes,” he said, “the British and Hessians came into town with much music and display. They came shortly after the last of the Americans crossed the river a few hours ago.”

  Hessians! Paid soldiers from Germany hired by George the Third! I drew in my breath. Lucy had told me stories about the Hessians. She said that Hessian grenadiers had killed more American soldiers than any other Hessian unit on American soil!

  “Would you sit and sup with us, Mr. Potts?” Mother asked calmly.

  “Thank thee, no, ma’am. It has been a tiring day.” He smiled and winked at my father. “The Americans, James, met them with a shower of grapeshot from across the river.”

  My father nodded in solemn approval.

  “But I will not keep thee from thy supper.” He hesitated. Then, “James, these will be difficult days for us all when the town is occupied.”

  “I’ve given it much thought, Stacy.”

  “I know my Patriotism has been in question since I refused to take the oath to the Cause.”

  “I know your Quaker faith forbids oaths, Stacy. We have no doubts as to your Patriotism.”

  “Thee is kind. I would hope thee has no doubts in the days to come.”

  “And why should I, Stacy?”

  “My house has already been inspected as a possible headquarters for the Hessian commander, Johann Gottlieb Rall. If he chooses to occupy it, I will be an impartial and gracious host.”

  “There is nothing else you can do, Stacy.”

  He nodded, bowed to my mother, and went with my father to the door. When my father came back he looked at us. “Stacy Potts is one of the most prosperous and decent men in town. His house is probably the most commodious. I know him to be a true friend and Patriot. I’ll hear nothing in the way of disparaging remarks about him if they occupy his house.”