They left Valley Forge two days after the blizzard. The snow on the road leading toward the ferry above Trenton was reasonably packed down which made for steady progress. Adam sat on the far side of the seat, his musket across his lap pointing outward. Two women plodded alongside the wagon, grabbing on to the slats when they slipped on the icy stretches. They said their husbands were among the poor souls lying on the rough planks of Will’s wagon. Many of the soldiers were shoeless, with hardly a shirt or blanket amongst them for warmth to protect against the wind. After a half mile, once they were out of sight of Valley Forge, Will had motioned to the women. They clambered up on the coarse wooden seat and huddled against each other for warmth, sandwiched between Will and Adam.
“We would have walked to Princeton if necessary,” one said. “I would not abandon my man, knowing how the helpless soldiers were mistreated at Reading.”
“That will not happen at Princeton. There is a hospital there,” Will said gruffly. He had no desire to engage in conversation and Adam’s sullen countenance indicated he was even less inclined to do so.
When they reached the Delaware, the Captain in charge of their wagon train noticed the two women and listened to Will’s explanation.
“These wives, if they truly are and not poxy camp followers, will have to justify their share of the rations. Tell them they are to take care of any of the sick in need, and not just their men,” he said to Will before tramping down the line of stopped wagons. The two women, who were bent in the back tending to their husbands, peered over the sideboards and nodded they had heard the Captain’s words.
“And what are we to do with this one who has died?” one asked. “He is past being taken care of,” she said with some bitterness. Will looked at the ferry and the wagons ahead. They were fourth in line to cross and he did not want to give up his place.
“We will place him in the back of the wagon,” Will said removing the L- shaped bolts that held the tailgate. He thought he would need Adam to help lift the body but the man was so wasted, he could do it himself. “Give this to one of the living,” he said to the woman, handing over a blanket that was so thin, he could see through it. He leaped down from the wagon and plunged his hands in the snow up to his wrists to wash the feeling of death from his fingers. No time to bury him now. They would find a place in New Jersey, or at worst, he would be interred in the hospital’s graveyard. In this frigid weather, his body would not rot.
Once across the river, Will and Adam paced back and forth, flexing their stiff legs, while waiting for the remaining wagons. Adam patted the fat pockets of his short jacket. The red facing, which had looked so bright when they had first met at the Marblehead Mariner barracks in Cambridge, was worn and faded.
“I am not hungry,” Will said, waving his hand.
“Maybe Big Red is,” Adam replied lifting the flap to reveal yellow hay. “I wandered into the ferryman’s barn to warm myself,” he said answering Will’s questioning look. “He had plenty and what I have taken he will not miss.” He grinned at Will who put his arm around his friend’s shoulder and walked with him back to the wagon. Will pulled some of the hay from Adam’s pocket and held it in his palms. He felt Big Red’s rough upper lip nuzzle his hands and the slight touch of his teeth against his skin as the horse took the dry stalks into his mouth. After Adam’s offering had been eaten, Will remained stroking Big Red’s muzzle and scratching him under the chin.
“Why did you volunteer to come, Adam?”
His friend did not answer directly but looked back in the direction they had come. “Sarah was born a slave. Like my mother and father.” He gazed at the grey cold sky, averting Will’s stare. “Sarah’s father was probably her master, the owner of the Tidewater plantation where she was raised. He sold her at age twelve. She has not seen her mother since.” Adam’s voice choked with anger. “She does not even know if her mother is alive. Or worse.”
“What could be worse?” Will asked.
“Worse is being sold like a cow or brood mare. To a new master who abuses her and subjects her to his filthy lusts and breeds her to give birth to more slaves,” he shouted. Some of the other soldiers turned and looked at Adam. “Worse is losing your daughter and never hearing from her again. Slaves do not write to each other, Will, as you and Elisabeth.” He saw the hurt in his friend’s eyes and realized Will was ignorant of the basic conditions of slavery.
“I am sorry, Will. Sarah’s situation steals my reason.”
