Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Neither Laurens nor Hamilton could hide the startled expression that crossed his face.

  Washington nodded. “They are available to you at any time.”

  “Without exceeding my position, may I suggest it has become necessary to obtain food and clothing for this army, at any cost. Foraging in the countryside if necessary?”

  “I agree. I have sent Generals Greene and Wayne out on such assignments now. Food and clothing are beginning to arrive in small quantities.” Washington stopped, then added, “I have done so under authority granted me in writing by the United States Congress.”

  Von Steuben leaned back, struck by the fact that the commander in chief openly recognized that his authority was subordinate to a civilian congress elected by the people. He knew of no other country with a government so structured.

  He leaned forward, and his voice became animated. “This is the month of March. This army must be prepared to move by May. The answer to most of the problems is drill. Discipline. I have but seventy-five days to prepare them. I propose that I be given two men from each company, to be picked because they are intelligent and capable. I will drill them twice a day for thirty days, and then I will send them back to their companies, and they will train their own men. In this manner I will have your army prepared for battle for the summer campaign.”

  Washington’s mind leaped at the simple genius of the plan. He glanced at Laurens. “Can you prepare such an order for my signature, today?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  Washington turned back to von Steuben, who continued:

  “Issue orders immediately, today, that this camp will be cleaned up. Dead horses will be buried. Hospitals cleaned. Deceased soldiers given military burials, with their names, homes, and families recorded, so letters can be sent to their next of kin. Old vaults will be buried and new ones dug for the soldiers to relieve themselves. Men will bathe regularly. Gambling in any form stops today. Officers will be selected on merit. Records will be required of the quartermaster’s office showing all goods received, held, and delivered, and complete financial accounts of all monies handled. The inspector general’s office should be notified that it has five days to correct its inaction or face the probability of being replaced by someone who will. We must obtain new weapons—from France if necessary—and make one musket standard throughout the army. The soldiers must be trained to use the bayonet and be required to keep their weapons in good repair.”

  Von Steuben paused, and Washington raised a hand. “Baron von Steuben, could you reduce these proposals to writing?”

  Von Steuben turned to Du Ponceau, who handed him a second sheaf of papers. “I have already done so. This copy is for you.” He pushed it across the desk to Washington.

  Washington picked up the packet, read the cover sheet, and laid it back on his desk. “I presume this includes the notes you used in our discussion.”

  “Yes, everything.”

  “I and my two aides will study it and send word to you for another conference when we’re prepared.”

  “That is good.”

  “Is there anything else you wish to discuss at this time?”

  “No.”

  Washington stood, and they all stood with him. “You will hear from one of my aides. You are dismissed.”

  Von Steuben’s heels clicked, and he bowed stiffly from the waist. “It is my great honor to be in your service.”

  Hamilton opened the door, von Steuben turned on his heel, and Du Ponceau followed him out of the room. Hamilton escorted them out of the building and quickly returned to Washington’s office, where the general was holding the half-inch thick paperwork in his hand. Laurens was seated at the side of the desk.

  Hamilton sat down. “Sir, I’m not quite sure what we just experienced.”

  Washington answered, “It was a great many things, but, finally, I think it might have been the message that will save this army.” He dropped the papers on his desk. “Do either of you have any thoughts?”

  Laurens raised his voice. “I’m concerned. Will our soldiers . . . accept . . . his Prussian sense of discipline?”

  For several moments Washington stared down at the paperwork. “Perhaps not from an American officer, but there’s something about this man. They might accept it from him.”

  Suddenly Washington looked at the clock on the mantel, startled at the time. It was as though his mind had returned from a far place to the crushing business of running an army well on its way to disintegrating. “It’s half past twelve o’clock. I had no idea we had taken so much time. Don’t we have men coming at two o’clock?”

  Hamilton nodded. “Yes, sir. The ones who discovered the two spies. And I must mention, the sergeant in question has requested a few minutes to speak to you.”

  “About what?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Very well. We shall be here. Right now I’m overdue for dinner with Mrs. Washington. I will return in time for the two o’clock meeting.”

  Both Laurens and Hamilton stood while Washington snapped on his cape and collected his tricorn. They followed him to the front door, well aware there was a lightness and a quickness to his step as he hurried down the front walkway and turned to his quarters and his Martha and a meal she had prepared with her own hands.

  At ten minutes before two o’clock, Washington was back in his office chair. At two o’clock Hamilton rapped on the door.

  “The two o’clock appointment is here, sir.”

  At five minutes past two, Sergeant Randolph O’Malley was seated across the desk from the general, with Caleb seated to his right and five other men from Third Company on his left and behind him. They wore the best clothing they had and still looked like exactly what they were—men who had starved too long, wearing the tattered rags that remained from their summer clothing, without shoes, feet wrapped in scraps and rags that showed blood splotches.

  Washington’s eyes swept the group, and he spoke to O’Malley. “I understand you are the sergeant of this company?”

  “Yes, sir. Sergeant Randolph O’Malley, Third Company, Ninth New York Regiment.”

