Embrace of the Enemy (Winds of Betrayal)

by Jerri Hines

  Thomas Paine, who authored Common Sense, had arrived not long ago having written another essay giving heart to all and reminding them of the faith within the cause. Jonathan needed reminding and had a copy in his coat pocket with him.

  These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis shrink from the service of his country, but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of men and women. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the easy triumph.

  His soul was tried and tired. He hadn't seen Gabriel since the fight and didn't care if he ever saw him again, not if Gabriel valued his life. Jonathan didn't ask, but sensed he was no longer in camp. Still, he had no news on Hannah. Lydia wrote. She, too, seemed deeply concerned with their sister.

  Word came of General Charles Lee's capture by the British at Basking Ridge. Lee, himself a former British officer, now served as second in command of the American army, but from what Jonathan gathered his capture could be a source of relief for General Washington. Lee clashed with the General time and time again.

  Christmas was upon them once more. Last year at this time he had been in Montreal. As then, most of the enlistments of the men would end on December 31, and again it was deemed a pressing issue. Rumors abounded about a possible attack along the lines of posts across New Jersey, which most considered doubtful to make such an attempt in this harsh winter weather.

  Jonathan tucked his letters away. He had been summoned to General Washington’s quarters. He assumed to make a report on the conditions of the troops. The wind blew the frigid air around him. His feet lost footing on the slick ice cover beneath him. He caught himself before he fell. Three officers emerged from headquarters, saluted Jonathan and passed him by.

  Admitted with ease, Jonathan stood before a table with an impressive number of men including General Washington looking over a map. A rather large young man broke away from the map. Jonathan recognized him as Colonel Henry Knox. He may have weighed well over three hundred pounds, but Jonathan knew well his successful feats.

  “Have a seat for a moment, Dr. Corbett,” Colonel Knox said. Colonel Samuel Glover looked up and gave Jonathan a small smile. Over the months, the two had formed a firm friendship.

  Colonel Glover tarried from Marblehead, Massachusetts. Glover and his brigade of men, no more than seven hundred and fifty, had been posted to the east of Manhattan Island as one of the screening units to protect a flank attack by the British while Washington withdrew the troops.

  Positioned at Pell's Point in Pelham Bay, a narrow road running into the American rear, Glover was shocked when out of a spyglass he saw a small fleet of British ships were out in the water. Glover told Jonathan he had no idea how to stop the over four thousand British which landed.

  “I would have given a thousand worlds to have had hold of Lee, or some experienced officer present, to give me some sort of direction as what to do, to approve of what I had to do,” Glover said.

  The wandering lane flanked on either side by stone walls with yet more stone walls in the fields alongside. Glover hid his men behind these fortifications, instructing each regiment to hold the enemy in check as long as possible and then fall back to a new position in the rear.

  Time and time again the British thought they had the Americans on the run. Then the loud cheers, heedlessly raced forward only to run into the hidden Americans. The units would pop up as if out of the earth, and let loose. Before the days ended the Americans had successfully delayed the British, and Washington had the time to form a line of redoubts behind the Bronx River, which allowed the Americans to retreat. Probably the only promise that came on that day, Jonathan thought.

  “When General?” one asked. His head down seemingly reasoning the plan studied the map.

  “We've already begun with the preparations,” Knox yelled across the table. “We're giving out the troops three days rations with forty rounds of ammunition.”

  “The plan is daring, General, but we still have numerous obstacles to overcome. One above the weather. Would it not seem advisable to wait until the latest cold spell,” one voice in the midst of the group said.

  From his vantage point, Jonathan couldn't see who spoke, but his eyes fell upon Washington. The towering general who in the lantern light reflected his pox scars he had incurred in his younger days had endured much criticism as of late. His shoulders waned with the weight of the world upon them.

  “General Ewing, I respectfully agree, but in the next two days we'll have to eliminate those issues,” General Washington responded. He sighed. “Look, gentlemen, our backs are up against a wall here. We have no choice but to act to keep the fires of the Revolution fire burning. We have to aggressively attack these issues to accomplish our goal. I want a hard fast plan.”

