Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Arrangements were made to receive Major General Charles Lee back from the British in a prisoner exchange; a banquet was to follow in his honor, hosted by Lady Washigton. Lee was given quarters in the home of David Harvard. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 48.

  Congress passed a resolution, setting aside April 22, 1778, as a day of thanksgiving for the blessings from the Almighty. The quoted portion of the resolution is verbatim. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 53.

  The incident in which Baron von Steuben took over the drilling of his men, cursing them soundly, calling cadence in pidgin English “vun-doo-dree-four,” provoking laughter, in which he joined, with the result of unifying his command, is correctly reported.

  He trained his American troops in four weeks, a feat that would have required six weeks in Prussia, and took great pride in them, calling them his “apostles.” When his troops were trained to a high degree of skill, he did hold a banquet, which he called his “Sans Culottes” banquet, the translation of sans culottes being “without pants.” He transformed the boredom of the drill field into a means of promoting camaraderie and laughter, to the delight of his men. Jackson, Valley Forge: Pinnacle of Courage, p. 181; Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 438–42; Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 41.

  Valley Forge

  May–June 1778

  CHAPTER XXXI

  * * *

  Spring had come to New England, and the world was born anew—fresh, clean, pristine. All things in the rolling hills had once again answered the eternal call to awaken from the slumbers of winter and bring new life. The woods and the fields were clad in greens and golds and yellows and blues, and the sounds of living things filled the air and echoed in the forests.

  The souls and the bodies of the soldiers of the Continental Army, camped along the banks of the Schuylkill River, had nearly mended from the horrors of the winter’s starvation and cold. The warmth of mother earth and the deep, lush grasses gave comfort to those still without shoes and wearing rags. The men moved about their duties with a spring and a jaunty swing in their step, calling loudly to each other, humming, bellowing forth in a snatch of misbegotten song, reveling in the renewal that expanded their inner beings each day.

  In the red blush of dawn, Billy sat quietly in the grass with his back against the east wall of his squad’s small hut, paper and pencil in hand, knees drawn up as he labored in his mind for the words he needed. He paused to peer upward into the trees, where the quiet hum of insects mixed with the cacophony of the jays and ravens and robins arguing their territorial claims. The warmth of the morning sun was on his face as he carefully began to write.

  My Dear Mother:

  Much has happened. Spring has come, and the hard things of winter are past. I am well. I have gained back most of my lost weight, as have nearly all the soldiers. We still have salt fish, and General Anthony Wayne brought in several hundred cattle. The soldiers have begun to call him “Wayne the Drover,” which he seems to like. We now have enough flour and even a small ration of vegetables. We will be all right.

  I am sorry to say over three thousand of our soldiers died in the harsh winter. Fifteen hundred of our horses perished. Many of the officers and soldiers left and have not returned. However, I can say that those who remained and lived are of a nature that has made them an army that can scarce be beaten. I know in my heart that in this way the Almighty has turned our suffering into a blessing.

  A short time ago I was mightily surprised to find Caleb Dunson. He is in a New York company. He looked poorly at the time but today looks like himself, except that he is a little older. We have talked many times, and I am aware he labors with his own inner troubles, which he will not share with me. I do not mean he has become a bad man. I only mean he must settle some things inside himself to come to peace with the world.

  Caleb and I were part of a group of one hundred twenty men selected to be trained by a German officer, General von Steuben. He is an excellent officer, who taught us military drill in four weeks and then sent us back to train our own regiments. A short time ago those of us in the one hundred twenty had the privilege of marching before the entire Continental Army. It brought praise from every quarter. General Washington was heard to say that he believes General von Steuben has blessed this army more than any other single man. I believe he may be right. We are now training our regiments under the watchful eye of General von Steuben, and they are eagerly learning. For the first time we feel like we are an army. A good army.

  We have information that General William Howe has resigned as commander of the British and will be returning to England soon. When that occurs we believe the British will abandon Philadelphia and march to New York. Should that happen it is thought that General Washington will follow and perhaps engage them in battle. I do not want you to worry. Our army is now well prepared. I will be all right.

  I must mention, I previously wrote about camp fever and the sores and scabs and the itch that disabled so many of our men. I too suffered with such things. We could not get medicine, so our sergeant, Alvin Turlock, taught us to use an old remedy. We mixed gunpowder with tallow and smeared it on our sores. In fact, most of our bodies. The sulphur in the gunpowder mixed with the tallow healed us. My good friend Eli Stroud also taught us to use many herbs and plants from the forest as medicine.

  Would you share this letter with Margaret Dunson and her family? I do not think a letter from you would reach me. I think of you every day. I know Trudy must be a young lady by now. I miss you both. I will write again when I can, and I will take a furlough when I receive permission and come home. I place you both in the hands of the Almighty.

  Your loving son,

  Billy Weems.

  From the corner of the hut came a high, raspy voice. “Writing a letter?”

  Billy glanced at Turlock. “To Mother.”

  “I thought it might be to that girl.”

  “I’ll write her tomorrow.”

