Much of this happened, yet the winter of 1777-1778 was much milder than that of 1779-1780 when approximately twenty-eight snowstorms battered the army in its camp at Morristown. Many of the senior Generals’ wives lived at Valley Forge, including Martha Washington, Lucy Knox, and Caty Greene, and amidst the deprivation there were dinners and entertainment.
Most Americans have no knowledge that ordinary soldiers also had the company of their spouses. In addition, there were the usual camp followers, women who “followed the drum,” did the laundry and other such chores and were deemed to be of loose morals. There were at least four hundred women at Valley Forge, some wives and others simply camp followers. Heaven forbid that we should teach students that there were immoral women at the sacred site of Valley Forge. Or that the soldiers gambled, cursed and avoided Sabbath services.
If we are to understand our history, we need to adhere to the truth as much as possible and not some mythical heroic story of absolute purity of character, steadfast morals and noble deeds.
As with the preceding three novels in the series, I am once again indebted to my friends and family who read different iterations of the manuscript. My beloved wife, despite her aversion to battles and violence, slogged through the draft and offered many insightful and helpful suggestions. I am amazed that her excellent writing skills in developing policy papers can be transferred to critical, constructive comments about my novel.
My son, Marc, once again performed wonders in preparing the striking cover and formatting the text. The clean appearance of the book is entirely due to his efforts.
I continue to be indebted to my editor, Ben West, who has meticulously read for character development and plot consistency.
One of the joys of writing is receiving feedback from respected and dear friends. My law school classmate, Curtis M. Caton, not only fulfilled that role but voluntarily assumed the tedious task of providing editorial assistance. His sharp eye for consistency in spelling, capitalization, punctuation and spacing have relieved others of the irritation of having their reading experience spoiled by such mistakes. It was a necessary but not thankless task because he has my complete admiration for his thoroughness and obviously my thanks in making “Spies and Deserters” a much smoother read.
Big Red is a stand-in for a magnificent horse of the same name owned by my friend Glen Baquet. Glen has been a constant source of knowledge about horses – their diet, diseases, personalities and behavior. I am thankful to him for assisting me in creating the noble character of Will Stoner’s companion.
All remaining errors of fact, grammar or spelling are of course my sole responsibility.
My oldest grandson continues to be a model for little Lucy Knox, now three plus years in “Spies and Deserters.” His language skills and development have enabled me to more accurately portray the younger daughter of General and Lucy Knox.
Finally, without ascribing any supernatural influences to the process of writing, sometimes, the characters do “tell” me how they should develop. I rarely take them down a wayward path and then scrap that version because it does not seem right. Rather, because the characters live within me, I intuitively recognize how they would react or feel. Over the first four novels, John Stoner evolved as so totally evil I feared that he would become too much of a caricature. However, every story needs a great villain and his stalking of Elisabeth while not knowing she is his brother’s fiancé seemed too good an opportunity to miss. It also seemed natural to give him some redeeming quality and I chose an accidental act of courage. Of course, being true to his selfish, scheming personality he then uses his bravery to enhance his own position.
I cannot say where my characters will end up in the next volume or the final one. I hope that those of you who began with “Cannons for the Cause,” will continue to enjoy the saga as it plays out.
Martin R. Ganzglass Washington, D.C. March 2017
Bibliography
The following are books, blogs or websites I have read for historical background. The blog, Boston 1775 as well as the Journal of the American Revolution, and its blog, All Things Liberty, continue to offer numerous, and to me invaluable, articles on a wide variety of Revolutionary War subjects. Collectively, they are like discovering a gold mine, the only problem being which veins to mine in incorporating events into the novel.
Since it is easy enough to search a book or article on line by author and title, I have omitted the customary reference to publisher and date of publication.