  “General, I feel we need to address the crossing. We have a significant amount of solders, artillery to cross. To succeed as we should we need to secure enough weather bound boats,” Knox added. Washington rubbed his forehead.

  “If it needs to be done, General, my Marblehead men will do what is necessary, I can assure you. We might not be familiar with these Durham boats, but I have unquestioned faith in my men. If you need it done, sir, it will be one less worry for you,” Colonel Glover said sincerely. Washington nodded solemnly.

  “That is good, for we have much to address. I have thought about the plan,” Washington pointed to the map. “A three pronged attack upon Trenton. My troops with be center. Cadwalder will cross at Dunk's Ferry to engage at Mount Holly. With Ewing crossing at Trenton Ferry to prevent escape in the Hessian force in Trenton. Any thoughts?”

  Washington glanced around. His eyes fell upon Jonathan. “I'm sorry, Dr. Corbett. I forgot I called for you.”

  “I'm quite all right, General. I assumed you would come around to me,” Jonathan replied.

  “Doctor, your appearance here at this moment concerns the condition of my troops. I need to know before we proceed that the army can venture in these conditions and endure?”

  “I'll be honest, General, for that is all I can be. You have been aware of the critical health concern of a majority of the army not long back. We have over a fourth of the soldiers declared unfit for duty. These living conditions have been harsh with retreating in the manner we have had to and losing some our supplies,” Jonathan said firmly. He swallowed, finding his throat dry. “But morale over the last few days has seemed to increase. Even in this weather, they seemed to find life here a little more tolerant. It's my opinion they'll be as ready. I only ask one favor, sir.”

  “What would that be, Doctor?”

  “Even though I'm aware of our sick and wounded enough to bide my time, I would like to be the one to go with the troops, sir,” Jonathan looked the General in the eyes, not blinking. His own emotions ran deep with a desire for this campaign to be successful.

  “You can accompany my troops, Doctor, if you wish,” Washington nodded. With that Jonathan was dismissed, readying once more for battle, men and weather.

  * * * *

  Jonathan readied with the troops to cross the Delaware River in the midst of a snow storm at the ferry landing. His mind determined, although his body cried out. Strong winds with hail and sleet greeted the detachment. The troops assembled in late afternoon on Christmas Day, but didn't load onto the boats until night fell.

  Through the hail and sleet, the call came out throughout the ranks. The password given, Victory or Death. Jonathan’s stomach churned during the grueling voyage over the rough waters filled with ice floes, but he drew upon his faith. His faith in a cause and General Washington for he saw within the man his desperate attempt to regain footing in this war for independence. He eyed his companions. They prepared for battle sailing across to the banks of the Delaware where the dreaded Hessians awaited them.

  Washington's plan called for all to cross before midnight, but Jonathan realized upon exiting the boat
that the time had drawn well past. Jonathan broke with Washington's column following Pennington Road. As was his custom, he followed at the rear to address the wounded.

  Visibility was at best a white haze. A winter storm covered the offensive with its snow, mist and low clouds. Jonathan didn't think he felt his feet they were so cold. He couldn't gain a clear picture of the battle, but he had confidence in the leaders he followed. Captain William Washington and Lieutenant James Monroe’s mission had been designated to capture the Hessian three-pound guns. In the distance, Jonathan heard clangs of swords and bayonets. Confusion reigned among the Hessian. The crackle of musket fire raked the road from the right. Then it trickled off.

  A cry rang out for Jonathan to respond. “The Lieutenant's been wounded bad!”

  Jonathan slipped on the slick footing, but regained it once more following the sound of someone calling his name. The young lieutenant lay out agonizing in pain. Yet the commander still shouted out his orders. Jonathan crouched over holding tightly to Lieutenant Monroe. The wounded’s face writhed with pain. Blood spurted forth from his shoulder where he had been shot.

