“Name and rank,” the orderly asked. He noted them down in the log, as Will flexed his fingers, stiff and frozen from hours of gripping the reins. They throbbed from being warmed too quickly.
“There are also letters addressed to the President of the Congress,” Will said, pointing to a packet, bound with string that Dr. Rush had given him. The orderly placed them aside and handed Will the quill. It felt awkward in his hand and for a moment, he thought he would not be able to grasp it properly, the circulation not having fully returned to his fingers. He initialed the entry, leaving a smudge of dirt and blood from his split fingers on the page.
After unsaddling Big Red and leaving him in an empty stall in the barn, Will walked through the tamped down snow to his Regiment’s line of huts. He was puzzled that there were only a few horses in the barn. Not that many could have died since he left for Princeton, he thought. He would have to see about oats and forage in the morning. He had already searched the barn and found nothing. Like so many other nights at Valley Forge, he and Big Red would go to sleep without.
His hut was deserted, cold and dank. He discovered a few midsized branches and logs and was able to start a flicker of fire using his flint to ignite the kindling. As the flames licked at the branches and then the bark of the logs caught fire, he warmed his hands, took off his boots and squatting on a roughly hewn stool, wriggled his stocking toes close to the fireplace. In the firelight, he noted the two pallets looked as unused as his was. He hoped the two others had not been taken sick and carried to one of the sheds that served as hospitals in Valley Forge. He would inquire tomorrow. He curled up in a ball close to the fire, with his wool scarf wrapped around his ears and his jacket collar high on his neck and exhausted fell asleep.
“Will. Will Stoner. Are you there?” The pounding of a fist on the wooden door awoke him. Stiffly, he arose, thinking the voice sounded familiar but, still groggy from his deep sleep, was unable to recognize it. He threw the wooden plank that barred the door from the inside and saw Billy Knox framed against the bright morning sky.
“Ah. It is so good to see you,” Billy said, slightly out of breath. “This morning, at the Officers council, my brother heard you had delivered dispatches and sent me immediately to find you.” He took Will by the arm. “Come with me to our quarters. You can wash there and have a better breakfast than fire cakes.”
As they walked up the Valley Road, Billy told him General Knox had been extremely troubled by information warning of an enemy cavalry raid on the hospital at Princeton to capture two prominent patriots. He had feared for Will’s safety. Captain Lee had dispatched a squadron, on General Washington’s orders, and the account of the skirmish, in one of the letters Will had brought, was the first news they had. “Still, it did not answer whether you were safe or not and my brother sent me on the run to fetch you.”
Will told him of the little of the action he had seen, waiting at a window defending the hospital but not firing a shot as Lee’s troopers engaged the British Dragoons and chased them down the highway. He mentioned the burial detail the following morning but omitted telling of the British dead being stripped and their clothing given to the patients in the hospital, lying on their filthy straw, shivering under threadbare blankets. Some particulars were best left unsaid.
“There is not much for me to add other than Captain Hadley will be arriving in Valley Forge, along with his new bride.”
“She will have much distinguished company,” Billy responded. “General Greene’s wife has been here since late January, and Mrs. Washington arrived by carriage the day after you left, sore and tired from her journey. However, our Commander is all the more in better spirits for her presence. And my brother received a letter from Mrs. Knox that she is leaving Boston and is on her way together with little Lucy to join us here.” 1
The building that Knox had chosen for his quarters, just across the junction with Yellow Springs Road, seemed to Will larger than General Washington’s and solidly built. Billy directed him to their right, through the dining room and into the service quarters. Despite his hunger, Will stripped down to his breeches in the kitchen and washed his face and arms in warm water heated in pots in the wide fireplace, combed his hair, and did his best to make himself presentable. Billy joined him in the kitchen for a meager breakfast of bread and hot corn mush. Will wolfed it down and gratefully acknowledged another bowl placed before him by the female cook. He was thinking of Adam’s professed love for Sarah and half heard Billy talking about food, a subject he always found unpleasant to dwell on. It only increased one’s awareness of the lack of it.