Adelberg, Michael, S.,
The American Revolution in Monmouth County-The Theater of Spoil and Destruction
Allen, Thomas, B.,
Remember Valley Forge- Patriots, Tories and Redcoats Tell Their Stories Angell, Israel Colonel,
Diary of Colonel Israel Angell Commanding the Second Rhode Island Continental Regiment During the American Revolution, 1778-1781, Edward Field, Editor
Barber, John W., and Howe, Henry,
“The Great Anniversary in Pluckemin,” Historical Collections of the State of New Jersey
Barbieri, Michael,
“The Worth of a Continental,” Journal of the American Revolution, Annual Volume 2015
Benemann, Walter,
Male-Male Intimacy in Early America: Beyond Romantic Friendships
Bergen County Historical Society, Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben
Berkin, Carol,
Revolutionary Mothers- Women in the Struggle for America’s Independence
Braisted, Todd W.,
Grand Forage 1778-The Battleground Around New York City,
Brooks, Noah,
Henry Knox- A Soldier of the Revolution Burdick, Kim,
Fever, Journal of the American Revolution, Online Magazine, November 12, 2015
Chadwick, Bruce, The First American Army
Chernow, Ron, Washington- A Life
Cook Fred J.,
What Manner of Men Conley, Patrick T.,
The Battle of Rhode Island, 29 August 1778-A Victory for the Patriots, Rhode Island History, Volume 62, # 3, Fall, 2004
Drake, Francis S.,
Life and Correspondence of Henry Knox
Fleming, Thomas,
Washington’s Secret War- The Hidden History of Valley Forge
Gilman, Malcolm B, Col. M.D., Monmouth Road to Glory
Hackett Fischer, David, Washington’s Crossing
Historical Census Browser, 1790 Census
The History Girl,
Spending the Winter at Jockey Hollow Huggins, Benjamin, L.,
“Raid Across the Ice: The British Operation to Capture Washington,” Journal of the American Revolution, Annual Volume, 2015
Kuhl, Jackson,
“The Whale-Boat Men of Long Island Sound,” Journal of the American Revolution, Online Magazine, November 1, 2013.
Lender, Mark Edward and Stone, Gary Wheeler,
Fatal Sunday- George Washington, the Monmouth Campaign and the Politics of Battle.
Loane, Nancy K.,
Following the Drum- Women at the Valley Forge Encampment Loane, Nancy K.,
“An Elegant Dinner with General Washington at Valley Forge,”Journal of the American Revolution, Annual Volume 2015
Martin, Joseph Plumb,
Private Yankee Doodle- Being a Narrative of Some of the Adventures, Dangers and Sufferings of a Revolutionary Soldier, George Scheer, editor,
McBurney, Christian M.,
“Ann Bates: British Spy Extraordinaire,” Journal of the American Revolution, Annual Volume 2016
McBurney, Christian M.,
Abductions in the American Revolution- Attempts to Kidnap George Washington, Benedict Arnold and Other Military and Civilian Leaders
McGuire, Thomas J.,
The Philadelphia Campaign- Germantown and the Roads to Valley Forge, Vol. II
McGready,Blake,
Abigail Hartman Rice, Revolutionary War Nurse, Journal of the American Revolution, Online Magazine, November 28, 2016
National Park Service,
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br /> Morristown National Historical Park
Nagy, John A.,
Spies in the Continental Capital North, Louise V., Wedge, Janet M., Freeman, Landa M.,
In the Words of Women-The Revolutionary War and the Birth of the Nation, 1765-1799
Petrocci, Charles A.,
“The Battle of Paulus Hook,” Military History, August 2000 Philbrick, Nathaniel,
“Why Benedict Arnold Turned Traitor Against the American Revolution” Smithsonian Magazine, May 2016
Popek, Daniel M.,
“They . . . fought bravely but were unfortunate:” The True Story of Rhode Island’s ‘Black Regiment’ and the Failure of Segregation in Rhode Island’s Continental Line, 1777-1783,
Raphael, Ray,
“Molly Pitcher and Captain Molly,”Journal of the American Revolution, Annual Volume 1
Ruppert, Bob,
“The Statue of George III,”Journal of the American Revolution, Online Magazine, September 8, 2014
Savas, Theodore P., and Dameron, David J., A Guide to the Battles of the American Revolution
Sawyer, William,
“The Oneida Nation in the American Revolution,” National Park Service
Shilts, Randy,
Conduct Unbecoming: Gays and Lesbians in the U.S. Military
Smith, Alejandra,
“Oneida,” George Washington’s Mount Vernon Stuart, Nancy Rubin,
Defiant Brides-The Untold Story of Two Revolutionary-Era Women and the Radical Men They Married
von Steuben, Baron Frederick Wilhelm Augustus,
Baron von Steuben’s Revolutionary War Drill Manual (A Facsimile Reprint of the 1794 Edition)
Waldo, Albigence, Dr.,
Diary of a Surgeon at Valley Forge, 1777 Wells, Cody,
“Philadelphia and the Fate of General Benedict Arnold,” Armstrong Undergraduate Journal of History, 4, no. 2 (Nov. 2014.)
