And the Indians did theirs.
We did not expect this help. But during the winter, when our troops were at their neediest, some Oneida Indians walked hundreds of miles from the north, bringing with them six hundred bushels of corn. Our men were so starved they wanted to eat it raw, but the Indians intervened—knowing the raw corn would swell in their stomachs and kill them—and showed them how to cook it. And eat gradually. One Oneida woman, Polly Cooper, stayed behind to help the sick soldiers and teach them how to cook the corn.
I was so moved by their help that I gave Polly a bonnet and a shawl. A poor trade on her part; but I needed to do something. Women are not so very different, no matter what their background.
Another to do their part was France. In April, young Lafayette returned from France in time to hear good news: our two countries had signed an agreement to be allies. Lafayette—in his demonstrative and dramatic way—responded by taking George by the arms and kissing both cheeks. The men cheered and soon the entire camp was awash in celebration. I spotted George playing hoops with some of the camp children, smiling as I rarely saw him smile.
At the end of the day George made a speech from his heart. “It having pleased the Almighty Ruler of the Universe to defend the Cause of the United American States 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.
“Tomorrow, I declare an official day of public celebration beginning with morning religious services, followed by parades, marching, and the glad firings of cannon and musketry. When all is done, I will host a grand banquet and we will toast our country and the good king of all France.”
Hurrah for King Louis! Hurrah for our United States! And thank God for both.
*****
A sentry burst into headquarters. “They are leaving!”
I was in the dining room mending shirts, and ran out to hear the rest of it. George and some of his officers came out of his office. “Explain yourself, Corporal.”
The man saluted, then put a hand to his chest as he gained his breath. “The British are leaving Philadelphia and heading toward New York! I saw rows of soldiers, and wagons upon wagons of supplies and civilians going with them.”
We all looked to George for his reaction. “It appears they do not appreciate our alliance with France. ’Tis certain news has come to them as it came to us.”
“’Tis a new general in charge, sir. News is Howe went back to England. ’Tis Clinton who is retreating.”
“Not without us upon their backs,” George said.
“We are going to chase them?”
“We have not sat here for nine months to let them go with our blessing.”
The men returned to his office to make plans, their voices rising with excitement.
I left my sewing behind and went upstairs.
The waiting was over. The war would begin again.
It was time I went home.
*****
It was midsummer, and I was home. Each return was a blessing and a burden. For after being gone for five months, ’twas like starting all over. Everything, from house to chores to manners, had to be created afresh.
Jacky, Eleanor, and my granddaughters were my chief joy. I always did best with children about me. But Eleanor was skittish and needed attending to nearly as much as the girls. I was not certain why until one day I caught her in the breezeway that connected the kitchen to the house. She was not on any errand but was holding on to a column, peering at the Potomac beyond.
“Is something bothering you, dear?”
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded toward the river. “They could come get us.”
Ah. They. The British.
“They have before.”
Yes, indeed. Years before, Lord Dunmore had sailed warships up the river to kidnap me. “A storm turned them away. The warships did not come.”
“We cannot depend upon such a storm in July.” She turned her back upon the river to face me. Her brow was wet with perspiration—from the heat or concern? “Jack said there were two failed kidnappings during your trips north.”
“Failed, Eleanor. Failed. And I was never aware of them until after the fact.”
“I do not know why you keep going back.”
“I go where I am needed.”
“We need you here.”
“Needed most,” I said. I put my arm around her and led her toward the house. “We cannot dwell on such things lest we spend our days locked in a closet.”
“But they might—”
“They might. And if they do, we will conduct ourselves with calm, bravery, and common sense.”
“You have those qualities. I am afraid I do not.”
“You may surprise yourself, my dear.”
But in truth, I prayed she would never be faced with such a prospect. I too was afraid she would not fare well.
*****
Unwittingly, the war taught me geography. Monmouth, New Jersey, was the newest addition to my knowledge. I sat upon the lawn of Mount Vernon, on a blanket spread with dollies and blocks. My little darlings played nearby: Betsy was just two and full of the vim and vigour of her father as she ran and fell, laughed, and stood up only to do it again. And sweet Patty, at nine months, crawled from blanket to grass and back again to push herself up upon my lap.
“No, no,” I said to Patty, “we do not eat leaves.”
The child did not listen to me but made her own decision that leaves were not tasty and, making a disturbing face, spit them out. In this way, she too was like her father, who preferred to learn things the hard way.
With the girls content, I was allowed a moment to read a letter I had received from George—actually, read it again, for away from his presence, I loved to hear his voice through his words upon the page. Especially good news.