“You will be joining the others from the Regiment west of York. I am told there is a surfeit of good beef, bread and even cheeses,” Billy said.
“Why is the Regiment there?” Will asked, thinking this explained the emptiness in the barn and the officers gone from his hut.
“My brother petitioned General Washington for permission to move most of the artillery from Valley Forge. We are losing so many horses to starvation, there will be none left to haul cannons for the spring campaign.” 2 Will finished mopping his bowl with the last crust of bread. “We cannot take to the field with untrained plow horses pulling six, nine and twelve- pounders. They may be good enough plodding down roads but not for maneuvering in battle.” Will nodded his assent. He wanted to ask Billy what he knew about Elisabeth. There were others about in the kitchen. He restrained himself and would wait until he met the General.
It was not until mid-afternoon when Knox announced his arrival by a deep booming greeting to the two sentries posted at the entry to the yard. Will jumped up and was in the hall standing behind Billy when the General strode through the front door. Will could see he had lost some weight. His waistcoat was loose around his middle and turkey-like wattles hung beneath his neck. He broke into a broad smile upon seeing Will.
“Ah, brother. You found him. This brightens my day and lightens my heart to see you standing here whole and hearty. My lad, how goes it?” He unclasped his cloak and handed it to Billy, and wrapped Will in a bearlike embrace. “Come into the dining room and join me for my meal. We are on short rations, like everyone else, but we will share and make do.” He put a meaty hand on Will’s shoulder. “Billy. Tell the cook there is another for dinner and then join us. We have much to discuss.”
The three of them finished a tureen of cabbage soup and a large pot of stew, with more onions and potatoes than chicken. Will thought in better times the General would have by himself devoured the one chicken, which was tough enough to be a rooster. Will appreciated sharing this meal that was far better than the normal fare he was accustomed to at Valley Forge. After the servant girl cleared the table and left them with mugs of watered mulled cider, Knox leaned forward and patted Will’s hand.
“Your Elisabeth provided us with such vital information as to prevent the kidnapping of two of our most prominent leaders, Dr. Rush and Reverend Witherspoon. You know the Quaker woman, Mary Lewis.” Will nodded, recalling her pleasant smiling face. He, Elisabeth, Captain Hadley and Miss Mercy had sat in her parlor, on Independence Day in Philadelphia after he and the Captain had protected the Lewis home from being attacked by a gang of thuggish patriots.
He warmed his fingers around the mug and listened as Knox told of Mary trudging down the Germantown Road, having passed through the lines, accosting a cavalry officer at one of the taverns and demanding to be brought to meet Will or Brother Billy. The officer had the good judgment to immediately ride, with her sitting side-saddle behind him, to the camp and not waste time looking for Will but to bring her instantly to this house, where fortunately Billy was present. Billy received her message, came forthwith to General Washington’s headquarters, repeated the warning to General Knox and within the hour, orders were issued for Captain Lee to dispatch a squadron for the fast, hard ride to Princeton.
“I knew you had taken the wounded to Princeton and worried for your safety. It is a wonder that although your Elisabeth did not know, she thro
ugh inadvertence or Divine intercession obtained information and conveyed it to prevent any harm coming to you.” Knox leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his thick neck. “It is an indication that Providence favors the two of you being together for life on this earth.” He chuckled. “I too have interceded on your behalf with Elisabeth’s father for his permission for her to marry you but have not yet been favored with a reply.”
“And what word of Elisabeth since?” Will asked, the anxiety clear in his voice.
“Mary Lewis says she is well, and unknowingly protected by this Captain Montresor from any of your brother’s mischief. Write her lad. Date your letter from Valley Forge. Tell her nothing about your excursion to Princeton or your going to York. No secret messages in invisible ink. There is no need. Tomorrow you will carry dispatches and letters from General Washington and others to the Congress.”
“But that will be farther from Philadelphia. How will her letters reach me?”
