Cannons at Dawn Page 10

General Wayne is urging his troops to stay, to no effect. Now drummers are calling the soldiers, and the march has begun. Our Thomas is going with them! The rat-a-tat-tats echo through this cold valley. The fifers sound like birds tweeting.

  I looked for Willie, but saw only rows of men in ragged coats and tricorns, moving down the road. Now I must hurry….

  Near Middlebrook, New Jersey

  Evening. We are on the outskirts of the army encampment with other women who followed the soldiers. Twelve of us are crowded into one tent, but we are in good company: Esther and her mother, and Mrs. Ewing with Robert and Anna. There is so little space that last night we slept sitting up and leaning against one another.

  Today our walk was in slippery snow through shaded woods. It was cold. We were exhausted before the sun even touched the tops of the trees. Esther told me she had stomach pains and her back hurt. It was hard for her to stand up. I asked one of the wagon drivers if my friend could please ride for a bit, but he said no, that if he let her climb aboard he would have all the ladies asking.

  By sunset Esther was crying in agony.

  I had forgotten my friend was expecting a baby because she never spoke of it and her cape covers her well. But just an hour ago there it was, right before our eyes! A tiny little girl she named Polly. We are all smiling, the first any of us have done so in days.

  January 7, 1781, Sunday

  Princeton, New Jersey. The mutineers have captured this town! We hear the news as it makes its way down the line to our tents.

  Here it is: The soldiers are not continuing to Philadelphia after all. They have set up headquarters here and have appointed envoys. They want to negotiate with General Wayne, who has followed the troops here. He could have everyone court-martialed, if he so ordered.

  And there is more trouble coming.

  This morning Sally and I were breaking ice at the creek, for water to boil, when two horsemen rode by. One appeared to be a local villager guiding an Englishman into the encampment. They came so close to where we were kneeling, we could smell the talc and grease from the Englishman’s powdered wig. He looked regal in his crimson coat, clean white breeches, and boots freshly polished. When he dismounted to talk to a group of our soldiers, Sally and I crept among the trees to listen.

  “Back wages and all the victuals you can eat,” he told them. “And a full pardon. King George won’t have you hanged for being the piggish rebels you are.”

  The Americans crossed their arms, regarding him with scorn. “Eh, mate, all this good fortune in exchange for what?”

  “Come to our side. You shall help the King end this silly war once and for all.”

  “Who sent you here?” demanded one of the Americans.

  The man stood tall, his hand on his sword. “Sir Henry Clinton,” he answered with pride. “British Commander in Chief for North America, resident of New York City. He knows of your hunger, you wretched misguided lads.”

  Sally and I were silent. We waited until the Englishman returned to his horse then ran back to the tents. We told the ladies what we had heard.

  Later, still Sunday, January 7

  Many of the wives worry this mutiny shall end in disaster, and that General Washington will never be able to restore order among the troops.

  “Starving men will do anything to survive,” warned one of the women. “Some of my uncles and cousins have thrown down their arms to march with the British, they are that destitute.”

  Mama clenched her fist. “My husband shall never betray our country,” she boasted of my father. “He is no Benedict Arnold.”

  “Nor mine. Nor my son,” said Mrs. Campbell. Mrs. Ewing agreed, saying, “Our husbands are Patriots. We are Patriots. We have come too far and lost too much to give up now.”

  I lowered my eyes in shame. Mrs. Ewing meant the loss of her little Betsy.

  Then Miss Lulu told us something about Victor. He had been one of Captain Todd’s slaves, but Captain Todd freed him when he joined the Army and deeded fifty acres of land to him.

  “Victor can farm after this war,” Miss Lulu explained. “We gonna see that pretty day, I jess know it. That fine man won’t trade his blue coat for a red one, nosir.”

  Still Sunday, January 7

  The mutineers’ cannons are rolling into formation. We fear a bloody battle.

  “Take the little ones,” Mama instructed us. “Run far, far back.”

  Now from our tent I can see some of our Continentals lining up, muskets pointed. I want to see more! Where is Papa? Where is Willie?

  Esther is here with her new baby. “Go, Abby! I shall watch these young ones. Then tell me if you have seen my husband. Hurry!”

  I did not see Papa or the others when I drew near the cannons. Men were about to light the long cotton fuses when a shout rose from their ranks.

  “Hold your fire!”

  When they put down their torches, women standing nearby shouted questions.

  One of the men tried to explain. “We wanted to give Joseph Reed a cannon salute, to honour him but —”

  “Who?” they interrupted.

