Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Surprise showed in the man’s face. “I oughtn’t stop you from finishing your letter.”

  “It’s all right. I can finish anytime. You go ahead.”

  For twenty minutes the man labored with the pencil, thinking, slowly forming words on the paper, pondering, and finally finishing. He raised his head and with downcast eyes haltingly said, “I didn’t have no schoolin’. I . . . my Maudie learned me to write a little. I don’t know if . . .” He stopped.

  Billy spoke. “Want me to read it? Maybe look at the spelling?”

  “I’d look kindly on it if you would.”

  Billy turned the paper, and in the flickering firelight read silently:

  My Wife Maudie:

  I am riting in my hut that was bilt by me and elevn other soljers. It is small but it is shelter. The wether has been cold. We had no tents nor anithing to cook our provisions in, and that was prity poor, for beef was very lean and no salt, nor any way to cook it but to throw it on the coles and brile it; and the warter we had to drink and to mix our flower with was out of a brook that run along by the camps, and so many dippin and washin it which maid it very dirt and muddy. I am all rite. Tell the childrun to mind. I hope the new calf was a heffer. I will rite again when I can. Papir is scarse. I think of you offen. Eviry day.

  Your husband.

  Elijah Fisher.

  Billy finished and raised his eyes to Fisher. “You did fine. I wouldn’t change a thing. Maudie and the children will be proud.”

  The man’s eyes shined. “I sure do thank you. Aren’t you the company corporal?”

  “I’m a corporal.”

  “Could you see that gets mailed out? I don’t know exactly how to do it.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I surely do thank you.”

  “Anytime.”

  Nearly two miles to the west, Eli stopped at the heavy oak door of a large, two-storied home with stone walls a foot thick, where Dr. Folsom and his staff had been given quarters. For a moment he peered about, looking for pickets, and there were none. He rapped loudly, and a moment later the door swung open. Warm air washed over him as he spoke to the slight, hunch-shouldered, elderly woman with tired eyes who stood before him with yellow lamplight on her gray hair and shoulders.

  “I’m Eli Stroud. I’ve come to see Mary Flint.”

  The woman nodded recognition and stepped aside. “I recognize you. Come in from the cold. I’ll get her.”

  Eli watched her hurry through the small parlor and listened to her rapid footsteps clicking down the long hallway. A door opened, then closed, and the sound of a longer stride on the polished hardwood hallway floor reached him. Face radiant, eyes glowing, Mary entered the parlor, and Eli felt his heart quicken at the sight of her. She came to him, and for a moment they held each other before she spoke.

  “Give me your coat.”

  She hung it on a peg by the door, then led him to a couch against the wall in the small, sparsely furnished room, and they sat down. She held his hand between hers as she spoke.

  “I’m so glad you came.”

  “I thought I better tell you, I’m supposed to see General Washington in the morning.”

  Mary stiffened. “About what?”

  “I don’t know. A lieutenant came about an hour ago and told me.”

  Mary felt the panic begin in her chest. “Is he going to send you away again? Like he sent you up north?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Billy?”

  “The lieutenant said only me.”

  Eli saw the fear and the pain in her eyes. Her shoulders sagged, and her head tipped forward. Eli reached to lift her chin and look her in the face. “You’re not to worry. I’ll be all right.”

  “You might be all right, but you’ll be away. I don’t know if I can stand that again.”

  “If I go, I’ll come back. Don’t dwell on me being gone. Dwell on knowing I’ll be back.”

  She nodded, but he knew the saying of it would not take the fear from her heart. He waited a moment and changed directions. “There were no pickets at the door when I came. Something wrong?”

  She drew a heavy breath and let it out slowly, the weariness apparent. “Sickness. Two of them with the fever.”

  “Is it getting worse at the hospital?”