  “Weems, don’t waste your time. You got at least six of those letters. Some so old you can hardly read ’em. Writing letters you won’t send is a waste of paper and time.”

  Billy shrugged and rose to his feet and reached to brush the seat of his trousers. “You’re probably right. We better get started. Regimental drill starts at eight o’clock, and we better be on time. Von Steuben’s rules. One second past eight o’clock, you stand at attention for an hour.”

  He had reached the door of the hut when the sound of trotting horses stopped him short. In the distance, half a dozen officers were moving west on Gulph Road, epaulets glittering in the bright sunlight. Billy shaded his eyes for a moment to study them.

  “Muhlenberg, Weedon, Patterson, Lafayette—a few others. Moving towards headquarters. I wonder what’s happening.”

  Turlock scratched his stomach. “I got a hunch. Howe’s leaving, and we’re going after Philadelphia and then the British army.” He pushed past Billy. “Well, if we expect to eat, we better get about fixing breakfast. We got a choice. Firecakes and beef, or firecakes and fish.”

  At eight o’clock, Washington glanced at the officers who surrounded the conference table in the library on the main floor of the headquarters building. Satisfied, he remained standing to speak.

  “First, this is the first war council in which we have the honor of the presence of General Charles Lee since his return on April sixth.” He bowed to Lee. “I wish to welcome you back, sir.”

  Tall, thin, hawkish, Lee stiffly nodded but remained silent. Guarded glances passed around the table, but no one looked directly at Lee. None had forgotten the humiliating circumstances that resulted in Lee’s capture just days before the Trenton attack—caught in a dressing robe, finishing breakfast in a boarding house miles from his troops! No one had ever heard an explanation of his dereliction. That Washington had extended him a warm welcome when the Americans and the British exchanged prisoners and now had given him recognition at the war council were magnanimous gestures indeed!
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  Washington immediately launched into the business of the day.

  “Gentlemen, I am sure you will understand the . . . pivotal . . . importance of what I am about to say.” He waited until every eye at the table was on him, every face tense, waiting. “Congress has approved the treaty with France. The French are now officially our allies. We are to be the beneficiaries of the full strength of that nation’s capabilities, military and otherwise.”

  Applause broke out. Loud exclamations filled the room. Washington waited until it quieted, then continued.

  “I have drafted a statement, which I feel is appropriate to the event.” He turned to Hamilton. “Colonel, would you read the statement.”

  “It having pleased the Almighty ruler of the universe propitiously to defend the cause of the United American States and finally by raising us up a powerful friend among the princes of the earth to establish our liberty and independence upon lasting foundations, it becomes us to set apart a day for gratefully acknowledging the divine goodness and celebrating the important event which we owe to His benign interposition.”

  Hamilton stopped and looked up to see each man in deep thought.

  Washington went on. “Each of you will receive a copy as you leave this council. Tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, assemble your commands and read this statement to them. Assign your chaplains to deliver an appropriate address. One hour later we will form the entire army for inspection, followed by salutes from both cannon and muskets.”

  He paused, then turned to Lafayette. “I thought it appropriate that General Lafayette take command of those ceremonies. General, I presume you will accept my invitation to do so.”

  For a moment Lafayette could not speak. “It will be my great honor, your Excellency.”

  Washington picked up a paper, read his notes, and continued.

  “We must move on. I am recommending to Congress that Captain von Steuben be appointed inspector general of the army and that he be given the rank of major general.”

  Instant comments of approval filled the room, and Washington let them go until they dwindled.

  “Observance of the Sabbath is slipping. I am entering an order effective immediately that divine services be performed each Sunday at eleven o’clock. Officers of all ranks are expected to attend to be an example to their men. We must be ever mindful of our overriding duty of worship to that Supreme being whose providence and blessings we enjoy.”

  There was a moment of silence as each man dropped his eyes, caught by the suddenness of the reminder.

  Washington cleared his throat, glanced at his prepared agenda, and continued. “The British Parliament has accepted General Howe’s resignation. His farewell banquet—probably a grand meschianza—is being planned for the last part of this month, and he will sail for England soon after. General Clinton will likely be appointed to succeed him. It is expected that General Clinton will abandon Philadelphia and march the entire British force to New York. He knows Admiral d’Estaing has sailed from Toulon in the Mediterranean with a large part of the French navy, and Clinton fears being blockaded in New York Harbor. From a military point of view, New York Harbor is vastly more critical to the British than the city of Philadelphia.”

  He glanced at a paper. “I should mention, I lately received a letter from General Clinton.”

  Instantly the room fell silent. The only sound was of flies buzzing at the windows.

  “He invited me to negotiate a settlement of our differences with the British.”

  Loud talk erupted.

  Washington waited for quiet. “I advised him that Congress, and only Congress, has the power to declare war or make peace. He would have to negotiate with it, not me. He has not pursued it.”

  There was a moment of silence; then talk broke out and subsided.

  Washington continued. “Assuming General Howe leaves and Clinton takes command and marches for New York, I propose the following.”