Weymer, Jay Mills,
Historic Houses of New Jersey Wulf, Karen,
Despise the Mean Distinctions [these] Times Have Made: The Complexity of Patriotism and Quaker Loyalism in One Pennsylvania Family
York County Heritage Trust, The Philadelphia Stage and Beyond
The thrilling saga of our War for Independence continues with . . .
Treason and Triumph
They left the west side of the city in the predawn darkness and crossed the frozen ice of the lower Hudson and Newark Bay. The horses were skittish on the unfamiliar surface and the troopers struggled to keep their mounts under control. A strong wind blew from behind, billowing their newly issued red wool capes around their shoulders. Ahead, Paulus Hook and the Jersey shore were barely discernible. The only sounds were the wind, the occasional nervous whinny of a frightened animal and the clop of the horses’ hooves. Two thin shadowy ribbons of cavalry, almost three hundred in number, spread out in long lines, parallel to the shore, a precaution although the ice had been tested and was thick enough to bear the weight of a twentyfour pounder. The troopers converged as they neared Paulus Hook. Their horses nimbly picked their way through the jumbled slabs of ice, randomly scattered by wind and tide into a frozen white breakwater, constructed by the harsh forces of nature. Many of the local Loyalists claimed it was the coldest winter in memory.
The troopers of the 17th Light Dragoons regrouped on the snow covered common, hunched against the fierce winds still blowing behind them. Ahead, Lieutenant John Stoner could make out the other part of the strike force, the Hussars of the Queen’s Rangers in their distinctive high fur hats. Those would keep my pate warm, John thought, pulling his tri-corn down more tightly. It would also make me a more distinctive target. He would have preferred to wear the leather helmet of the Dragoons, with a death’s head on the facing and a stylish crest of dyed red horsehair. But he was not one of them and Chatsworth would never have proposed to make him so, even in appearance.
John was normally averse to the dangers of the battlefield. Judge Thomas had related, in his sober, dignified manner, to British officers of rank at the numerous New York City dinner parties the good Judge attended, of John’s bravery in repelling the Rebel raiders and defending the Judge’s wife, heedless of the threats to his own safety. His role in confronting the three menacing and heavily armed whale boatmen was enhanced with each telling. John, himself, was almost convinced of the exaggerated accounts of his coolness and courage under fire. Now, he had a reputation to live up to and that alone compelled him to join the dragoons in the raid.
There was another reason as well. John had been responsible for the mapmakers, those Loyalists who knew the back roads of Essex County, from Elizabethtown and Hackensack to Morristown and more importantly to the Ford Mansion, General Washington’s headquarters. Stoner’s agents had identified common mechanics, millers, farmers and ferryboat men, people driven from their homes in New Jersey by roving bands of Rebel militias. They now resided in exile in New York, barely eking out a living, grateful for the Crown’s protection and harboring strong animosities toward their former neighbors. It was John who had brought them to the attention of Major Pritchard, milked them for information without ever revealing the ultimate purpose and produced the maps that now were in the saddlebags of Lt. Colonel Samuel Birch, the commander of their combined cavalry units.
