Prelude to Glory, Vol. 5

by Ron Carter

  Instantly the American guns answered. Cannister shot exploded above the British guns. One-inch diameter lead balls ripped downward, kicking up dirt, ricocheting off cannon barrels, knocking British gunners rolling on the ground. Grapeshot tore into them, full in the face. Solid shot shattered the huge, seven-foot, spoked wheels on the British cannon carriages, and the big guns dropped, muzzles pointing harmlessly into the blue heavens at crazy angles.

  Again the British guns spoke in the unbearable heat, and again the American guns answered.

  “Reload!” came the order, and John Hays raised the rammer to seat the powder load in the barrel of his cannon when suddenly he sagged to his knees and collapsed from heat exhaustion. Instantly Mary sprinted for the nearest water barrel, scooped a pitcher full, and ran back to her husband to bathe his face. The call came from others, “Water, water,” and Mary ran dodging for another pitcher full and yet another for the men who were near collapse.

  “FIRE!” Startled, Mary flinched then leaped to the position of her fallen husband, wrenched the rammer from his hands, drove it down the barrel to seat the powder, and a soldier in the gun crew dropped the cannonball down the muzzle. A gunner smacked the smoking linstock to the touch hole, and the cannon blasted. Mary wiped perspiration from her forehead, went for one more load of water, then stepped over her unconscious husband to take his position in the gun crew. The men glanced at her, nodded, and the gun crew continued loading and firing on command.

  Slowly the musketfire from the British dwindled and then stopped as the regulars fell back under the withering fire from the heavy American guns. The men in the British cannon crews faltered, then threw down their rammers and powder ladles and wilted away to disappear into the trees and over the crest of the low rise. As by magic, the only crimson tunics remaining on the field of battle were those of the dead and wounded.

  Washington’s heart leaped. We’ve beaten them! The best they had. We can get most of them if we attack!

  He rose in his stirrups to shout his orders, then settled back into his saddle. He looked at the men nearest him. In the unbearable heat, sweat was running in streams. Their clothing was soaked, their hair plastered to their heads. Some could not stand without support. They looked back at him, and he saw it in their eyes. We’ll attack if you order it, but not many of us can make it across to their lines.

  His heart went out to them. I cannot ask more than I have. They’ve met the flower of the British army on an open field and taken the best the British had to give, and turned them—driven them from the field. They’re dying of thirst and heat exhaustion. It is enough.

  He rose in his stirrups to shout, “Hold the lines! Hold where you are!”

  It was shortly past five o’clock in the afternoon of June 28, 1778. The battle of Monmouth was over.

  The Americans dug in, watching the abandoned British cannon like hawks. Evening shadows lengthened, and nothing stirred. Men brought water and cooked meat, and the Americans stood to their positions and their cannon until darkness fell. A cooling night breeze arose to drive away the unbearable heat. Pickets were posted and changed on the regular intervals.

  At two o’clock, beneath a half-moon, Eli turned to Billy, seated at the west end of the hedgerow, peering intently into the dimly moonlit landscape for any light or movement at the British lines.

  “I’ll be back in a while.”

  “Where you going?”

  “To have a look.”

  Billy nodded, and in five seconds Eli was gone, silent as a shadow.

  At half past four Eli settled beside Billy. “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Not a redcoat within four miles.”

  “Better go tell General Washington.”

  Twenty minutes later, in the gray of dawn, an apologetic picket thrust his head inside Washington’s tent.

  “Sir, beg pardon, there’s a corporal and an Indian out here who say they should talk to you.”

  “An Indian?”

  “Dressed like one. Talks like he’s white.”

  “Send them in.”

  Billy entered, came to attention, and saluted. Eli stood easy at his side.

  Washington peered at them in the yellow lantern light. “You have something I should hear?”

  “I thought so, sir. Scout Stroud has been to the British camp tonight. He has a report.”

  Washington turned to Eli.