  She nodded her head. “You would hardly believe it. General Washington gave us permission to use homes and churches and government buildings for the sick. We’ve crowded our patients into barns and churches and Quaker meetinghouses all around Valley Forge. We’ve sent some to the Moravian Brethren’s house at Bethlehem, some to Easton, Allentown, Lititz, Lancaster, and we have men out right now, looking at Trenton and Princeton in New Jersey. Smallpox is spreading, and Dr. Cochrane has ordered inoculations with cowpox for everyone who wasn’t inoculated earlier. He’s ordered a new hospital—a big one—to be opened at Yellow Springs for all with contagious diseases. Medicine? Nearly gone. Short of blankets. Short of food. Short of trained people. Short of everything we need to save these poor men.”

  She paused for a moment. “Our army captured a British ship with fifteen hundred pairs of shoes that were too small to fit any of our soldiers. So we passed them out to the troops with orders to boil them and eat them! Think of it! Eating leather shoes! An army so destitute it must boil and eat leather shoes for whatever strength they can give!”

  Eli sat in stunned silence for several seconds. “No one set aside food for the sick?”

  “None! We’re desperate. And almost no medicine.”

  “Are you losing many men?”

  “Dozens. Every day. Besides smallpox, we’ve got typhoid in camp. Malnutrition. Scurvy. Fever. Scabs. Open sores that won’t stop running, and no way to stop them. Amputations of frozen toes and fingers and sometimes feet and hands that have gone black and dead—nothing to deaden pain—we simply strap them to a table and hold them down while they scream.” She shook her head sadly. “I’ve never seen anything like it—never dreamed I would be in such a place.”

  Eli felt the grab in his heart and remained silent for a moment while it dwindled. “I’m sorry you have to be here. I don’t know what I can do about it.”

  Mary leaned forward. “Oh, Eli, I didn’t mean to cause you alarm. You’re here because this is where you belong, doing what you’re doing, and I’m here because I choose to be near you. I would have it no other way.”

  He looked steadily into her eyes. “Mary, make me a promise.”

  “Anything.”

  “I can still hear the sounds in your lungs. You’re not well. Promise me you’ll be careful with your health. Promise me. I don’t know what I’d do . . .”

  His voice trailed off and stopped, and Mary saw the fear in his eyes, and she reached with both hands to grasp his, and she spoke with an earnestness he had not heard before.

  “I promise.”

  Eli sighed and rose. “I should get back. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but if Washington sends me away, I’ll get word to you. Probably through Billy or Turlock.”

  Mary rose to face him. “I’ll be waiting. And I won’t dwell on you being gone. I’ll think only of the day you return.”

  He drew her close and kissed her, then walked to the door and reached for his wolf-skin coat.

  Mary smiled. “Every man in this camp is jealous of that coat.”

  Eli grinned. “Want one?”

  Mary’s eyes widened. “A wolf-skin coat? I hadn’t thought of it. Yes, I would like one.”

  Eli bobbed his head as he reached for the doorknob. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Mary stood in the doorway and watched him until he was out of sight, then closed the door and locked it before she turned back to walk down the long hallway to her small room.

  In full darkness Eli made his way through camp on the trail that thousands of feet had tromped in the snow. He saw the pickets as he passed through, but none challenged him. He was halfway back to the Massachusetts Regiment when a sound to his
left brought him to a stop, and he peered into the darkness to see a small, dark form moving through the trees. For a moment he waited, deciding whether he should follow. Then he heard a voice and a response. A picket had challenged. Eli moved on, glancing back but once. There was no further movement nor sound.

  Behind Eli, at a sentry post in the trees, Caleb took Nancy in his arms and held her for a moment before he kissed her. He remained silent, heart racing at the touch and feel of her.

  She looked up at him. “I brought you something warm.”

  He took the jar and removed the lid. Steam rose. “Soup?”

  “It’s not much—the best I could do with what we have.”

  He sipped. “Good. Thank you.”

  She waited while he sipped. “Did you write the letter?”

  “Part of it. I’ll finish it in the morning.”

  “I can hardly wait.” She let a little time pass while he worked on the soup. “Are things any better in your company?”

