by Jack Fernley
In the midst of triumph, despair.
From the military command down to the lowest foot soldier, the events of the past week seemed little short of miraculous and a cause for nothing but celebration; for George Washington, the victories were bitter-sweet.
He had lost his best friend, his closest confidant, a man weathered by experience into being the best adviser possible.
Mercer was gone.
Washington felt the loss keenly. Who would now fill that gap for him? He loved Knox, Greene and Hamilton in equal measure, but they were callow youths, blindly loyal, but lacking the experience of age. He could not trust those two-faced bastards Lee and Gates. He found the likes of Sullivan, Ewing and Cadwalader lacking in something: too often their judgement was poor; they lacked the ability to read situations and impose their will on their men and the other generals. There was one man he recognised as having those skills, but could he really put his faith in von Steuben? A man he had barely met, yet one who had delivered the victories they had been so desperate for.
‘To Hugh Mercer, a true patriot.’
‘A true patriot!’ echoed around the room in Arnold’s Tavern, which Washington had taken as his staff headquarters. The glasses chinked in the darkening light, the rum quickly drunk, followed by refills. Knox, Greene, Hamilton, Sullivan, Ewing, Cadwalader, von Steuben and Reitsch were all present, awaiting news of the raid on New Brunswick.
They had swiftly turned Morris Town into an army town. Washington, Hamilton, Knox and Greene had taken rooms in the taverns; the others dispersed among private houses, over which aides were presently negotiating with the owners. Quartermaster General Tom Mifflin had immediately set up a supply depot in the county courthouse. English prisoners were in the town jail. The Baptist and Presbyterian churches were now hospitals, and outside the tavern, on the town green, the army itself lay, literally. Through the windows, if they had cared to, the generals could have made out the flickering fires of an army at rest. Exhausted, the Continental Army had arrived at the green and as one had simply fallen on to the ground, made camp and slept. Those arriving late had made makeshift camps in private gardens, orchards and the highway itself. Already, it was difficult to move through Morris Town. Within a day, the stench itself would be overpowering and the town would be an open sewer.
‘George, we must plan. Is this to be our headquarters for the rest of the winter?’ asked Sullivan.
‘Yes. It’s perfectly placed. Two days’ march from New York and Pennsylvania. High enough for us to easily discover any movements on the part of Cornwallis or Howe. It’s easily defended, the locals are loyal and round about are local trades and industry. I cannot think of anywhere better. I have sent word for Martha to come join me here. I would suggest you send dispatches to your own families. We could do with the joy of women about us. I fancy a few nights of dancing would lift our spirits still further.’
‘Hurrah to that,’ said Greene.
‘Agreed, but what are we do with the men? They are sprawled out all over the town. We have to put some order into the town. I would suggest we draw up some plans immediately,’ said Knox, pouring himself another glass of rum.
‘My immediate concern is the avoidance of disease,’ replied Washington, clenching his jaw, raw with pain as usual. ‘We must ensure our army and militias do not continue to suffer from the diseases that are more likely to defeat us than the British army in battle. I am especially concerned about an outbreak of the pox.’
‘Organise the men in ranks on the green, with plenty of fresh air between them, that’ll do,’ said Ewing.
‘Frankly, James, that will not do,’ replied Washington sternly. ‘We should have all troops here in Morris Town, and those supporting them, inoculated against smallpox as soon as possible, by the spring perhaps, and continue this process for all new recruits.’
‘The entire army inoculated! Totally impractical,’ Sullivan erupted.
‘Not to mention the dangers of further contamination,’ argued Cadwalader. ‘I’m not convinced by this inoculation business. From what I can see, the science is unproven. My understanding is you give healthy people the pox itself and among them a sizeable number go on to die of the disease and it spreads. There is a danger that the whole army would go down with the pox. And what is more, it could spread to the civilian populace. It is too much of a risk, George.’
