Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Colonel Alexander Hamilton stopped on the threshold of the command headquarters, scraped the mud from his boots on the iron cleat, wiped them on the heavy-bristled mat, and walked in. He hung his cape and tricorn behind the door, adjusted his portfolio of papers, and walked rapidly down the narrow hallway to rap on the door of Washington’s office.

  “Who comes?”

  “Colonel Hamilton, sir.”

  “Enter.”

  Hamilton pushed through the door to face General Washington, seated behind his desk, waiting expectantly in a freshly pressed uniform. “Be seated.”

  Hamilton drew his chair to the front of the desk, sat, and laid his papers before him. Washington could not miss the restrained excitement in his face.

  “Something came in the mail?”

  “Yes, sir.” Hamilton took the top document from his stack. “This is a copy of a document brought by Silas Deane. He arrived on the French warship Le Sensible at Falmouth, Maine, on April twelfth.” He handed it to Washington. “It is from our men in France—at the Court of Versailles.” Washington instantly stiffened, and Hamilton hurried on. “The French have signed our treaty. They have recognized us as free and independent states.”

  Washington leaned back in his chair, his mind working to grasp the profound reach of what had happened. For a time he sat still, not moving, while his entire view of the Revolutionary War shifted from what was to what was to be.

  “Has Congress ratified the treaty?”

  “Not yet, sir. But it will in due time.”

  “Is there anything about French participation? Navy? Army?”

  “Both, sir. And there’s more.” He handed Washington a second document. “The British are making plans to evacuate Philadelphia.”

  Washington’s eyes widened. “Do we know why?”

  “At least in part. The French have sent Admiral d’Estaing and part of his fleet with French infantry on board to the Mediterranean port of Toulon. His orders are to refit his ships and sail for American waters. The British fear he will blockade the Delaware and seal off Philadelphia. They are unwilling to take the risk of having their army trapped there.”

  “When do they plan to evacuate?”

  “That isn’t yet known. It is known that the British Parliament is in the process of accepting the resignation of General Howe. As soon as that’s finished and the government appoints a new commander in chief in his place, it seems certain they’ll abandon Philadelphia.”

  Washington drew a great breath. “Dr. Franklin?”

  Hamilton grinned. “Dr. Franklin. Silas Deane was there, but it was Dr. Franklin’s doing.”

  Washington shook his head. “The only minister plenipotentiary in the service of the United States. That old fox has done it again.”

  “Yes, sir, he has.”

  Washington leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, and for several moments stared at the documents, while his mind struggled with the unbelievable shift that had been thrust upon him within five minutes. The French were coming—ships and men. The British were retreating, abandoning Philadelphia. How many French ships? How many infantry, cavalry? What supplies could they deliver? When?

  He straightened, and Hamilton watched his iron will take control. Washington asked, “Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir, several items. General Wayne delivered one hundred eighty fat cattle late yesterday evening. With your permission I’ll see that they are divided equally among the various regiments.”

  “Good.”

  Hamilton referred to a list. “We now have more than three hundred tons of shad fish salted down. General Greene sent six tons of salt in a wagon that arrived four days ago. It should see us through to the month of June.”

  Relief flooded through Washington. “Go on.”

  “The dead horses are all buried. The camp vaults where the soldiers relieve themselves are all covered and fresh ones dug. The huts are cleaned. All visible refuse has been picked up and buried. Records are being kept on the burials of soldiers, and each is given a separate grave with a marker. The hospitals are being cleaned, top to bottom.”

  “Excellent.”

  “However, sir, we are hearing some murmuring from the officers. They are of the opinion that Baron von Steuben’s ban on gambling and an occasional mug of rum or spirits is excessive. Soldiers need some form of diversion. A few brigadiers have suggested they will resign unless some of von Steuben’s rules are softened.”

  Washington dropped his eyes to reflect. “The ban stands. If you need it, prepare an order for me to sign. Should any brigadiers decide to resign, so be it.”

  Hamilton cleared his throat. “Sir, if I recall correctly, the general enjoys a game of whist from time to time.”

  A smile momentarily played at the corners of Washington’s mouth. “The general will destroy his deck of whist cards today.”

  Hamilton’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “Yes, sir. May I mention that to officers should the need arise?”

  “Yes. What else?”

  “The matter of the spy. The young lady. Nancy Fremont. There will be no trial. She readily confessed. She refused to identify any of her conspirators. The court sentenced her to be deported to England, to be hanged if she ever returns. Her courier refused to say a word. We never knew his correct name. He is to be hanged tomorrow at noon.”

  A look of compassion crossed Washington’s face. “Would you get that information to that young soldier who brought her in? There was something between them. He needs to know.”

  “That was private Caleb Dunson, New York Third Company. I shall send him a private note, sir.”

  “I will sign it personally. Continue.”

  “Baron von Steuben has asked permission to have an American officer named Captain Benjamin Walker of the New York Second Regiment act as his interpreter for field drill. General Du Ponceau has been translating for him, but he lacks some American words. Captain Walker volunteered and has proven invaluable to von Steuben on the field. The Baron was heard to say of Captain Walker that had he seen an angel from heaven, he could not have been more rejoiced.” Hamilton hesitated, and Washington leaned slightly forward while he continued. “I should mention, sir, that some of the words General Du Ponceau lacks in the English language are . . . uh . . . profanity. First-rate swearing, sir. The Baron is quite . . . colorful.”