  “The British are gone. All of them. Baggage, wagons, cannon—everything. They left in the night. There isn’t a regular within four miles.”

  They abandoned the field! We’re in command! We beat them! Beat them!

  “You’re certain?”

  “Followed them for three miles. They’re gone, and they’re not coming back.”

  “I can have this army stand down?”

  “There’s no reason to hold them in the lines.”

  “Anything else?”

  Eli shook his head.

  “Thank you. You are dismissed.”

  At six o’clock Washington gave orders. “The men will finish their morning mess and then seek shade and water and rest until noon. In the meantime I’ll consider mounting a command to pursue and attack the British.”

  At eight o’clock, the hot, sweltering wind was fluttering the flags and driving the men into the trees to seek shade. By ten o’clock it was evident; the heat, not the redcoats, was their real enemy. Reluctantly Washington gave the order.

  “The men will continue their camp here. The commissary will hand out rations sufficient for two days or until further notice.”

  On the morning of June thirtieth, Hamilton entered the command tent. “I have been requested to deliver this to you, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “A message from General Lee.”

  Startled, Washington opened and read the document aloud.

  “From the knowledge I have of your Excellency’s character, I must conclude that nothing but misinformation of some very stupid, or misrepresentation of some very wicked person, could have occasioned your making use of such very singular expressions as you did on my coming up to the ground where you had taken post; they implied that I was guilty either of disobedience of orders, of want of conduct, or want of courage. I wish to know on which of these three articles you ground your charge, that I may prepare for my justification . . .”

  Washington turned to Hamilton. “He knows he will be called before a court-martial to defend his shameful retreat, and he’s laying the groundwork for a defense.” For a moment he set his teeth, and his eyes narrowed. “There is no defense for it. Be certain you save this document. I’ll dictate an answer later this morning.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington softened. “Have you seen von Steuben lately?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How is he?”

  “Proud, sir, of his men.”

  “He should be. Did you see our troops under fire? Cannon and musket?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “I’ll have to draft a letter to von Steuben. I believe his service at Valley Forge saved this army. Maybe the revolution. Remind me to write a letter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “One more thing. A report reached me that a woman—Mary Hays, I believe—took her husband’s position in a gun crew after he collapsed. It was a Pennsylvania regiment. Men called her ‘Molly Pitcher’ because she carried water to them in a pitcher. Try to get the facts. If it’s true, it’s proper that she be recognized.”

  “I’ll find out, sir.”

  Notes

  The detail of all the names, times, places, sequences of action, and results, describing the battle of Monmouth, are far too numerous and complex to be effectively endnoted.

  Thus, the names of the participants, the locations, the sequences of action, and the results, are all as herein described, save and except the name of Eli Stroud, who is a fictional character. The acts attributed to Eli were in fact performed by other persons, with the result th
at the only inaccuracy is the use of his name and not the events described. In particular, however, the profanity vented by General Washington on General Lee when he confronted him during Lee’s retreat was as described, and the letter written by Lee to Washington after the battle was concluded is quoted verbatim. Many of the conversations are nearly verbatim. There is no other known incident of General Washington resorting to profanity in chastising an officer or soldier. It is in this battle that Mary Hays, known in history as “Molly Pitcher,” performed her missions of mercy with her water pitcher and took the place of her fallen husband in his cannon crew. General Washington did reward her.

  For details in support, see Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 467–86, and in particular see the battle map on page 478; Freeman, George Washington, pp. 397–401; Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, pp. 246–47.

  July 6, 1778

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  * * *

  They came to the small, square stone courthouse in the cool of the morning, Billy and Sergeant Alvin Turlock wearing the best clothing they could find. A dozen men from the Massachusetts Regiment, barefooted, wearing the only clothing they had, nervous, ill at ease. Ten nurses in their uniforms. Caleb Dunson and Sergeant Randolph O’Malley, from the New York Third Company. Half a dozen officers with their epaulets gleaming and the gold trim prominent on their tricorns.