  “The President of Congress. He’s come from Philadelphia to hear our grievances.”

  Another wife yelled, “Then welcome him with a hearty round, boys!”

  “Woman,” he hollered, “we realized firing artillery would scare the locals. Now go back to your laundry or whatever dirty chore you do.”

  January 8, 1781, Monday

  Our sentries have seized the Englishman and his guide, and turned them over to General Wayne. We heard they are to be shot by a firing squad.

  Mama and her friends were right. Our men have refused to accept the bribes from Sir Henry Clinton. In the quiet of my heart, I knew Willie would be steadfast.

  And this morning, a happy event cheered us further. Villagers slaughtered several cows then delivered chunks of beef to our campfires. Supper is soon. The delicious aroma of roasting meat quickens my hunger.

  Monday evening, after cleaning

  pots

  When I filled Willie’s plate with our good, hot stew, he insisted I share with him. “Come sit beside me, Abby. You are looking too thin. I worry about you.”

  “I’m fine, Willie.”

  He handed me his spoon. “Then let’s sup together, and visit. I like the sound of your voice.”

  I sat in the dirt beside him, full of questions. “What if there had been a battle today?”

  “I’m a soldier, Abby.”

  “But what if you got wounded?”

  Willie grinned at me. “I would’ve bled all over the place.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Well, I guess I would’ve needed you to nurse me back to health.”

  Now that it is nightfall and I’m back in the ladies’ camp, I think that dear fellow might enjoy some silence. How we chatted and chatted! I do hope he’s not weary of me. I should like to have more conversations with him.

  January 10, 1781, Wednesday

  Full moon. It is bright and frosty tonight. I am able to write in this crowded tent by the glowing canvas. I shall be brief as my fingers are numb with cold.

  An agreement was reached today, among the Continentals, General Wayne, and Joseph Reed. Letters from General Washington entered the discussions.

  To our great relief, no mutineers will be hanged.

  Half of our men have accepted honourable discharges and shall return to their homes. The other half will take furloughs. If they reenlist in April, they shall receive bonuses and become the new Pennsylvania Battalion.

  Papa and Willie are in this latter group, as are Victor and our other friends.

  I am glad Esther and I can spend more time together. I like her, and I like her little Polly, now ten days old. We walk together through camp gathering rags for diapers. Mrs. Campbell sewed a snug little bag for Polly to fit in. Now Esther can carry her close to her chest while keeping her hands free. We take turns. When holding her baby, I feel calm.

  This morning a horseman
brought distressing news. All of us hoped Benedict Arnold would be captured and hanged as a traitor. But he is alive, eating well, and waving the British flag. Just days ago he led a naval expedition that burned Richmond, Virginia. He has joined the enemy and is the enemy!

  His wife, Peggy, is safe, too. Instead of putting her in prison, General Washington sent her to Philadelphia to live with her father, a Tory who is loyal to the King.

  Tories are everywhere! My sister Elisabeth might well be a neighbour to one. I cannot bear the thought.

  January 29, 1781, Monday

  The Pennsylvania line has shrunk. Only eleven hundred men remain. At least that many are now walking through the snow back to their farms and villages. Their revolt was such a success that New Jersey troops tried the same thing.

  A light snow was falling as a messenger told us what happened. He stayed in his saddle, his blue cloak turning white. I could hear the hiss of snowflakes drifting onto our shoulders as he spoke:

  “About two hundred of ‘em marched to Trenton,” he said. “But General Washington has had enough of mutinies. He sent troops from West Point to restore order and had the leaders arrested. Two were sentenced to death.”

  “Have ye names, sir?” asked a woman standing with us. “My brothers are with the New Jersey line.”

  “Were they hanged?” another asked.

  “Don’t know who they were, ladies. I’m sorry. They were put before a firing squad made up of their own brigade. Their weeping companions were forced to shoot them.”

  April 24, 1781, Tuesday

  For three months I have been without ink for my pen, thus this long silence. The latest news is troubling:

  The British have raided General Washington’s home in Mount Vernon! They sailed up the Potomac and anchored near shore. Fortunately the General was not there, otherwise he would have been taken prisoner. But his cousin Lund Washington, who was in charge of the plantation, went aboard the enemy vessels and served refreshments. Then to continue his hospitality, he gave away several Negroes!

  “The General is furious,” the messenger reported, standing in the back of a wagon so his voice would carry.