Adam reached out to pat Big Red cautiously. “It is true that Reverend Penrose and his wife have been kind to her,” he said more calmly. “However, he is still her master, this religious man, this Presbyterian Minister,” he said snarling at Penrose’s title. “He demands fifty-three pounds sterling for her freedom. Do you know how many years it will take to raise that sum? And all the while, this Reverend could sell, yes, sell my precious Sarah to another.” He turned suddenly toward Will.
“You ask me why I volunteered to come to Princeton. I was becoming unmoored.” His eyes had a wild desperate look. “As if I were on some storm- tossed sea. Nay, that would have been better because I have survived nor’easters on the St. George’s Banks. I was afraid I would take Sarah and flee and kill the first man who tried to prevent me from doing so. Even General Washington himself.”
Will looked at the nearby soldiers. “Adam. Keep your voice down. You do not want others to hear.”
“You are right. I do not. But back at camp, I cared not. I needed to get away. I am not sure what I will do when we return. I am hoping my reason will return and prudence govern my actions. I fear, however, my impulses will prevail.” He wiped his hand over his eyes as if trying to clear the desperate thoughts from his mind.
“I am your friend, Adam. You saved my life in Cambridge. I am here for you.” Will said. “And always will be.” He took Adam’s callused hand and clasped his two over it, as if by warming his friend’s he could transfer some comfort and hope.
The wagons made poor time on the frozen, rutted roads and it took another two days to reach Princeton. Will lost track of how many more invalids died. All he knew was they lost another one on their wagon. The hospital was in Nassau Hall, set back on the west side of the Princeton Trenton highway, the very same massive four story building that the Americans had assaulted with cannons and forced the British to surrender a year ago. Many of the windows were still broken. Will saw that the wooden fence surrounding the expansive lot, as well as the shrubs, had long since disappeared, burned as fuel to heat the building. Even absent the tall posted gate, the Captain led the wagons through where it had stood and directed the drivers to form a line two abreast along the length of the building.
A tall man emerged from the central entrance and strode down the stone steps. He was hatless and coatless with long wispy white hair that covered his unusually large head. He angrily confronted the Captain as he dismounted from his horse.
“I am Doctor Benjamin Rush. Why was I not informed by courier in advance of the arrival of this cargo of misery. I count sixteen wagons with Lord knows how many sick and diseased. Where am I to put them, Captain? Tell me that,” he demanded.
“My orders are to deliver these men to this hospital,” the Captain replied testily. “If you were not informed, you may write General Washington himself.”
“Oh, I will do more than that Captain. I will write to the Congress, complaining about this gross failure of procedure, which pales, I say pales compared to the negligence concerning procurement of food, firewood and adequate supplies.”
The Captain looked at the formation of wagons lined up in the hospital yard. “There are no supplies at Valley Forge. While ‘tis unfortunate some of the sick died on the way, the remaining one hundred and seventy or so would certainly have died in camp.”
“Is that so, Captain? You are a medical practitioner I assume. No, of course you are not. I have more than five hundred here already. They are dying at the rate of four or five a day, from fevers, ague, jaundice and t
he bloody flux. Some freeze to death at night and we find their emaciated corpses in the morning.” The doctor, waved his arms like a giant gawky bird, and continued venting his anger at the deplorable state of the hospital. 4
“Leave the medicine to me and those competent to practice it,” he snorted. “You can be of service by helping to bring discipline to this building. Establish guards, let no patient out without a written order. Those sick but able to walk sell their meager possessions for rum and food in the town. There are drunken fights every night within this building that is a hospital in name only.” 5 He motioned to the drivers waiting in place.
“Order your men to carry these miserable wretches inside. We will try and find room for them. And then, form work patrols and send them out to cut firewood. Perhaps, for once, no patient will freeze to death tonight.”
There were few stretchers available. Although it brought them into contact with the foul-smelling, sick men’s blistering skin and pus, and their shit stained pants, Will and Adam found it faster to carry them on their backs.