  At nine o’clock they entered the high ceilinged, austere courtroom and sat on the first rows of the hard, worn benches, facing the raised platform where the judge sat to preside at court. There was already the promise of another hot, muggy day, and the windows were open to let what little breeze there was move the air.

  At five minutes past nine o’clock the door into the small jury room at the rear of the hall creaked as it swung open, and Dr. Albigence Waldo, portly, aging, a major in the United States army, walked into the courtroom wearing an ill-fitting officer’s uniform, carrying a large Bible under his right arm. The click of his heels on the old hardwood floor echoed slightly. Behind him came Eli, tall, clad in a white-ruffled shirt, royal blue tunic and breeches, white socks, and square-toed shoes borrowed from a Monmouth township alderman. On his arm was Mary Flint, glowing in a simple white cotton wedding dress that ten nurses had spent seven days making. She was smiling as they followed Dr. Waldo, who led them to a place just in front of the judge’s bench. He took his position facing those assembled, and Mary and Eli stood facing him.

  Dr. Waldo cleared his throat, settled his nerves, and began.

  “As an officer in the Continental Army, I am authorized to perform marriage ceremonies under these circumstances, but I confess this is the first time I have been called on to do so.” He stopped and for a moment puckered his mouth. “Mary has asked me . . . Mary Flint has asked me to join herself to Eli Stroud in holy matrimony. I’ve worked with Mary for a time, and I’ve come to love her, and I’m honored, but I wish I knew more about what to say and do.” He paused to pull his thoughts together.

  “It seems proper to mention that marriage is ordained of God. It is a high and holy thing between a man and a woman. With it comes the possibility of the greatest happiness this life can give. Love. Security. Companionship. Children. Every good thing.”

  He stopped for a moment and removed his spectacles to wipe at them with his handkerchief. “It is my sincerest hope that such can come to these two young people. I could talk longer, but I doubt I could add much, and besides, you haven’t come to hear me. You’ve come to see this man and this woman join their lives together.”

  Quiet sniffles came from the ten nurses, and Dr. Waldo looked at them, surprise in his face. He turned back to Mary and Eli and opened his Bible. Inside he had placed a sheet of paper on which he had printed in bold letters the words necessary to make such a marriage legal. He adjusted his spectacles to read.

  “Who gives this woman in marriage?”

  Billy stepped one pace forward. “I do.”

  “By what authority?”

  “She has no living kin. She has authorized me to give her in marriage.”

  Waldo looked at Mary. “Have you so authorized?”

  “Yes.”

  He tipped his head forward to peer over his glasses. “Does anybody here have a reason this marriage cannot take place?”

  The room fell silent.

  “Very well.” He looked at Eli, then read, “Do you, Eli Stroud, take this woman, Mary Flint, to be your legal and lawfully wedded wife, and do you promise to cleave unto her and her only for the rest of your life?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  Waldo nodded and turned to Mary. “Do you, Mary Flint, take this man, Eli Stroud, to be your legal and lawfully wedded husband, and do you promise to obey and cleave unto him and him only for the rest of your life?”

  “I do.”

  He reread what he had said and, satisfied, made his declaration.

  “Then, by the power vested in me as a duly commissioned officer in the Continental Army, I pronounce you husband and wife, lawfully wedded before God and the laws of this commonwealth.”

  He stopped and fumbled for a moment. “Do you have a ring you wish to place on her finger, a symbol to the world of your covenants entered into freely this day?”

  Billy stepped forward again and placed a simple gold band in Eli’s hand.

  Waldo nodded. “You may place the ring on her finger.”

  Gently Eli worked the ring onto the third finger of her left hand.

  “Well,” Waldo said, “I believe that concludes the legalities. You may kiss your wife if you so desire.”

  Eli bent to tenderly kiss Mary, and stifled sobs came from every woman in the room. The men shifted their feet and diverted their eyes for a moment, then quickly looked again.