As the troopers headed northwest toward Hackensack, instead of south toward Elisabethtown, John knew which plan of attack had been chosen. There was a road from Hackensack over the Acquakanunk Bridge that skirted the Cedar Swamp and led directly into Morristown. General Washington’s headquarters was almost five miles east of the town and the main Rebel encampment. The cavalry would overwhelm the General’s Life Guards, abduct their Commander and bring him to the Newark Mountain meeting house. There, they would be met by a regiment of light infantry to provide additional security in case of Rebel pursuit.
It was as if Nature itself had conspired against the Rebels, freezing the waters separating the British from New Jersey, and then sending one snowstorm after another to impede the roads and curtail Rebel patrols. The heavy snows of three days ago had postponed their mission. /3 It had also covered the roads with three feet of soft and powdery snow, and their passage was unmarked by other man or horse, sled or wagon. With the snows higher than the fence posts and stonewalls that demarked the fields, only one with a strong familiarity of the terrain could discern the edge of the road from the white, bland adjacent flat countryside. Their local guides conferred frequently and led them on until, under the ominous grey skies, they saw the spires of churches in the distance.
At the outskirts of Hackensack, they passed stoic sentries manning the checkpoints and enduring the frigid winter air, with nary a fire to warm them. The town was secured by two regiments of British infantry. No wagon, horse, carriage or foot traveler was permitted to leave under any circumstances.
John handed the reins of his horse to Chatsworth’s batman, ignoring the fellow’s scowl at being tasked with watering and feeding another mount. He floundered through the knee-high snow, following Chatsworth to the Sign of the Drum, one of the inns adjacent to the drift covered village green. Once inside, he removed his heavy damp cloak and joined the other officers around a roaring fire, warming his frozen fingers and turning his rear and shoulders toward the flames. Gradually, he felt the stiffness in his neck and back easing. From the degree of mulled cider, beer and wine being imbibed, he anticipated they planned to spend the night. Tomorrow, they would leave for Morristown, roughly twenty miles away.
That night, John was awakened by the sound of hail and sleet on the Tavern’s roof. Asleep, in the upper loft, three to a bed, he was the first to react. Chatsworth and the other officer stirred. John pulled his boots on over his stocking feet, drew his cloak that had served as his blanket around his shoulders, and peered out the window. A lantern glowed from the barn and cast light on fast falling pellets of ice, bouncing off the snow. Perhaps, the mission would be postponed another day. He could tolerate holed up in this comfortable tavern instead of r
iding out in this miserable weather.
Two orderlies stomped along the well-beaten path to the barn. A bad sign, John thought. They would be readying the officers’ mounts. Sounds of men being roused throughout the tavern confirmed that the raid would be today. Soon they were all assembled in the main room, spooning hot porridge from pewter bowls and drinking coffee laced with rum. Colonel Birch ordered the officers to have the men mounted and moving out by the hour of four. He intended to be half way to the Ford Mansion by daybreak and cover the other ten or so miles before midday.
“The weather favors us,” he said loudly. “The Rebels will have gone to shelter from the snows of a few days ago, probably starving as well. This hailstorm is a God-send. It will keep them inside with their heads down.”
The barn was crowded with troopers silently readying their mounts, cinching the saddles tightly and checking the bridles. The men buckled the straps holding their sheaths across their chests and drew and reset their sabers, the sound of the steel against the metal casing, echoing off the low oak beamed ceiling. They had no muskets or fuzees this time. Only pistols. John made sure his was loaded and carefully placed it in his saddleback under a canvas flap to protect it from getting wet.
The troopers lined up in twos, John paired with Chatsworth, only a few rows behind the Colonel. He thought his chances were better up front. The element of surprise would be in his favor. If any of the Rebel guards were aroused, they would be shooting at those behind him, if their powder was dry.
The crust of ice that had formed on the snowy surface crunched under their horses’ hooves as they passed by the sentries. The snow on the road from Hackensack to the Acquackadonk had been somewhat compressed by horse patrols during the night. In less than a mile, they crossed the bridge over the narrow frozen river and entered a vast white countryside. Their progress was initially slowed by windblown snowdrifts, some as deep as their horses’ chests.
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