  Washington started. “And Captain Walker knows those words in German or French?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds. “Permission granted. See to it that Captain Walker is relieved of any duties that would conflict with his service to Baron von Steuben.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hamilton shuffled through his papers, then continued. “The physical condition of the men is improving every day, sir. General Greene sent several hundred barrels of flour from his forage to the north, and the men have gorged on fish. We still lack fresh vegetables, but the flour and fish have put weight and color back into the men. They’re standing straight now, sir, and their faces and bodies are beginning to fill out. There is also a trickle of clothing and blankets starting to come into camp. Their spirits are rising.”

  “You could not give me better news.”

  Hamilton pushed a paper to Washington. “That is a note delivered personally to me by Dr. Albigence Waldo. It is from his surgical assistant, a nurse named Mary Flint. It is for your wife, Lady Washington. A sergeant named Enoch Linderman has passed on. He leaves a young widow, Polly Linderman. Lady Washington wished to know when the sergeant passed on. She promised to look after the widow.”

  Washington took the paper and for a moment held it in his hands, pondering how many thousand such letters had already been written. “I shall deliver it to Mrs. Washington today.”

  “The next thing, sir. General von Steuben claims that the select command of men he has been training is prepared to demonstrate its skills before the entire army. He asks permission to let the men perform on t
he Grand Parade with the entire army watching, next week.”

  “After fewer than four weeks?”

  “Yes, sir. This man is not to be underestimated. I have it reliably that he arises at three o’clock every morning, drinks one mug of coffee, smokes one pipe of tobacco, and works the rest of the day drilling that select group or drafting his manual. His sense of duty and discipline are set in granite, sir.”

  “He shall have his day. Arrange it.”

  “You will recall we have made arrangements for the exchange of prisoners, including Major General Charles Lee. General Howe and appropriate British escort will deliver General Lee to the British picket post near the Schuylkill Bridge two days from now. As you instructed, we shall have appropriate officers there to meet him, and he shall be received in camp with honors. Lady Washington will welcome him personally with a grand banquet, and he will be quartered temporarily in the second floor of this building. As soon as possible he will be given permanent quarters at the home of David Harvard.”

  “Very good.”

  Hamilton laid one more paper before Washington. “That is a resolution passed by Congress, which heard of the British plans to vacate Philadelphia and thought it appropriate to commemorate the event.”

  Washington unfolded the document and read: “Resolved that Congress set apart Wednesday, April 22nd to be universally observed as a day of Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer, that at one time and with one voice the righteous dispensations of Providence may be acknowledged, and His Goodness and Mercy towards us and our Arms supplicated and implored.”

  Washington laid the paper down, thought for a moment, then said, “Colonel, would you take this down as I speak it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Washington pushed paper and quill across the desk, and Hamilton wrote while Washington spoke.

  “The commander in chief orders that the day of April 22nd instant shall be most religiously observed in the Army as a day of Fasting, Humiliation, and Prayer for the righteous dispensations of Providence and His Goodness and Mercy towards us and against our enemies, and that no work be done thereon, and that the Chaplains prepare discourses suitable to the Occasion.”

  Hamilton finished writing, then waited. Washington went on. “Reduce that to proper form for my signature.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then you are dismissed to attend to those matters we have handled.”

  Hamilton stood and assembled the papers he was to retain. He tucked them under his arm and spoke.

  “Sir, it might be . . . enlightening to observe Baron von Steuben on the drill field. I understand he is . . . entertaining at times.”

  “We shall see.”

  Three miles east of the headquarters building, near the walls of the large Star Redoubt, von Steuben stood in the slush and mud, face drawn down to a scowl. Beside him Captain Benjamin Walker maintained a discreet silence as the Baron began to pace before the men, who stood in rigid rank and file.

  “Ven I say halt, you do not halt at that time. You take one more step and den you bring the other foot beside, and you halt. Do you understand? It is halt-one-two. Observe.”

  The Baron called a cadence in English with a thick German accent as he marched out in front of his men. “Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt-vun-doo. The reason is that all soldiers must halt at the same time to maintain intervals in the rank and file. Now, you shall do it mit me.”

  He turned to face his men, and in his thick concoction of English corrupted by German, called the commands.

  “Forward, MARCH! Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt-vun-doo.”

  One hundred fourteen men stopped together. Six did not, plowing into the men ahead of them.

  Von Steuben’s neck veins expanded, and his face reddened. He turned to Captain Walker, and for fifteen seconds he ripped off a mix of French, German, and badly mangled English while the men stood silent, fascinated. He stopped. He was breathing heavily, body shaking. He threw up both hands and growled. “I gan gurse dem no more! Tell dem!”

  Captain Walker swallowed hard, wiped at his mouth for a moment, and said, “Sir, do you want me to repeat every word you said to these men?”

  Von Steuben’s chin was set like granite. “Every vord. Exactly as I set it.”