“There is more than enough correspondence back and forth between York and Valley Forge to keep teams of couriers riding every day of the week. If the good members of Congress devoted more of their energies to the survival of our Army by providing the necessities of food, clothing, blankets and shoes as they devote to their scribbling, we could retake Philadelphia in a day.” He paused as if thinking of some particular miscreant deserving of more of his anger but decided against it.
“You are to report to Colonel Sargent in York. He has established himself and most of our Regiment west of the city where there is ample forage and fields for practice. You will partake of the training of artillery horses and gun crews. If you can teach the men and horses to be as calm under fire as you and your big horse, by spring the artillery will be ready for the campaign.” Knox stood up, his chair scraping on the hard wood floor.
“I will see you in a few months, Lieutenant Stoner. By then, with the help of Providence, we will drive the British from Philadelphia and you and Elisabeth shall be reunited.” The General clapped Will on the shoulder. “Truly lad, there are better times ahead for us and our cause.”
Will followed Billy to the kitchen, sat down at a corner of the table and spread the sheet of paper before him. He felt a warm glow and sense of tranquility he had not felt in weeks. The General’s words of praise and his real concern for Will’s well-being were better than any promotion. His optimism was infectious. Better to be infected with that than camp fever, he thought, as he put quill to paper and began his letter to Elisabeth.
Chapter 5 - The Madness of Anger
Georg slid the tin foot-warmer with glowing charcoal under Mrs. Kierney’s feet. “Is goot?” he asked, adjusting the long blanket over her shoes.
“Thank you, Georg. It feels good,” she said emphasizing the “d.” James Kierney flicked the reins lightly on Daniel’s flanks. The horse responded and the sleigh, with Sarah sitting proudly besides James up front and his mother and younger sister seated in the back, glided down the road and across the newly completed bridge over the creek.
The family was off to church and on to visit friends overnight before returning on Tuesday. James had suggested Georg should be included on the trip, but his father explained not every one welcomed Hessian prisoners into their homes. Thomas thought it better for Georg to remain on the farm while he rode to the carpenter for a replacement horizontal gear for the mill wheel. Besides, there was much work to be done.
There always was, Georg thought, not that he minded. He enjoyed it all, working with his hands, whether hewing logs with a broad axe or carrying stones to make a wall. He had been happiest building the new grist mill and he knew Mr. Kierney had been well pleased with his work. Soon it would be spring again. Then Georg would grip the plow and walk behind the family’s plodding ox, making furrows in the fields, his nostrils filled with the fresh smell of the newly turned earth.
He chided himself for daydreaming. The winter chores awaited. With the family gone, and a low, dying fire in the hearth, Georg set a ladder against the chimney searching for cracks in the mortar or spaces where the stones had come apart. Mr. Kierney was reputed to be the best stone fitter in the county. Georg admired his work, each stone fitting seamlessly into the next. He looked for tendrils of smoke and felt for escaping heat and found none. Satisfied, he climbed on to the roof and inspected the shingles adjoining the chimney. Then he scuttled along the peak to the other end and sat with his legs hanging over, enjoying the clear winter air and the view of a stand of uncut timber beyond the barn. When he had been brought to the Kierney farm, more than a year ago, that forest bordered the barn. Now, there were two cleared fields on either side, white snow-covered rectangles thrusting up to the new tree line.
A raven, cawing loudly, rose from within the woods, followed by two others, and circled before settling on the branches of a large oak about twenty yards from the barn. Abigail the cow mooed softly. The geese honked noisily and remained inside. Georg scanned the forest. It could be nothing or a bear, or worse, wolves. It had been a harsh winter and the smell of the farm animals could attract a hungry predator. The rifle was in the house, hanging on iron hooks, together with the powder horn. He waited, watching from his vantage point for any movement before climbing down the ladder and entering the house. He took the long rifle with him, walked to the barn and loaded it inside. The animals in their stalls seemed placid enough. He laid the rifle against a thick vertical pillar, raked the urine-soaked straw from the cow’s stall and replaced it with a fresh sheave. Still wary, he carried the rifle in one hand to the half frozen mill pond, filled a bucket and returned to the barn. Inside, he sensed rather than saw something in the shadows. A ragged figure hobbled toward him, arms outstretched.