  “My information is that you and these men are the ones who discovered the two spies who have been sending information to the British.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I deemed it appropriate to extend my thanks to you. We have known that someone is conveying secret information to the British, but we had assumed that it was an officer. The message you intercepted urges the British to attack this camp with a major force. Whoever wrote it seems intimately acquainted with our weakened condition. It may well be that you have prevented a catastrophic defeat—that you have saved not only this army but the United States. I shall take steps to ensure that your action receives due recognition from Congress.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Do I understand correctly, that it was a young soldier who discovered the plot?”

  “Yes, sir. Private Caleb Dunson, seated here beside me.”

  Washington nodded to Caleb. “Private Dunson, would you please explain how you discovered the spy?”

  “Yes, sir.” Caleb took a deep breath. Tell it straight. If you get hung, tell it straight. “I believe I was the one giving out the information. From time to time I was assigned to make entries in the regimental orderly book. In conversations with a young lady, I mentioned some of what was there. The night Private Ellison shot the courier and brought him to the hut, we found a message in the toe of his shoe. I recognized the handwriting on the message. It had been written by the lady. I confronted her, and she confessed. I brought her in. I believe that’s all, sir.”

  For five long seconds Washington studied Caleb through narrowed eyes. “Do I sense this was a matter of the heart between you and this young lady?”

  “Yes, sir, it was. She was a nurse in the hospital. I had strong feelings for her. I did not know she was a British loyalist. The fault was mine.”

  “You’re the one who arrested her?”

&
nbsp; “I was, sir.”

  “Despite your . . . feelings . . . for her?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington said, “If I am seeing this matter correctly, the part she played as a British spy would have likely gone undetected if you had not grown close to her.”

  Caleb thought for a moment. “That is probable, sir.”

  “And when you knew the truth, you brought her in?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington leaned forward and spoke directly to Caleb. “Remarkable. Private Dunson, you must never punish yourself for what happened. To the contrary, your . . . feelings for this young lady seem to have been the key to discovering the plot. That you would bring her in, despite such feelings, is to your great credit. Do you understand?”

  For one moment Caleb’s chin trembled. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Washington turned back to O’Malley. “Sergeant, I am informed you have some matters you wish to discuss?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington waited. O’Malley gathered himself, took a deep breath, and spoke.

  “Gen’l, sir, I’m no officer. I don’t have no right, no . . . standing to talk to you this way, but I got to do it. I’m responsible for these men and some more besides. Look at us, sir. Every man in the company—in this army—has lost so much weight we look like sticks of wood. Today is eight days since we had anything—anything—give to us to eat. The last solid thing we had was some British shoes that wouldn’t fit nobody. We boiled ’em for two days and drank the broth and chewed the leather ’til we could swallow it. We’re wearin’ our best clothes right now, and look at us, sir. Four of these men had their toes froze and had them cut off. Haven’t seen soap for two months.”

  O’Malley stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “Sir, we aren’t complainin’. We’ll stay here until we’re dead, if that’s what you ask. All I’m tryin’ to say is, it’s hard for me to be responsible for these men and watch ’em slowly dyin’ and not be able to do nothin’ about it. If there’s anything can be done for ’em, I’ll do whatever is asked. I hope you understand, sir.”

  O’Malley stopped. Hamilton’s jaw was working, and he dared not look up from the floor. Laurens reached to cover his mouth. Washington waited until he could trust his voice.

  “Sergeant, I have sent Generals Nathanael Greene and Anthony Wayne out into the countryside, with written orders to take whatever they can find, wherever they find it. They’re to pay a fair price in continental money for it, and no more. They’re to seize it at bayonet point if necessary. I am reliably informed that General Wayne has more than one hundred eighty cattle being driven to this camp, due to arrive soon. There is no feeling you have for your men that I do not share with you. I promise you, I give you my word of honor, I will find a way to feed and clothe these men.”

  The room fell silent. For five seconds no one moved or spoke while a feeling rose in the breast of every man that for a few moments lifted them above the discouragement, the pain, the suffering, and filled them with a hope that somehow they would survive the horrors of their trials and move on.

  Washington broke the mood. “Sergeant, before you leave, would you give the names of the soldiers you have with you to Colonel Hamilton. I want their names to appear in the regimental orderly book.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Only this, sir. I didn’t have no idea you’d listen to a sergeant. But you did. That is something . . . special. I don’t know . . . I have nothing else I can think to say, sir.”

  “I am glad you came. If there is nothing else, you are dismissed.”

  * * * * *

  Alone in the dark of night, in the light of a single lamp on his desk, Washington stood. He rubbed weary, bloodshot eyes, then stretched muscles that had cramped from nine hours at his desk, studying the detail in the papers von Steuben had delivered. In his memory he could not recall a commander who had faced so many heart-wrenching problems for which there was no solution. Congress, food, medicine, clothing, sickness, death, cold, officers seeking his ouster—the burden was crushing his soul.

  He looked once more at von Steuben’s papers. Maybe. Maybe. If he can find a way to instill discipline. . . . It might be a start.