  Waldo concluded. “The ceremony is finished. You may congratulate the bride and groom.”

  The women surged forward to embrace Mary, wiping at their tears. The men walked to Eli to clap him on the shoulder and shake his hand. For a time the talk and the embracing continued. Billy stood back, a thousand memories racing through his mind of the things, great and small, that had bound him and Eli together. He looked at Mary, radiant, beautiful beyond words, clinging to Eli’s arm, and he silently, fervently, wished them joy in their union. Turlock looked at them, then at the floor, then back at the two of them, then reached to wipe at his eyes.

  In due time Eli turned to Mary, and a silent communication passed between them. He led her out through the large, heavy oak doors into the sunlight, where a Quaker woman took Mary by the arm and escorted her and Eli to her small home, next to the courthouse. Billy and Caleb and the others also made their way to the house and waited in the yard for the couple to change their clothing.

  In the rising heat of the day, Turlock spoke quietly to Billy.

  “Heard about Conway?

  Billy shook his head. “The one who started that cabal against Washington?”

  “The same.”

  “What happened?”

  “Two days ago. Gen’l Cadwalader got tired of him degrading Washington and challenged him to a duel. Shot him through the mouth.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Close to it. This isn’t exactly the time to bring it up, but I thought you’d like to know.”

  A minute passed before Turlock gestured toward the house. “They’re going north? To his sister’s place?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope he isn’t gone too long.”

  Billy turned. “Why? Something happening?”

  Turlock nodded. “Probably. Rumor is the British have found out beating us here in the northern states is a lot harder than they thought. Someone over there in England named Knox is trying to convince Parliament to forget the north and attack us in the south. The southern states. Then come on up north once they’ve got a base down there.”

  Billy’s face drew down in surprise. “The south? They’re going to attack the south?”

  “Savannah. Charleston. Somewhere down there
. They figure the slaves will help—rise up against their masters.”

  Billy stood silent, his mind racing.

  “Anyway, I hope Eli gets back before all that breaks loose.”

  At that moment the door of the home opened, and Eli emerged into the sunlight. He was dressed once again in his leather hunting shirt and breeches and his moccasins. His weapons belt was at his middle, his rifle in his hand. On his back was a bedroll, and a pouch with a small amount of food was slung under his arm.

  Mary came to stand beside him. She was dressed in an ankle-length, sturdy, gray cotton dress. She wore leather shoes, and her hair was pulled back by a gray bandanna. Never had Billy seen such happiness in two faces.

  The nurses could not restrain themselves. Once again they crowded around Mary to hug her, wish her well, sniffle, and hug her one last time. Billy moved close to hold her for a moment, then embrace Eli. Turlock stepped up, embarrassed, gave Mary a peck on the cheek, clutched Eli’s hand to shake it, then stepped back, relieved.

  It was finished. The simple wedding of Eli and Mary was concluded. Without further words, Eli caught Mary by the hand, turned north, and led her into their journey through life. Those who loved them waved and then stood in silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. They saw the sun on the two, and they watched as the couple followed the trail through the reds and yellows of the wildflowers, into the deep emerald green of the forest and were gone.

  Notes

  Dr. Albigence Waldo was a surgeon who went through the Valley Forge experience. Reed, Valley Forge: Crucible of Victory, pp. 12, 16, 22.

  General John Cadwalader was a strong supporter of General Washington and detested General Thomas Conway for his attacks on Washington. He challenged Conway to a duel and shot him through the mouth on July 4, 1778; however, the wound was not fatal. Freeman, Washington, p. 403.

  Following their defeat at Monmouth, the British accepted the proposition long argued by William Knox, under-secretary of the American Department in the cabinet of King George III, that the most effective approach to defeating the United States would be to conquer the southern states first, then proceed north. Mackesy, The War for America, 1775–1783, pp. 43–44, 158, 267.