Monmouth turned out to be a glorious and happy day. Without exaggerating, the trip of the British through the Jerseys in killed, wounded, prisoners, and deserters, has cost them at least 2,000 men—and of their best troops. We have 60 men killed, 132 wounded, and about 130 missing, some of whom I supposed may yet come in. Our enemy lost near 500 to desertion—most of those Hessians who became overcome by the scalding heat and damp. ’Twas not an easy battle, more due to the disloyalty of my own officers. General Lee was given orders to attack their flank, but upon riding up to help him, I found his troops retreating and in great confusion. They had not e’en fired a shot—and they wished to fight, but had been told to retreat because Lee did not think they were up to battle against British regulars.
You know I do not swear, Martha, but with the sight of Lee’s cowardice, I did more than my share. I sent Lee to the back and took command myself, riding up and back among them, encouraging them into battle. The men rallied at my instruction—and were eager to do so—and performed with great distinction.
You will share my joy in knowing that young Laurens, Hamilton, and Lafayette distinguished themselves in a frenzy of valor. The first two had their horses shot from beneath them, but carried on just the same.
I was never so proud of the men. It seems all the hardships of the long winter did not break their spirit, but made them all the more determined. And though the British denied us a final glorious battle by sneaking away to safety in the dead of night, I feel as though I am finally being the leader I should be. The world may not remember Monmouth, but I, for one, will ne’er forget it.
You will also be pleased to note that Congress has seen fit to reward me with powers beyond those I have held as yet. I am now to superintend and direct the military operations in all the departments in these states. With reluctance—for the words ar
e too glowing—I will quote for you from Henry Laurens, John’s father and the president of Congress: ‘Love and respect for Your Excellency is impressed on the heart of every grateful American, and your name will be revered by posterity.’ To be on the verge of removal and now receive such notations . . .
I carry no reward other than the new ability to get done that which needs to be done in—hopefully—a more expeditious manner. I pray you and our family are safe and in each other’s happy company.
Yours always, my dearest,
George
Yours always, my dearest . . .
Reading such a letter, sitting upon the lawn with my granddaughters nearby, amid the haven of our home at Mount Vernon, I was a woman greatly blessed.
With the British having retreated to New York . . . perhaps this would all be over soon and George could join in our blessings. Perhaps.
*****
“But, Mother, I do not want to own that land anymore. It contains an insufferable quantity of mosquitoes, and running it . . .” Jacky shrugged.
We sat in the west parlour waiting for Eleanor to bring the children down to say their good-nights. I was glad it was I alone who witnessed my son’s shrug.
I hated to admit as much, but I knew Jacky was not keen on running any plantation. Although he had proven himself to be a loving husband and father—he was to be a father again in the spring—he had not completely lost his wild ways. It seemed being elected a Burgess had gone to his head and he preferred spending his free time in society, or playing cards and gambling.
I adjusted a stocking on the darning ball. “Your poppa bought you that plantation with your inheritance money, invested in it for its fine value, but also with hopes that one day you and Eleanor would live there.”
“But I am not good at dealing with overseers and slaves like Poppa is. I am not keen on business and find the act of selling crops most demeaning.”
I took offense. “You consider what your poppa does with the greatest skill demeaning?”
Thankfully, he reddened. “Demeaning to me, Mamma. Because I am not good at it and do not know the price I should get, nor how to get it.”
“Those are skills you can learn, that every landowner must learn.”
To my dismay he shrugged again. Although my son—as the sole heir to my first husband’s fortune—did not need to concern himself with money, I was distressed at his penchant for inaction and the pursuit of pleasure.
“I wish to sell the land, Mamma.”
I shook my head with vehemence. “Now is not the time to sell anything for cash, Jacky. Land for land. Your poppa has given you such advice himself. In the course of the last two years, with our currency losing value at an alarming rate, a pound may not, in the space of two years more, be worth a shilling.”
“Which means now is the time to gain the cash, before it is worthless.”
“You are not thinking. If you gain cash, it will only have worth if you spend it immed—” I stopped myself. Oh dear. I knew too well Jacky would have no trouble spending an immense amount with great proclivity. Even the fact goods were in short supply would not stop him.
I spotted a twinkle in his eye. He rose from his chair. “I am going to see to the girls.”
And make your escape.
I looked at the door after he left. To have regrets as a parent was near as painful as grief. Perhaps it was another kind of grief—grief for what could have been in the present if I had been a different sort of mother. Sterner. Less indulgent.
I turned back to the darning but was interrupted by the memory of George’s oft-heard admonition: Martha, you spoil the boy!
I had. Unequivocally. And worse, had chosen to do so in spite of all better advice.
To what end?
To this end. To the creation of a boy—a man—who had little interest in hard work and industry. A man who preferred instant pleasures to lasting satisfactions.
I stared out the window but only saw my reflection in the glass dividing the candlelit room from the darkness.
My brow was furrowed.
As it should have been. Regret and self-admonishment were serious business.