“Georg. Du must mir helfen.”
“Christoph? Ist das du?” he asked not believing that this thin husk of a man with the long unkempt hair and beard was his companion from the von Seckendorf Company.
“Ja.” Georg caught him as his friend collapsed in his arms. “Help me, please I have run away. I can take it no longer.”
Georg, alarmed by Christoph’s emaciated condition, supported him from the barn to the forge hut where he hurriedly restoked the fire. Christoph sat bent over, rocking back and forth, with his hands under his armpits. His tattered jacket, the original uniform issued when they had set sail for America, was threadbare and encrusted with dirt. The elbows were worn through as were the knees on his breeches. His chest was bare except for shreds of linen, he had no stockings and his feet were partly covered by two pieces of cracked leather. Christoph’s foul body odor filled the warm confines of the little room.
“You stink like a pig,” Georg said.
“That is where Mr. Langley made me sleep. In the pig pen. Ever since his son ran away to join the Rebels.”
“Stay here,” Georg said. As he sprinted up to the house he thought, that was an idiotic thing to say. Christoph was not going anywhere. It must have taken every bit of his waning strength to struggle to the Kierney farm, through the snow in this bitter cold. He grabbed some bread, cheese and a pitcher of cider. He left Christoph hungrily wolfing down the food and trudged back to the house. He returned with the large copper basin the family used for bathing. Filling it with snow, Georg positioned it next to the forge, placed a pot of water on the hearth and when it was hot, poured it into the rectangular basin, filling it until steamy tendrils wafted toward the low rough-hewn shingles.
“Christoph. Take off all your clothes and scrub yourself,” he commanded, handing his friend a small piece of lye soap. “I will give you some of my clothes to wear.” Georg wished he had a spare pair of shoes or boots but ever since he had arrived at the Kierney’s he had worn wooden clogs. Not very good for traveling long distances but more than adequate for farm work. He opened the trunk the Kierneys had given him, took out a linen shirt, his only extra pair of breeches that he wore to church when he accompanied the family, and a patched wool jacket that was too small for him anyway. As Christoph dressed, Georg saw
he had lost considerable weight. The two of them had both been more than six feet tall and robust when they were conscripted. Now, the sleeves of Georg’s spare jacket hung on his thin frame and reached below Christoph’s wrists. The breeches sagged from Christoph’s bony hips and came down below the knee. Well and good, Georg thought. He had no stockings to give him anyway.
“Does Mr. Langley know you have fled?”
“They went to church,” Christoph replied. “They will know I am gone when they return in the late afternoon.”
“After he searches the woods near his farm, he will come here next. Shave yourself with my razor,” Georg said, motioning to his knapsack hanging on a wooden peg. “I will go outside and cover your tracks.”
Georg pulled the two-runner oak sledgebarrow from the barn. Dragging it behind him, he retraced Christoph’s path from the woods to the barn, loaded it with logs and hauled it up the hill to the house. There he unloaded the firewood. He glanced at the hearth, noted the empty place over the mantel and remembered he had left the rifle in the barn. He brought the rifle with him into the forge. Christoph had finished shaving. Georg took the razor from him and, as best he could, he cut his straggly hair, leaving him with a stubby and rough haircut, but one that would not necessarily attract attention. He swept the cut hair onto a shovel and threw it into the fire, followed by the rags Christoph had worn.
“You cannot stay here,” Georg said.
“I know. I want to rejoin our Regiment. In Philadelphia.”
“Why? Why go back to fighting a war when the British have treated us so badly?” Georg took his friend by the shoulders, feeling his scarecrow frame beneath the shirt. “No. I meant you cannot stay in the forge room. I can hide you until Mr. Kierney returns. There is a root cellar. He is a kindly man. He will protect you.”
Spies and Deserters Page 8