  Then he was seeing O’Malley. Stocky, bushy red beard, clothing in tatters, feet wrapped in bloody strips of a bean sack, hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, pleading, begging for his men. Washington felt the grab in his own heart and sat back down at his table. Minutes later he reached for his quill and wrote:

  “Without arrogance or the smallest deviation from truth it may be said that no history, now extant, can furnish an instance of any army’s suffering such uncommon hardships as ours has done and bearing them with the same patience and fortitude. To see men without clothes to cover their nakedness, without blankets to lie on, without shoes by which their marches might be traced by the blood from their feet and almost as often without provisions as with; marching through frost and snow, and at Christmas taking up their winter quarters within a day’s march of the enemy, without a house or a hut to cover them till they could be built, and submitting to it without a murmur, is a mark of patience and obedience which in my opinion can scarce be paralleled.”

  He read it, then buried his face in his hands for a time. Finally he leaned back in his chair, then stood.

  Congress will receive that message when the time is right. It must go into its records. Someone has to preserve the truth for future generations about what these men did here. The price they have paid.

  He snapped on his cape, lifted his tricorn from the peg by the door, walked back to blow out the lamp, and walked out into the freezing night.

  Notes

  The thorough, blunt presentation by Baron von Steuben of the condition of the Continental Army at Valley Forge is stated correctly. There was no part of the army, including lack of supplies of every kind, officer incompetency, near total lack of discipline among the soldiers, terrible organization, failure of the quartermaster’s office, critical neglect of the weapons, deplorable hospital conditions, and other matters, that escaped his scathing report, as set forth herein. Parts of his written appraisal are quoted verbatim. Von Steuben recognized the genius of explaining the purpose of military matters to the American soldiers. He wrote the “Blue Book” for American drill, called “Regulations for the Order and Discipline of the Troops of the United States.” Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, pp. 39–40; Jackson, Valley Forge: Pinnacle of Victory, p. 126; Leckie, George Washington’s War, p. 440.

  During the last seven days of February 1778, the soldiers received no meat and almost no other supplies. The officers were expecting a mutiny. Instead, the soldiers came to headquarters to present their case and plead for help in humble terms. Thus the appearance of the fictional character Sergeant Randolph O’Malley to plead for his men is consistent with the true history of Valley Forge. Wildes, Valley Forge, p. 170.

  The writing attributed to George Washington in the closing pages of this chapter, wherein he prepared a written statement to be sent to Congress, in which he marveled at the patient suffering of his army, is a verbatim quote. The writing was sent to Congress and was preserved for history. Freeman, Washington, p. 385.

  Valley Forge

  Late March, early April 1778

  CHAPTER XXIX

  * * *

  Eli stood near the door of the hut to buckle his weapons belt around his middle, then reached to pull his parka over his head. Billy dropped the last stick of kindling into the fireplace, rose from his haunches, and looked at Eli, inquiring.

  “Going to the river for water.”

  “Creek’s closer.”

  Eli shook his head. “Froze solid clear to the bottom. I won’t be long.”

  “Water for what? We ate the last of the wolf meat two days ago.”

  “We got the bones. Crack them with an ax while I’m gone. The marrow has strength.”

  He
opened the door, stooped to step through, closed it, and stood still for a moment to take the shock of the frigid air on his face and in his lungs. The large, heavy wooden water bucket was frozen to the ground beside the door, and Eli kicked it to break it loose, then grasped the rope handle, frozen stiff, and started for the river. The tip of the rising sun washed the camp in a blush of rose color for several moments and turned nine hundred wispy columns of rising smoke to golden pillars reaching into the blue heavens. The colors held until the sun was one-quarter risen, and then they faded, and the camp was once again a canvas of white snow and green-black forest.

  Eli marched steadily towards the Schuylkill River, the north boundary of the camp. As far as he could see in all directions, disorderly rows of huts imposed themselves in the woods and on the hills and in the valleys, crude intrusions that defiled the great scheme of nature. His breath froze in his beard, and frost whitened his eyebrows as he moved through the silent camp. He could see fewer than half a dozen men moving outside their huts, loading their arms with firewood from the stack against the front wall of the huts, then quickly disappearing inside.

  One more week without food, and this army will be gone—where’s the cattle Wayne was bringing in?—the flour Greene said was up in New Jersey?

  He shook his head. The British can’t beat us, but the Americans can—just keep selling their food to the British.

  Soldiers had hacked a path through the barren oak and poplar trees and the frozen, leafless willows that lined the riverbank to the water’s edge, where they had cleared a place to dip water. The handle of a rusty ax, left there to chop through the ice that sealed the hole each night, leaned against a rock. In the bitter cold Eli set the bucket down, picked up the ax, and dropped to one knee beside the newly frozen ice. Minutes later he had cut a large enough hole through five inches of ice and laid the ax aside. He was reaching for the bucket when movement in the black water stopped him. He stared, then dropped his head lower to be certain, and instantly his voice rang out.