  Walker sucked air. “Yes, sir.” He turned to the one hundred twenty men and launched into it. Never had the men heard such a sustained torrent of profanity. The words did harm to every man, his ancestry, his stupidity, the human race, America, and Deity, and repeated most of it twice.

  Walker finished the tirade, stood for a moment to be certain he had repeated it as von Steuben had said it, and in that moment a voice from the last rank murmured, “That was the best I ever heard. Sounded like it oughta be in the Bible!”

  Von Steuben jerked toward the sound, eyes flashing, face dark, voice like the crack of Judgment Day. “Vat vas set? Who set someting?”

  Walker started to translate, and the Baron raised a hand to stop him. “Who set someting?” he demanded.

  The offender in the rear rank raised his hand. “Here, sir. Me.”

  In five seconds von Steuben was standing nose to nose with the man, and he barked at Walker, “Vat vas said?”

  Walker cleared his throat, and his voice cracked. He started again. “Sir, he said that was the best swearing he had ever heard. He said it sounded like it came from the Bible.”

  Von Steuben’s eyes popped wide. He stared at the man, speechless. From behind him someone chuckled, and then someone joined him, and then someone laughed out loud. Von Steuben swung around, and as he did, a dozen more men laughed.

  Suddenly von Steuben grinned, and then he threw back his head, and laughed from his belly. In two seconds the entire command was wheezing with a laughing spasm that rang in the woods and stopped soldiers a half mile away.

  Slowly von Steuben brought himself under control and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “You vill try vun more time. I vill call the command.” Again he launched off in his pidgin English. “Forward, march! Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt-vun-doo!”

  The command came to a perfect halt, every man in his measured twenty-four-inch interval. Von Steuben’s eyes sparkled. “Vunce more. Forward, march! Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt-vun-doo!”

  Again the command maintained perfect formation. Every man could see the light in von Steuben’s face. “Again. Forward, march!” This time, as he began counting the cadence, half a dozen men called it out loud with him, and in an instant the entire command had joined in the chant, pronouncing each word exactly as von Steuben did. “Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt!-vun-doo!”

  They stopped in perfect formation, and every man held a straight face. For one moment von Steuben was uncertain whether he had been mocked or complimented, and then he realized. These men had accepted him as one of their own. He had bridged the gap. He owned his men, and they owned him.

  “Goot, goot,” he exclaimed. “Vunce again. Forward, march!” One hundred twenty-one lusty voices shouted the cadence. “Vun-doo-dree-four—vun-doo-dree-four—Halt-vun-doo!”

  Every man in the formation felt it. Something had happened. Somehow they had come together as never before, in one mind, one purpose, one spirit. The afternoon wore on with the men calling the cadence along with von Steuben in each maneuver, each marching pattern. The right turns, left turns, obliques, mark time—all of it. Von Steuben was afire with what his men were doing, where they had arrived.

  With the sun on the western rim, he brought them to a halt, and he stood before them, straight, proud, beaming. “Tomorrow ve continue as usual. Today . . . today you became as soldiers. Goot soldiers. In a few days you vill show the entire Continental Army what you have become. They vill watch you on the Grand Parade grounds as you march, and they vill be proud. I vill be proud. Then you will return to your own regiments, und you vill train your soldiers as you have been taught. Y
ou have done in four weeks what can only be done in eight weeks in my homeland. You do honor to your country.” For a moment he stood in silence, steadily meeting the eyes of his men. “Our country.”

  Strong men looked at the ground for a moment. Von Steuben went on.

  “And then ve vill have a banquet. Sauerkraut and water.”

  Laughter rippled through the ranks.

  He looked at his army. The trousers of every man were in shreds, showing their bare legs.

  Von Steuben grinned. “We will call it our ‘sans culottes’ banquet.”

  The men looked at Walker for a translation.

  Walker looked at von Steuben, and von Steuben nodded, and Walker turned back to the ranks.

  “Sans culottes means ‘without pants.’”

  The explosion of laughter could be heard a half mile away.

  Von Steuben waited until he could be heard. “You are dismissed.”

  Notes

  Silas Deane, one of the United States’ emissaries to France, arrived in Falmouth, Maine, aboard the French ship Le Sensible on April 12, 1778, carrying the signed peace treaty between the United States and France, to General Washington and Congress. Congress had not yet approved the critically important treaty. Freeman, Washington, p. 389.

  Having allied themselves with the Americans, the French sent Vice Admiral d’Estaing and a sizable command of French warships to Toulon in the Mediterranean, then on to America. The British feared they would blockade Philadelphia. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 53.

  Some American officers criticized Baron von Steuben’s strict discipline and threatened to resign if he did not relent. He refused to listen. Whist was a card game of which General Washington was fond. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 41; Pool, What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew, p. 65.

  Baron von Steuben used Captain Benjamin Walker of the New York Second Regiment as a volunteer interpreter on the drill field since Du Ponceau did not know some of the American words. Von Steuben did refer to Walker as “an angel from heaven” for his services. Von Steuben obtained permission to march his select group of 120 on the Grand Parade before the entire Continental Army. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, p. 41.