  “Hold still,” Jonathan ordered. He hastily examined the opening. His fingers explored the area. Jonathan tied off the wound. Monroe grimaced, but said nothing. In the mist, moaning and crying encompassed Jonathan. Suddenly a hand tapped his shoulder as he finished tying the knot.

  Jonathan turned at face an enlisted man. “Dr. Corbett? How's the Lieutenant? Captain Washington wants a report.”

  “I believe I have sufficiently stopped the bleeding, but we'll stay behind the line,” Jonathan gave one more tug.

  “I can return,” Monroe responded.

  Jonathan shook his head. “Not unless you want to bleed to death. You need to step back. You're not able to go on without reopening the wound and will bleed to death if you try. Do you understand? That's an order,” Jonathan said firmly, worried also he might go into shock with the loss of blood.

  The soldier hesitated. He looked back over at Jonathan.

  “Doctor, do you think I could stay with the Lieutenant myself?”

  Jonathan looked questionably at the young man for doctors in the usual manner stayed back away from the battle. “Why, soldier?”

  “Sir, it's the Captain. His hands. He won't let me attend to him. You might be able. Would you forge ahead to the Captain?”

  Jonathan pulled himself back onto his feet without delay. “Don't leave the Lieutenant, soldier. Find me if his condition changes.”

  Within the morning light, Jonathan labored toward the area the soldier pointed out to him. Finding Captain William Washington was met with only the utmost difficulty since he was directing a charge. Both of his hands bleeding profusely cut severely from staying a sword blow.

  “You can deal with me momentarily, Doctor. We need to push,” the Captain began after Jonathan informed him of Monroe's condition. Jonathan shook his head.

  “I have not ventured so far to watch you, Captain. Give me but two minutes to bandage, no more,” Jonathan promised. True to his word, the Captain was only briefly detained.

  Jonathan glanced up just to see the Hessian's strike their colors and surrender. The trap had been sprung, taking the Hessian's commander, Colonel Johann Rall completely by surprise. The battle had been a complete success, over quickly, just before the dawn.

  * * * *

  Jonathan found that the Patriots had lost only two soldiers, having frozen along the line of the march itself, but the Hessians had been hit hard. Hastily Jonathan erected a hospital in a church with the wounded lying upon pews. He had little knowledge of the German language which made his work even more difficult. The steps covered with the wounded blood. Cries in German, the sight before him of the bodies momentarily brought Jonathan to a standstill. He counted more than a hundred dead or wounded.

  His concentration turned toward one carried in by a couple of Continentals. From the wounded attire Jonathan surmised he was the commander. A distinct smell of drink illuminated from the wounded.

  “Colonel Rall, Doctor. Hurt badly. General Washington wanted you to look after him.”

  Jonathan nodded. In that he would have to agree. Blood soaked with a bullet to the midsection, a pale solemn look descended on the wounded face. He spoke, but no one could understand any word he uttered.

  “Get someone in here who understands what he's saying,” Jonathan yelled, impatiently to a small stocky soldier next to him. “Now!”

  The next time Jonathan looked up, General Washington stood beside him.

  “Doctor, Colonel Rall's condition?” he asked bluntly, obviously tired and weary, but with an air of conviction surrounding him.

  “General, he has many wounds. I'm afraid a fatal one. One shot to where the bullet can't be removed. I believe he has massive internal bleeding and to save his life is next to impossible. I have given him an opium tincture. That's all I can do,” Jonathan wiped his brow with his bloody sleeve.

  General Washington nodded and turned to the one behind him. “Move him back to the Pott's house, his headquarters. Get a translator for him. See if he wants to write anyone.”

  The officer quickly obeyed. Washington clasped his hand down upon Jonathan's shoulder. “Good work, Doctor. I heard of your work upon two of my officers.”

  Jonathan acknowledged the General, but there was much work to accomplish before they made their hasty departure. The victorious army couldn't afford to stay in Trenton to celebrate the much needed victory.

  * * * *

  Jonathan walked out of the church. The day had been long. He rubbed the back of his neck.

  A voice rang out from a crowd, a familiar voice. “Jonathan. Jonathan.”