  He shook his head. “Worse.”

  “Are you doing any more writing in that book?”

  “The orderly book? I wrote a little more today.”

  “Did they say anything about hope for food soon? Clothing? The sick men in our hospital need food so badly.”

  “No. Officers are resigning in every company. Desertions everywhere. Men haven’t eaten for two days. They’re living on moldy flour—making firecakes out of it. General Washington said if the British were to attack this camp right now, the revolution would be over. We aren’t fit to fight.”

  Nancy slowly shook her head. “We can only pray the British don’t learn of all this.”

  Caleb finished the soup and handed her the jar. “Thank you for coming. It’s the best part of the day for me.” He gazed earnestly into her face, shining in the dim light. He wanted to say more—much more—but he was yet too shy.

  She drew close and whispered, “It’s all that keeps me going, knowing I can see you.”

  He gathered her close and kissed her again. “Tomorrow night?”

  “I promise. Finish the letter. Please.”

  “I will.” He watched her turn and move away through the trees, the sounds of crunching snow dying until there was only the silence of the night, broken occasionally by the distant sound of wolves baying at the moon.

  Morning broke clear and frigid, and at eight o’clock Eli faced the pickets at the entrance to Washington’s headquarters, south and east of the junction of Valley Creek and the Schuylkill River. The two-storied stone building had previously been owned by Isaac Potts.

  “Who comes there?”

  “Eli Stroud. I was told to report to General Washington at eight o’clock.”

  The picket nodded. “He’s expecting you. Hand me the rifle, and you may enter.”

  Three minutes later Eli was standing in the center of what had been the library, facing a plain oak table. General Washington remained seated on the other side. To Washington’s right stood John Laurens, holding a paper in one hand.

  Washington gestured. “Be seated.”

  Both Laurens and Eli settled onto hardwood, straight-backed chairs, and Washington came directly to the point.

  “It will not be a surprise when I tell you this army is in need of almost everything needed to sustain itself.”

  Eli nodded but remained silent.

  “I have great need for an accurate report on what is available in the countryside within seventy miles of this camp. Specifically, we must have clean straw for bedding the men. Meat of any kind, beef if at all possible. Grain of any kind. Flour. Blankets and bedding. Clothing. Shoes. Vegetables and fruits, fresh or dried. Horses and fodder. Medicines of any kind. Bandages.”

  He paused for several moments, and Eli shifted in his chair. Washington went on.

  “To get that information I want you to leave camp and make a scout, seventy miles in all directions. Locate such things and mark where they are. On your return it is my intention to send out a command to gather them.”

  Eli’s eyes widened. Washington continued. “I have been authorized to do so.” He turned to Laurens. “Would you read the document under which such action is authorized?”

  Laurens raised the paper and read.

  December 27, 1776

  In Congress assembled. Resolved:

  That General Washington shall be, and is hereby, vested with full, ample and complete powers to raise and collect together, in the most speedy and effectual manner, from any or all of these United States, sixteen battalions of infantry . . . to appoint officers . . . equipt with three thousand light horse . . . to take, wherever he may be, whatever he may want for the use of the army, if the inhabitants will not sell it, allowing reasonable price for the same; to arrest and confine persons who refuse to take the continental currency, or are otherwise disaffected to the American cause; and to return to the states of which they are citizens, their names, and the nature of their offences, together with the witnesses to prove them:

  That the foregoing powers be vested in General Washington for and during the term of six months from the date hereof, unless sooner determined by Congress.

  Eli’s eyes narrowed in near disbelief. That Congress would vest such powers in one man was unbelievable, and it suddenly broke clear in his mind that he had just heard the most profound tribute ever given to a man by the highest body politic of the United States. The terrible, frightening trust and faith they had vested in George Washington left Eli silent, mind groping.

  Washington took a breath. “Those powers were granted thirteen months ago and expired June twenty-ninth of this year. However, they were again granted one month ago. I have no choice. This revolution lives or dies on what we do in the next several days. Have I stated this strongly enough that you understand the importance of what you are to do?”

