For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

  CHAPTER XX

  _A Winter Camp_

  About half after one o'clock in the afternoon of Wednesday, December25th, being Christmas day, and very cold, four tired horsemen, on jadedsteeds, rode up to a plain stone farmhouse standing at the junction oftwo common country roads, both of which led to the Delaware River, amile or so away. In the clearing back of the house a few wretchedtents indicated a bivouac. Some shivering horses were picketed under arude shelter, formed by interlacing branches between the trunks of alittle grove of thickly growing trees which had been left standing as awind-break. Bright fires blazed in front of the tents, and the men whooccupied them were enjoying an unusually hearty meal. The fadeduniforms of the men were tattered and torn; some of the soldiers werealmost barefoot, wearing wretched apologies for shoes, which had beensupplemented when practicable by bits of cloth tied about the soles ofthe feet. The men themselves were gaunt and haggard. Privation,exposure, and hard fighting had left a bitter mark upon them. Hungerand cold and wounds had wrestled with them, and they bore the indelibleimprint of the awful conflict upon their faces. It was greatly totheir credit that, like their leader, they had not yet despaired. Amovement of some sort was evidently in preparation; arms were beinglooked to carefully, haversacks and pockets were being filled with therude fare of which they had been thankful to partake as a Christmasdinner; ammunition was being prepared for transportation; those who hadthem were wrapping the remains of tattered blankets about them, underthe straps of their guns or other equipments; and the fortunatepossessors of the ragged adjuncts to shoes were putting final touchesto them, with a futile hope that they would last beyond the first mileor two of the march; others were saddling and rubbing down the horses.

  A welcome contribution had been made to their fare in a huge steamingbowl of hot punch, which had been sent from the farmhouse, and of whichthey had eagerly partaken.

  "What's up now, I wonder?" said one ragged veteran to another.

  "Don't know--don't care--couldn't anything be worse than this," was thereply.

  "We 've marched and fought and got beaten, and marched and fought andgot beaten again, and retreated and retreated until there is nothingleft of us. Look at us," he continued, "half naked, half starved, andwe 're the best of the lot, the select force, the picked men, thehead-quarters guard!" he went on in bitter sarcasm.

  "Yes, that 's so," replied the other, laughing; then, sadly, "Thosepoor fellows by the river are worse off than we are, though. Whatwould n't they give for some of that punch? My soul, wasn't it good!"he continued, smacking his lips in recollection.

  "Where are we going, sergeant?" asked another.

  "Don't know; the command is, 'Three days' rations and light marchingorder.'"

  "Well, we're all of the last, anyway. Look at me! No stockings,leggings torn, no shirt; and you'd scarcely call this thing on my backa coat, would you? What could be lighter? So comfortable, too, inthis pleasant summer weather!"

  "Oh, shut up, old man; you 're better off than I am, anyway; you've gotrags to help your shoes out, and just look at mine," said another,sticking out a gaunt leg with a tattered shoe on the foot, every toe ofwhich was plainly visible through the torn and worn openings. "Andjust look at this," he went on, bringing his foot down hard on thesnow-covered, frost-bound soil, making an imprint which was edged withblood from his wounded, bruised, unprotected feet. "That's mysign-manual; and it 's not hard to duplicate in the army yonder,either."

  "That's true; and to think that the cause of liberty's got down so lowthat we are its only dependence. And they call us the grand army!"

  "Well, as you say," went on another, recklessly, "we can't get intoanything worse, so hurrah for the next move, say I."

  "Three days' rations and light marching order, meaning, I suppose, thatwe are to leave our heavy overcoats and blankets and foot stoves andsuch other luxuries behind; that rather indicates that we are going todo something besides retreat; and I should like to get a whack at thosemercenary Dutchmen before I freeze or starve," was the reply.

  "Bully for you!"

  "I'm with you, old man."

  "I, too."

  "And I," came from the group of undaunted men surrounding the speaker.

  "And to think," said another, "of its being Christmas day, and allthose little children at home--oh, well," turning away and wiping hiseyes, "marching and fighting may make us forget, boys. I wouldn't mindsuffering for liberty, if we could only do something, have something toshow for it but a bloody trail and a story of defeat. I 'm tired ofit," he continued desperately. "I 'd fight the whole British army ifthey would only let me get a chance at them."

  "We're all with you there, man, and I guess this time we get a chance,"replied one of the speakers, amid a chorus of approval which showed thespirit of the men.

  While the men were talking among themselves thus, the four riders onthe tired horses had ridden up to the farmhouse. A soldier dressed nobetter than the rest stood before the door.