*****
Jacky sold his land for cash, yet did buy a property for himself and his family. It was nine hundred acres of land near Alexandria. It was called Abingdon and was situated on the west bank of the Potomac. It was once owned by the Alexander family, for whom Alexandria was named. Its position equidistant between Mount Vernon and Mount Airy gave the satisfaction Jacky had at least used logic in the purchase.
And it was logical they moved to their own home. They had been married four and a half years and would soon have three children. Although I grieved their departure from Mount Vernon, I applauded this step of independence.
And prayed it would not end in disaster.
*****
If I were a jealous woman . . .
I watched as George bowed and parried with Kitty Greene as his partner. Kitty—friend though she was—was a terrible flirt. And a dancer equal to my George.
Although I had not danced in public in years, George thrived on it, and it gave me great joy in seeing him so joyful.
Of course, on this night, joy was present all around. I had joined George in Middlebrook, New Jersey, and times were quiet as the British moved south with their efforts. Sadly, Savannah, Georgia, had been taken, but up in the north, things were relatively quiet. I was informed I now had my own regiment: the Lady Washington Dragoons, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Baylor. I was honoured beyond words.
I was also relieved at the scarcity of danger, for its release allowed many more wives to come to winter camp—and bring their children. Before this year it was a hard decision for women to choose between supporting their husband in camp or taking care of their children back home. In this year, in this place, the decision could be inclusive.
Tonight we celebrated many blessings and came together to honour each other, and our Cause. It was February 18, 1779, and we observed the one-year anniversary of our alliance with France. General Knox and his artillery company were the hosts, and we were all dressed in our finest or as fine as we could muster considering the times. Seventy women and three hundred men were present. Knox’s wife, Lucy, had taken the honour of the first minuet with my husband. My, my, she had gotten stout indeed. I, who struggled with plumpness my entire life, found a bit of satisfaction in seeing someone more rotund than myself. By many degrees.
I should not have thought such things, but from the sidelines I had time to discern and discuss those who partook of the gaiety in full view.
There was Esther Reed, the wife of the new Pennsylvania governor. British born and bred, she was now a patriot through and through. I heard she had suffered many hardships during the war, once escaping the British with her three small children and ailing mother, driven in a wagon by a young boy of fourteen. The lot of them chose the danger of the western Indian wilderness to the brutality of the British soldiers, who, so far from the morals of home, often acted in a way most vile and horrid. I admired her greatly.
I waved at Mrs. Ford, whose husband had died at Morristown. That she would be here to celebrate with us . . . her perseverance and dedication pleased everyone who met her.
And then my eyes returned to my husband—and to Kitty, his affable partner in dance. Although she was four-and-twenty and the mother of three children, she could have been considered the belle of the ball.
The present dance ended and the partners bowed to each other. Kitty tugged at my husband’s sleeve and said to the assemblage, “I make a wager I can dance longer than any man here, and that includes you, General.”
With a wink to me and a bow to her, George said, “I will take that wager.”
After quitting at but three hours, Kitty lost the wager—for she did not
know my husband.
That was only my pleasure.
*****
On March 21, 1779, Eleanor delivered another daughter, Eleanor Parke Custis—called Nelly. The child was born at Abingdon. I hoped she would cement the feeling of security and family I wished my son to embrace.
That Eleanor was not doing well in her recovery . . .
I was a torn woman, wishing to be with my husband in New Jersey, my son and grandchildren in Maryland, and home at Mount Vernon.
If only I could be two places at once.
Or three.
Fourteen
Although each winter camp was different in its own right, all shared bad weather, worry, and waiting.
The second time I was in Morristown over the winter of 1779 to 1780 was worse than the first. The winter was frigid to the point that the water surrounding New York City was frozen for the first time in the colony’s history. Chesapeake Bay suffered a similar fate, all the way south to the Potomac. The snow was relentless, with drifts higher than common memory. In hindsight, many looked fondly upon Valley Forge.
We lived in a nice house supplied to us by a widow, Mrs. Ford, who insisted on moving herself and her children into the parlour, leaving us the rest of the house for our lodging and army headquarters. Again, George took for himself one bedroom above and one office on the main floor. The Ford home was rare in that it had an attached kitchen along the back third of the house, but even that was oft full of aides using the tables for work.
Though we were amply housed, our thoughts were never allowed to wallow in the warmth. Not with our men suffering nearby. They sometimes went five or six days without bread or meat, and sometimes two or three days without either. They ate every kind of horse food but hay. Townspeople were fed up with us, wanting more, more, more from them. And some soldiers had taken to sneaking out at night and stealing what they could. George, of course, frowned on this, but did little to stop it. ’Twas not for material gain these men stole but to survive. The army was not supplying their needs. The entire nation was paralyzed by the freeze. In January, drifts were ten feet high. Few supplies could get anywhere. If there were supplies to be had. Or money to pay for them. It did not help that the British counterfeited our colonial script.
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