Ewing, emboldened by the support, re-engaged, ‘Which is why the Congress issued a proclamation only last June prohibiting surgeons from inoculating the soldiery.’
‘John is correct, General,’ responded Knox. ‘We simply don’t have the resources to inoculate everyone. When we were in Boston last March and the pox broke out, you used a brigade of men formerly contaminated by the disease to help us maintain the city. But we discovered that less than three-quarters of our men were safe. So, we would have to inoculate three-quarters of our men, which would be at least, what, six thousand men here in Morris Town alone.’
‘And inoculation will take men from the field. All those inoculated suffer a small form of the disease. They will need time to recuperate,’ added Greene. ‘I’m in agreement that we should seek to inoculate, but the whole army by February, no, that is simply impractical.’
‘And if the British hear of this? Well, they will attack, winter or no winter,’ said Cadwalader.
‘We can manage this by isolation. That is the proven way. Put those affected in hospitals,’ Sullivan said. ‘That’s what you did at Boston, sir. You isolated men, restricted access to the camp and checked refugees. We had no epidemic. We controlled it.’
The room was against Washington, but as he was about to reply, to attempt to cajole for his generals’ support, von Steuben spoke up.
‘If I may, gentlemen? I would agree with General Washington. We cannot afford not to make this our first priority. Listen, the British and German forces are inoculated. My men are inoculated. This is what happens in Europe. It is only your army and the militia that are not. If it is safe enough for European armies to inoculate themselves, with no side effects, it should be safe itself for this army. There is an epidemic across the colonies now. You witnessed this in Boston and it harmed, no, ended, your advances in Canada. You cannot be blind to it. If we do not act now, we run the very real risk of being overwhelmed by smallpox.’
‘The retreat in Canada had more to do with Montgomery’s death and that blunderhead Benedict Arnold than smallpox,’ interrupted Ewing.
‘I would beg to differ, sir, and I suggest history will agree with me. But why take such a risk? Make inoculation our priority. Throw everything at it and the issue is settled.’
‘I know only too well myself the destructive impact of the pox. I suffered it in Barbados when I was nineteen,’ said Washington, and the others saw it in the facial scars that marked his face. ‘Terrible, most terrible. There may have been tactical errors in Canada last spring, but the major cause was the loss of men to the pox, as the baron says. That broke our men and forced the retreat to Ticonderoga.’
‘Aye,’ replied Sullivan. ‘That is true. But a total inoculation as you and he are recommending is simply not practical.’
‘Then it must become practical. We have to ensure that this disease does not infect the army again. That deplorable situation in Canada must not be repeated. For in truth’s sake, we have more to dread from it than the sword of the enemy. An epidemic of the pox would end this war. And not in our favour. The baron is right. And now, when we have victories under our belt, the British are wounded and winter approaches, now is the time to undertake this mass inoculation. Hamilton, send word to Doctor Shippen, the director of the Hudson Hospitals. He, I believe is the best man to organise this process. Have him come immediately, as soon as he can organise the necessary supplies for the inoculation.’
‘I would offer my Stormtroopers to assist him. They run no risk of the disease and are well drilled in the organisation necessary to run a mass inoculation.’
‘Thank you, Baron. Thank you
.’
Sullivan, red in the face, now said: ‘Congress will not approve, George. They simply will not have this.’
‘Congress be damned, John. Have they not asked me to win this war and presented me with the powers to achieve such an outcome?’
‘General Washington, if I may, Frau Reitsch and myself have some other suggestions that are pertinent to our situation.’
‘Please, Baron.’
‘We have to organise our troops in a way that minimises the threat of disease among them, but also maximises the potential for discipline. We have in this last week achieved tremendous victories, but we have to use the next few months to ensure that when the British come at us again in the spring, we are more than ready for them. And that begins with the layout of the camp. Hanna has found the best place.’