  "Halt! Who are you?" he cried, presenting his musket.

  "Friends. Officers from Philadelphia, with messages for hisexcellency," replied the foremost. "Don't you recognize me, my man?"

  "Why, it's Lieutenant Talbot! Pass in, sir, and these other gentlemenwith you," answered the soldier, saluting. "It's glad the general willbe to see you."

  Without further preliminaries the young man opened the door andentered, followed by his three companions. A cheerful fire of logs wasblazing and crackling in the wide fireplace in the long low room. Onthe table before it stood a great bowl of steaming punch, and severalofficers were sitting or standing about the room in various positions.The uniforms of all save that of one of them were scarcely less wornand faded, if not quite so tattered, than were those of the escort; thesame grim enemies had left the same grim marks upon them as upon thesoldiers. The only well-dressed person in the room was a bright-eyedyoung man, a mere boy, just nineteen, wearing the brilliant uniform ofan officer of the French army. He was tall and thin, red-haired, witha long nose and retreating forehead; his bright eyes and animatedmanner expressed the interest he felt in a conversation carried on inthe French language with his nearest neighbor, another young manscarcely a year his senior. The contrast between the new and gayFrench uniform of the one and the faded Continental dress of the otherwas not less startling than that suggested by the difference in theirsize. The American officer was a small, a very small man; but, inspite of his insignificant stature, the whole impression of the man wasstriking, and even imposing. In contrast to the other, his face wasvery handsome, the head finely shaped, the features clear-cut andregular; he had a decisive mouth, bespeaking resolution and firmness,and two piercing eyes out of which looked a will as hard and imperiousas ever dwelt in mortal man.

  In front of the fire were two older men, each in the uniform of ageneral officer, one of thirty-five or six years of age, the otherperhaps ten years older. The younger of the two, a full-faced,intelligent, active, commanding sort of man, whose appearance indicatedconfidence in himself, and the light of whose alert blue eyes told ofdashing brilliancy in action and prompt decision in perilous moments,which made him one of those who succeed, would have been more noticedhad not his personality been so overshadowed by that of the officer whowas speaking to him. The latter was possessed of a figure so tall thatit dwarfed every other in the room: he was massively moulded, but wellproportioned, with enormous hands and feet, and long, powerful limbs,which indicated great physical force, and having withal an erect andnoble carriage, easy and graceful in appearance, which would haveimmediately attracted attention anywhere, even if his face had not beenmore striking than his figure. He had a most noble head, wellproportioned, and set upon a beautiful neck, with the brow broad andhigh, the nose large and strong and slightly aquiline; his large mouth,even in repose, was set in a firm, tense, straight line, with the lipsso tightly closed from the pressure of the massive jaws as to presentan appearance almost painful, the expression of it bespea
kingindomitable resolution and unbending determination; his eyes were agrayish blue, steel-colored in fact, set wide apart, and deep in theirsockets under heavy eyebrows. He wore his plentiful chestnut hairbrushed back from his forehead, and tied with a black ribbon in a queuewithout powder, as was the custom in the army at this juncture,--afashion of necessity, by the way; and his ruddy face was burned by sunand wind and exposure, and slightly, though not unpleasantly, markedwith the smallpox.

  There was in his whole aspect evidence of such strength and force andpower, such human passion kept in control by relentless will, suchattributes of command, that none looked upon him without awe; and theidlest jester, the lowest and most insubordinate soldier, subsided intosilence before that noble personality, realizing the ineffable dignityof the man. The grandeur of that cause which perhaps even he scarcelyrealized while he sustained it, looked out from his solemn eyes and wasseen in the gravity of his bearing. His was the battle of the peopleof the future, and God had marked him deeply for His own. And yet itwas a human man, too, and none of the immortal gods standing there. Onoccasion his laugh rang as loudly, or his heart beat as quickly as thatof the most careless boy among his soldiers. He was fond of the goodthings of life too,--loving good wine, fair women, a well-told story, agood jest, pleasant society, and delighting in struggle and contest aswell. He preserved habitually the just balance of his strong nature bythe exercise of an unusual self-control, and he rarely allowed himselfto step beyond that mean of true propriety, so well called the happy,except at long intervals through a violent outbreak of his passionatetemper, rendered more terrible and blasting from its very infrequency.And this was the man upon whom was laid the burden of the war of theRevolution, and to whom, under God, were due the mighty results of thatepoch-making contest. Seldom, if ever, do we see men of such rarequalities that when they leave their appointed places no other can befound to fill them; but if such a one ever did live, this was he.