The rooms on the first floor were bitter cold. Men lay shivering on beds of dirty straw, filling every available space in the small rooms with their wasted figures. The stench of human excrement and sickness was overwhelming. The cold only added to the sense of foreboding that this was a place from which one did not emerge alive. Will followed Adam up the central staircase two flights and as gently as possible, eased the sick soldier from his back and laid him down on the cold wooden floor. The room, barely large enough for eight, now had almost twenty lying side by side. It was slightly warmer on the third floor with the late afternoon sun providing rays of light through the drafty windows.
“It seems hardly worth the journey for these unfortunate souls,” Adam grumbled as he carried another soldier up the central staircase. Will grunted in agreement. The man felt light as a feather and even by the third floor landing, Will was not winded. As he lowered the man to the floor, the soldier grabbed Will’s collar. His grip was surprisingly strong for one no more than skin and bones.
“Promise me a decent burial, Lieutenant,” he said, the spittle on his lips forming little bubbles at the ends of his mouth. “No common grave for me. A separate plot, please and a marker. My wife will need a marker to find my body.”
Will pried the soldier’s fingers loose. “I promise,” Will assured him, although unsure whether he would even be in Princeton when the man died.
“Your word as an Officer. Give me that comfort.”
“You have my word,” Will said. The man beckoned Will to bend closer. “My name is Gillet. Henry Gillet,” he wheezed, partially raising himself up. “Private in Colonel Israel Angell’s Rhode Islanders. My wife’s name is Judith, after her grandmother,” he said as if that fact were important to him. “Judith Gray Gillet,” he whispered, as his head fell back on the floor.
The Private’s lips were still forming his wife’s name as Will backed out of the room and scrambled down the steps, pursued by groans, coughs and piteous cries at every landing. In these cramped quarters, every man was alone with his fears and memories, Will thought, gratefully sucking in deep breathes of the fresh, cold air.
Many of the drivers were reluctant to remain in the cold woods cutting trees. They drifted off and ensconced themselves before a warm fire in one of Princeton’s several taverns. By the time the sun had set, Will and Adam were only one of two details still at work. They loaded the wagon in the dark and drove the familiar spur of the Princeton Trenton highway to Nassau Hall. The pile of newly felled and trimmed trees on the hospital grounds was modest, perhaps enough to last one or two days if used sparingly. They added their logs to the stack.
Will’s immediate concern was to find fodder and water for Big Red. Candles shone through the first floor windows of a two story stone house on the road past the hospital. Some of the shutters hung askew. Other windows were broken and many of the rooms were dark. The British probably had looted it after they withdrew from Princeton.
Behind it, in the early evening darkness, he could make out the shape of a large barn and heard the whinnying of horses within. He was tempted to simply unhitch Big Red, lead him inside and take oats and fodder without permission. Instead, he decided to knock at the door and ask first. The Captain would requisition what was needed if the owner refused.
With Adam standing beside him, Will lifted the large brass knocker and waited as the sound reverberated through the door. He was about to raise it again when he heard the bolt being pulled back and the door opened. And there stood Captain Samuel Hadley of the Massachusetts Artillery. It was Hadley who reacted first, flinging the door open so hard it banged loudly against the doorstop. He strode out into the cold to grasp Will tightly by both shoulders, his fingers kneading Wills muscles beneath his uniform, before embracing him and banging him on the back.
“Will. It is you. What a surprise. And Private Cooper also,” he said reaching down the top step to grab Adam’s arm. “Come, come inside and out of this winter chill.”
“What are you doing here?” Will asked recovering from his surprise. “We knocked only to ask to use the barn and obtain oats, fodder and water for Big Red.”
“Although it is to you I owe my life, it was your horse that bore me from the battlefield. Certainly, to the barn first, place him in any empty stall. You will find a few sheaves of hay that are not too moldy and oats in a barrel toward the rear,” he said. “But Adam. I recall you preferred to ride the waves rather than horses. Come inside and warm yourself near the fire while Will attends to Big Red.”