‘We cannot camp here in Morris Town,’ Reitsch explained. ‘The town cannot cope with our army, especially if, as we hope, we add to our numbers. The buildings are not fit for purpose and they reduce the land available. If we cram ourselves into Morris Town, we will inevitably breed disease. We have to look elsewhere. There is an area just to the south-east close to the Lowantica Brook. The brook will provide fresh water. The land has a slight slope, which will give protection from the winter winds and storms. I would suggest we immediately start to build log cabins to house most, if not all, of the men. If we provide good housing, we will be more successful in attracting further men to our cause.’
‘There is also room for a parade ground,’ added von Steuben. ‘This army needs to be drilled, trained to the standard of the British and Germans if we are going to win this war. I think it was you, General Cadwalader, who remarked before Princeton that the Continental Army lacked the discipline of the British. I would respectfully suggest that my senior men could be used to help raise standards across the army and the militias.’
‘How do you know of this area then?’ asked Sullivan suspiciously.
‘When we arrived in the continent, I asked Hanna to scout the colony for prospective camps.’
‘And I sent out two prospectors to do that for me.’
‘You have spies, spies about the land?’ asked Sullivan, suspicion turning to thoughts of conspiracy.
‘I wouldn’t call them spies,’ replied Reitsch. ‘Agents, if you like, not spies. They have experience of establishing camps for armies throughout Europe. They understand what is required to keep a modern army in the field. They recommended Lowantica Brook. Our good fortune is that it lies so close to Morris Town that the high command can stay here, while the main army are there.’ She met Sullivan’s glare of antagonism with a steely response. She was not finished yet.
‘It is vitally important that we establish the camp in such a way that we can maintain order and discipline among the men. We are moving into a new period. We have to plan for the winning of the war and for the peace that comes after.’
‘The peace that comes after?’ Greene was puzzled.
‘Yes, sir. Once the British are defeated, you will still require an army.’
There was a murmuring of discontent. Experienced war generals they might all have been, but to a man they did not envisage a new America with a standing army. Local militias, perhaps, but a standing army, no. Von Steuben sensed that Reitsch had gone too far.
‘What Frau Reitsch means is that the wild lands to the west will require pacification, and for that you will require an army well organised and ready to achieve that purpose. It will take many long decades, a century perhaps. And you have to be mindful of any threat from the French, or even the British from Canada.’
‘The French are our allies, sir,’ replied Cadwalader.
‘They are for now, but history teaches us that allies can soon become enemies. But we are running ahead of ourselves. The issue we face today is the encampment of our troops.’
‘It is my fault, gentlemen.’ Reitsch realised she was in danger of losing her audience. ‘Please forgive me. This area I am proposing will also give us room to construct sheds for our horses and build a commissary area to feed the men properly.’
‘There is a saying in Europe that “an army marches on its stomach.” It is a good one, no?’ said von Steuben.
Reitsch continued: ‘We should establish a central commissary At present, your camps are haphazard. Units lie where they can find a suitable space. Kitchens are set up with no plan; brigades look after themselves with no thought for the wider need. At your last camp, I was horrified to see where animals had been stripped of their meat, the carcasses were left to rot in the ground in the same place. This may well suit the conditions of winter, but in the summer months, it will become a proving ground for infection. We cannot have this. Similarly, the men relieve themselves wherever they care with no thought beyond their own need.
‘I propose that we have a simple layout to the camp. Latrines and food rubbish on the eastern edge, on the downhill side. The kitchens and dining areas to the west. No units to be allowed to provide their own food. Any that do so will be disciplined.’
‘And the same with the latrines,’ said von Steuben. ‘Men who relieve themselves, other than in the designated area, will be punished by incarceration.’
‘We are to imprison men for pissing in an open field?’ asked Sullivan. ‘Is this what we are to become?’