  Eli licked dry lips. “Yes.”

  “Do you want to take anyone with you? I recall you work well with one other man.”

  Billy? Eli dropped his eyes for a moment of thought. “I don’t see the need. If you want the truth about what’s out there, I won’t be talking to very many people. Ask them what they got, you’ll get the answer they want you to have, and that might not be the truth. I’ll be looking in barns and granaries and root cellars and storehouses. I’ll likely do that at night, or whenever they’re not around. No, I think this is better done alone.”

  Washington looked steadily into Eli’s eyes. “I do not have one day, or one half day to spare. Can you return within five days?”

  Eli rounded his mouth and blew air and shook his head. “Five days. Maybe. With a good horse.”

  “Do you want two horses? In the event that one breaks down?”

  “No. One. Two will slow me down. Have you got a horse in good flesh? I haven’t seen one around here.”

  “You recall the five horses you brought in, along with the man suspected of being a robber?”

  “Yes.”

  “His name is Percy Walters. He was a member of a mob in Bucks County called the Doane Gang. Thieves and murderers. The Bucks County authorities hanged him yesterday. The horse he was riding is a strong gelding in good strength and flesh. It has not been claimed by anyone yet, and I have no reservations about turning it over to you.”

  Eli reflected. “Yes, that was a good horse. When do you want me to leave?”

  “How long before you can be ready?”

  “I’m ready now.”

  Washington turned to Laurens. “Is the horse ready?”

  “Saddled and waiting in the stable, sir.”

  Washington plucked a piece of paper from his desk and handed it to Eli. “Here are my written orders authorizing you to do whatever is needed.”

  Eli’s eyebrows raised. The horse saddled and waiting? Orders already in writing? A wry smile crossed his face. “I’ll stop at my hut long enough to get powder and shot and be on my way.”

  “Will you need food? I can give you rations from my personal store.”

  “No,
I can live off the land.”

  Washington nodded. “Report back here, to me, immediately on your return. Day or night.”

  Eli nodded and turned to follow Laurens out the door. Fifteen minutes later he reined the big brown gelding to a halt in front of his hut and stepped down. Vapors streamed from the horse’s nostrils, and the animal moved sideways, wanting to move, to run in the cold air. Eli tied the reins to a log and ducked through the doorway into the dark, smoky interior. Minutes later he stepped back into the bright sunlight, weapons belt strapped around his middle, shot pouch and powder horn hung around his neck and under his left arm. He mounted the horse and peered about, looking for Billy or Turlock. He found them cutting green firewood.

  Eli remained mounted to speak. “General Washington is sending me on scout for five days. Alone. Will one of you tell Mary?”

  Billy nodded. “Scouting for what? The British?”

  “No. Anything I can find to help this army.”

  Turlock broke in. “He’s going to just go out into the countryside and take it? Food? Clothes?”

  Eli nodded. “Congress gave him authority, and he’s going to use it.”

  “I knew he’d find a way. I knew it.”

  Notes

  For a time “firecakes” became the only food available to the American soldiers at Valley Forge. They have been described. Straw was in critical shortage, as was food, clothing, medicines, soap, and every other item necessary to sustain an army. The incident of boiling 1,500 pairs of too-small shoes for food is factual. The list of diseases and maladies prevalent in the Valley Forge camp is also accurate. See Wildes, Valley Forge, p. 165; Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 436–38; Freeman, Washington, p. 374.

  Elijah Fisher was a soldier. The letter attributed to him was actually written; part of it is quoted herein, verbatim, from the original writing. Paper was in very short supply. Wildes, Valley Forge, p. 177; Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 14; Jackson, Valley Forge: Pinnacle of Courage, p. 46.

  The overwhelming need for hospitals resulted in converting homes, meetinghouses, barns, and other buildings in towns as far away as Trenton and Princeton to hospitals, as described herein. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 25; Busch, Winter Quarters, p. 68.