  He unrolled and anchored a map. “The day he marches out of Philadelphia, General Arnold will occupy it with sufficient strength to hold it.”

  He raised his eyes to General Benedict Arnold, who peered at the map for a moment, then nodded.

  “If the British march out, I believe the most likely route they will take will be here.” He dropped his long index finger to the map. “Cross the Delaware at Philadelphia, then proceed northeast through Burlington, Bordentown, then angle more easterly to Monmouth, then north to Raritan Bay, across to Amboy, then east to Staten Island and on to either Long Island or Manhattan Island. There is good forage all the way for his animals, and the countryside will support an army that size. I expect his column to be well above ten miles in length.”

  Every combat-wise officer at the table instantly realized what was coming.

  “As you know, an army is never so vulnerable as when it is strung out in retreat. Should my presumptions be correct, there will be half a dozen places that a well-planned attack could cripple or badly hurt General Clinton’s army. I therefore propose that we prepare our forces to follow him and make such an attack at an appropriate place.”

  General Lee twisted in his chair, then raised his voice. “Sir, it is my opinion that our best course would be to attack and occupy Pittsburgh. It is in a position to afford a strong defense. Let the British come to retake it and engage in an ongoing battle of attrition. Eventually they will diminish in number sufficient to realize the entire campaign in America is futile and leave. I have written this plan and provided a copy to Congress.”

  Buzzing broke out around the table for a moment as the war council struggled with Lee’s reasoning. Startled, caught totally by surprise, Washington raised a hand, waited for silence, and addressed Lee.

  “I knew nothing of this until now. I shall of course consider your proposal, but for now, it is my intention to give command of the right wing of the army to yourself, General Lee, for purposes of the attack I am proposing on the British, should they march to New York.”

  Lee shifted in his chair, agitation and disagreement plain in his thin, sharp face. Washington waited, but Lee held his silence. Washington turned to Lafayette. “General, at the time of the farewell meschianza for General Howe, I am entering a written order for you to lead a command of two thousand men to Barren Hill, here.” His finger dropped to the map. “The object of your foray is twofold. First, be cognizant of all maneuvers of the British, and second, harass them where in your judgment it is prudent to do so.”

  Lafayette nodded his understanding but said nothing.

  “That having been said, let us now get down to the detail involved.”

  The animated, often loud, give and take of a war council commenced. Pittsburgh? What is there at Pittsburgh the British want? What if Clinton splits his force, part in Philadelphia, part to New York? Have we got enough wagons and munitions to pursue him? Food? He’ll know we’re following—will he attack us first?

  By eleven o’clock the details had been twisted and turned and settled. Washington dismissed the war council, and the officers walked out of the building into the warm sunshine, where they chatted for a moment before mounting their horses and turning each in his own direction.

  Four miles to the east the soldiers of the New York Regiment stood at rigid attention in rank and file, their faces shiny with sweat from three hours of rigorous close-order drill. At noon they were dismissed for their midday meal. At two o’clock they were reassembled at attention in perfect rank and file, muskets over their right shoulders. Caleb stood beside his captain, facing his company, ready to demonstrate further the intricacies of everything von Steuben had hammered into him. At five o’clock the New York Regiment was again at attention, waiting for the most blessed word in the military handbook von Steuben had created, and the captain bawled it out.

  “Company, dismissed!”

  Cheers erupted as the men broke ranks. Caleb grinned. It was spring. The men felt strong, good. The day’s work was done. They had become an army—a good one—and they knew i
t. Loud, raucous talk was everywhere as they jostled their way toward the roads leading to their huts.

  O’Malley stopped at Caleb’s side, shirt sticking from sweat. “Better get back to the place. Got to prepare evening mess.”

  “Wait a minute for Dorman. He was coming over later.”

  Caleb stood tall, searching for the gray hair of the aging soldier, and seconds later he was there. He greeted O’Malley, then turned to Caleb as Caleb spoke.

  “Coming over after mess? Maybe spar a little again?”

  Dorman grinned. “Three times last week. Twice this week. You want to go again?”

  “I do. See you after mess.”

  Dorman bobbed his head and was turning to go when a voice from behind stopped all three men, and they turned. Six feet away stood Conlin Murphy, thick-shouldered, bull-necked, bearded, square face dark. Three men flanked him, their silent, bearded faces a blank as they stared at Caleb.

  Murphy’s voice purred. “I thought you deserted, but there you are, right up front, like you was an officer.”

  O’Malley eyed the men next to Murphy. Dorman shifted his feet and flexed his hands. Caleb remained still, silent.

  “That German taught you good—up in front showin’ us, all your inferiors, how to drill.”

  Caleb spoke quietly. “I don’t want trouble.”

  Murphy’s face became ugly. “Trouble? No trouble. Just a lesson to teach you that you got no cause to be lookin’ down on us.”

  Men walking past slowed and stopped. A crowd began to gather.

  “I’m leaving, Murphy. I’m walking away.”

  “Not for a minute. Won’t take long.”

  Those nearest heard the words and drew back to form a loose circle. The three men with Murphy spread out, facing Caleb.