‘There can be no exceptions, General Sullivan. Discipline is all. Our enlisted men must understand this is not only the price they pay for victory, but the cause of victory itself. In the same way, we have to ensure order in the camp. Order is the cornerstone of any army, as I’m sure you will all agree. The huts and tents for the men should be organised in rows, clearly designated, allowing for easier mobilisation, but also for exchanging information.’
‘I agree with that, Baron, but really – imprisoning a man for taking a piss?’ asked Knox.
‘That’s the Boston bookseller talking, Henry, not the artillery general!’ joked Cadwalader. ‘The baron is right. I agree with you, sir. Discipline. We need more. We have tweaked King George’s behind; he’ll come at us with more Hessians and the best British fighters, mark my words.’
‘Yes, they will come harder than ever at us, that is true,’ Washington filled his glass and made his way to an armchair next to the roaring fire. His jaw was aching, his body ached, everything ached, and he yearned for a deep sleep. ‘I am taken with this idea. This winter we need to establish a permanent home and bring our men up to the necessary standard. We should take advantage of the experience of the baron and his Stormtroopers to raise the quality of the army. Let us ride out tomorrow to this brook and survey the land. If it is as you describe it, Frau Reitsch, then we shall immediately begin work on building a permanent camp.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
‘There is one more issue that I must press.’
‘Go ahead, Baron,’ replied Washington.
‘In Europe we discovered that to be effective an army must be a machine that is maintained and monitored; it needs management, especially all its supplies. An army is always surrounded by swindlers, people profiteering from its need for food, drink, clothing. The only way to avoid overpaying, corruption and waste is to have a central team doing that for the entire army.’
‘We have such a system in place, Baron,’ interjected Cadwalader. ‘Thomas Mifflin has been our quartermaster for the army since the summer of seventy-five.’
‘And doing a fine job too,’ said Sullivan.
‘Then why is this army lacking in so many of the necessary supplies? Why are you praying that my men have captured the British supplies if you are so content with Mifflin? Let me ask you this, where is the bookkeeping?’
‘The bookkeeping?’ Sullivan was puzzled.
‘A well-organised army keeps records of all that it buys, from whom it buys and at what price. Ask Mifflin, where are his records? I can tell you, he has none. You have no records of your supplies, your armaments, even a central register of the men serving under you. None. I would suggest t
hat there is enormous waste. You need a procurement team as professional as the army you are building.’
‘It is true that Tom Mifflin has little desire to be quartermaster. He is much happier in the heart of the battle than behind, counting sacks of flour,’ said Greene. ‘Our problem has been to find a character of the right bearing to take on the task.’
‘I have just the person.’
‘You do?’
‘I have. She is right here.’
‘Frau Reitsch? What experience does your woman have in running the operations of an army? Any woman, for that matter?’ blustered Sullivan.
Calmly, Reitsch replied, ‘Who is running your home in your absence, General Sullivan? A woman, I daresay your wife, Lydia I think is her name. And who secures all the necessary supplies and tends for your children in your absence? Or for that matter, when you return home? Why, your wife. Is this not common to all you gentlemen in the room? Your homes, your families, all you need to ensure that you can take to the field, is that not all done successfully by women? Would you not agree that women have a natural ability to run home and hearth? We women are far less corruptible than men when it comes to this. We are used to hard bargaining, otherwise our families would starve.’
‘Madame, you cannot compare running an army of this size and complications with a family home in New Hampshire.’
‘Why not? It is a question of scale, but the principles are the same. Sound finances. Is your issue with myself or what you regard as the inability of women for such complicated tasks?’
‘I fear it is both. There is a reason why we call it husbandry.’
‘So you would tell Catherine the Empress of all Russia that her sex makes her unfit to lead her country, would you? Was it not a woman, Elizabeth, who set about establishing the first British colonies in this land, and isn’t it a man who by his own stupidity, ignorance and inflexibility stands to lose them?’
‘She has you there, John,’ laughed Greene. ‘Your argument cannot be against her sex.’
‘Then I will argue that she has no experience of organising such forces as ours.’