Will grinned as he pumped water and filled the third bucket for Big Red. He thought Hadley seemed well recovered from the wound he had received at Brandywine. The grip of his arm, the one Will had prevented the surgeons from amputating, seemed strong and firm. He hurried back to the house, eager to hear Hadley’s account since he had last seen him at the field hospital near Darby.
A servant led him to the kitchen where there was warm water in a basin for washing. Will scrubbed his hands and face, slicked back his hair and found his way into the main sitting room. The Captain and Adam stood off in a corner of the room engaged in quiet conversation. Dr. Rush loomed somberly by the low fire, his arm leaning on the mantle, his gaze on a heavy- set elderly man hunched down in a wide armchair, staring into the flames. Some of the spindles on the back were broken and strips of a torn floral red fabric hung down below the seat. He turned his head slowly and studied Will. He had small dark eyes beneath thick black eyebrows, that contrasted with his thinning white hair. A fleshy double chin was partially covered by a white broadcloth scarf that enveloped his thick neck.
“You are welcome to my home, Lieutenant, such as it is after the minions of the Crown have seen fit to ravage it and destroy all of my books and papers.” He spoke in a deep raspy voice with a thick Scottish burr. “That unfortunately is not my greatest loss,” he said. “My eldest son died for our cause.” He cleared his throat. “James, even though a young man, was esteemed by others, respected already for his constant practice of Divine worship and was truly of unblemished character.” He sat as if transfixed by some image of the young man and then lifted himself wearily from his worn chair. “You must excuse me. There is some correspondence from Congress that demands my attention.” He waved his hand as if in benediction and lumbered from the room.
“Reverend Witherspoon’s son was killed at the battle of Germantown,” Dr. Rush said. “He was interred yesterday in the churchyard after the ground was sufficiently thawed by fire to bury him. Two of my doctors who succumbed to typhus, despite my best efforts to save them, are buried there as well.” He slammed his hand down on the mantle. “This hospital and the others in my department are a disgrace. We labor under intolerable conditions for doctors and patients. I have begun a letter to General Washington and the loss of two of my doctors to typhus, impels me to complete it and dispatch it at once.” 6 Rush patted his waistcoat pocket to assure himself his spectacles were there and wit
hout a good night, left. His heavy footsteps echoed on the stairwell as his shadow ascended the wall, lit by one stub of a candle until all was dark as they heard the door to his room close.
No one spoke for sometime. Hadley and Will’s initial exuberance were dampened, not just by the gloom of the wrecked interior. It was the knowledge that Witherspoon’s son who had been born and raised in this home was now buried nearby. The same cemetery contained the graves of the doctors who had perished aiding the soldiers, many of whom were themselves were close to death, lying in misery in the hospital.
The sounds of a servant’s words from the kitchen and a woman’s voice ended the feeling of despair and sadness. Hadley’s face broke into a broad smile as Mercy Van Buskirk came in, wiping her hands on her apron.
“I have just come from the hospital,” she said stopping in midsentence. 7 “Why Will Stoner. Indeed, it is you. What a pleasant surprise.”
Will bowed slightly. “It is my pleasure to see you Miss Mercy.”
“You may call her what you wish, but I call her my wife,” Hadley said with a big grin. “We were married in Morristown a fortnight ago and she will return with me to Valley Forge. I am fit for service again, according to my beloved wife.” He put his arm around her shoulder affectionately and escorted her toward the fire.
“Will. I never thanked you for saving Samuel’s life,” she said looking over her shoulder. “Rescuing him from the oncoming Grenadiers and bringing him to safety.” She offered Will her hand. “I should have penned my thoughts of gratitude and sent you a letter.”
“I only did my duty,” Will said.
“Nonsense,” Hadley shushed his wife who was about to reply. He launched into a detailed description, for Adam’s benefit, of the desperate battle to halt the British advancing on the right flank of the American lines at Brandywine, his being wounded and regaining consciousness outside a field hospital in the cold darkness of the battle’s aftermath.
Spies and Deserters Page 5