  Jonathan turned to Colonel Glover, who caught his breath. “The Virginians are marching the prisoners down to Philadelphia. You're ordered to accompany them.”

  Jonathan could've thrown his arms around his friend. No sweeter words to his ears could ever be heard. Morale among the troops rose rapidly; the brilliance of the victory apparent to all. Washington with all criticism of his leadership had turned the fortune of America. And Jonathan was to see his wife and child.

  * * * *

  Jonathan had departed from the field shortly after arriving in Philadelphia. The Virginian troops guarded the nine hundred prisoners in preparation of marching through the streets of Philadelphia. The thrill of victory hadn’t worn on the march, but Jonathan had only one objective in mind upon his entrance back into the city.

  “I’m supposed to relay that you’ll be contacted once you are home, not that I have the foggiest of what that means. I’m confident you do. I hope you find all is well,” Glover conveyed before leaving him with the Virginian division.

  With his remaining energy, Jonathan rushed toward the house he had left her in the months before. He yelled as loud as he could. “Catherine! Catherine!”

  Upon not being greeted at the front, he moved forward through the foyer. Filthy and tired, he shouted his wife’s name again.

  The parlor door partially opened as if someone was too frightened to greet him. Emerging nervously until she recognized him, Mrs. Mercer, the Gannon’s housekeeper, scuttled forward. “Oh, thank the good Lord. It is you, Dr. Corbett.”

  He stood motionless, certain something ominous had occurred to either his wife or child. “What’s the matter?”

  The old woman rambled nervously. “I have n’ver been happier to see one. Poor Miss Catherine is half out of her mind with fright these last few weeks, Dr. Corbett. With Mr. Gannon running away like he did. She’s scared they’re coming to get her.”

  “The baby?” Jonathan questioned immediately.

  The look upon her face changed and relief flooded his being.

  “Oh, the wee one. He’s a special one. He is, Dr. Corbett. Such a good little thing. Laughs! Susie has been looking after the poor mite. After what happened to Mr. Gannon, Miss Catherine….”

  Jonathan didn’t pause a moment but headed straight toward their
bedroom on the upper floor, bounding up the stairs, three at a time. At the hall’s end their door on the right was shut. His hand eased open the door handle.

  “Catherine,” he gentled his voice. The room seemed as night. The curtains hadn’t been pulled back to let the morning sun in. His eyes adjusted to the darkness to focus on a woman lying within the bed. He could hear muffled crying. He sat on the bed with all the delicacy he could muster so not to disturb her. He reached with his hand and touched her hair.

  “Catherine, look here. I’ve returned. It is Jonathan,” he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

  She slowly opened her eyes…her beautiful, lustrous eyes. Recognition came slowly as she sat up. Her hair flowing down disheveled. She blinked, “Jonathan?”

  She flung her arms around him. “Jonathan? I’m not dreaming?”

  “No, my love. I’m home for a short time,” he said and pulled her tightly into his arms. Rocking her as an infant, she clung tightly to him.

  “Don’t leave me, Jonathan. They’re going to get me. Jonathan, I have needed you for so long. I’ve been so alone,” she cried hysterically.

  He had never seen her so disturbed. He talked to her, smoothed her. Calming her, he looked down upon her face. What the hell had happened to his wife?

  * * * *

  “Jonathan, she hasn’t been right since the birth, especially after you left. Her father had been deeply concerned, for she hadn’t seemed interested in the welfare of William. Thomas brought in an excellent nurse, of course,” Dr. Jenkins said. He had come when he heard of Jonathan’s arrival. “She had been doing better. Joseph seemed to think almost back to her normal self, but when the arrest warrant for Joseph was executed she collapsed back into her own world. Stephen had helped, but he has had to handle all the problems his father left behind.”

  “Are we sure he had no involvement with his father’s actions?” Jonathan asked sitting behind Gannon’s old desk. “I, for one, wouldn’t trust him. How could he not have known? Suspected? He was close to his father. I might not have known everything, but I knew my father’s intentions.”