  A murmur of sympathy rose among us. Miss Lulu was next to me. She called out a question. “Kind sir, who was taken? Do you know names?”

  He squinted, trying to remember. “Alls I heard is, three of the general’s favorite old servants, also the lads Thomas and Peter, Gunner the bricklayer, Watty the weaver, and three young maids. Maybe they were given away, maybe they deserted. ’Tis not my concern. They’re property of the enemy now.”

  Miss Lulu closed her eyes. A small cry escaped her lips.

  “What’s wrong, Miss Lulu?” I asked.

  “That’s my Pappy, Gunner the bricklayer. Our master sold ‘im when I was little-bitty. I coulda died of lonesomeness. Now I ain’t never gonna see him again.”

  I wanted to comfort Miss Lulu. I did not know how, except to stand beside her and be quiet.

  Warmer days

  Rations are still low, but there are plenty of ducks and geese near shore. They are nesting. It is not easy to catch a goose, for the big males charge us with flapping wings. While they honk and snap, one of us hurries to scare the female and wring her neck. I am sorry for the babies ready to hatch, but we are hungry.

  May 7, 1781, Monday

  Near West Point, spring. The moon is full and beautiful tonight. Finally the tall drifts of snow have melted and we are able to bathe in the creeks. As I write this in our tent, I am savoring this past hour spent with Willie. I cannot sleep.

  After supper he and I strolled by the river. I was pondering how everyone is gaining years during this long war so I asked his age. He thought a moment.

  “Uh … twenty? Yes, that’s it. I am twenty now. You?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “Abby, perhaps we should have a party for all our missed birthdays.”

  “Yes!” I replied. “And Miss Lulu can make her honey cake.”

  Willie fell quiet. He took my hand as we continued along the moonlit bank. Water swished against the tall reeds growing there. “There’s something else I should like to celebrate with you,” he said.

  I felt my heart beat a bit faster. “Oh?” I said. “That I no longer cook soup in our laundry kettle?”

  He laughed. “Abigail, I have known for a very long time that I want to marry you. You make me happy. I want to make you happy as well.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes, truly,” he said.

  “But the war —”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He looked up at the bright sky. “It might go on for years, more than I am willing to wait. Please say yes, Abby. We can wed on the next full moon. Already I have asked your father for your hand.”

  “You did? When? What did he say?”

  By way of an answer, Willie put his arms around me. I let him hold me. No longer did I feel shy.

  Now I shall close these pages and tell Mama. But I think she already knows. She has set down her knitting. In the glow of her candle, I can see that she is giving me a tender look.

  I shall not tell her about our kisses, though. The first one was quick. The second one … well, I shall keep the words to myself lest Sally peek in these pages.

  A new family

  A quiet, little wedding yesterday, but not my own. Victor and Miss Lulu were married at sunset, by one of the army chaplains. Their contentment touched me. Mazie leaned into Victor’s arms like he was her own Papa.

  During the ceremony Willie and I kept glancing at each other. I believe he will be an honourable husband, but dear me, I know nothing about being a wife — and our wedding is just weeks away!

  May 13, 1781, Sunday

  Still near West Point. Headquarters are in New Windsor, just north of West Point. Today a horseman brought news into camp: General Washington is speaking with the French commander, Count de Rochambeau. Our two armies shall meet up with his, then together all will head south to Virginia, where more Continentals are waiting. We will then battle the British that are there causing trouble.

  “When shall this be?” a woman asked.

  “Do the families follow this time?” another wanted to know.

  “Exactly where is the Army going?”

  The messenger held up his hand for quiet, then said, “The Brits in Virginia have been burning warehouses of tobacco, and destroying boats in the docks. Governor Thomas Jefferson is furious. So ladies, be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. I’m under orders to say no more.” He rode away without answering our questions.

  “Why can’t he tell us?” asked Sally.

  “General Washington is smart,” Mama explained. “Perhaps he knows how we ladies like to visit with one another. If we describe to a friend specifically where our Army is going, she will tell her friend who might tell a neighbour. That neighbour would tell a Tory, who would then tell a British officer. Before long, the enemy would know everything General Washington is planning.”

  Later when Sally and I were spreading blankets over bushes to air them out, she started to cry.

  “Sally, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared for Mazie!” Then leaning close to me she whispered, “Abby, when we go south, what if their old master sees her and Miss Lulu? Or what if someone reads a poster about them running away? I mean, Tilda and Philomena running away.”

  I thought a moment. “Well, it’s been a couple years. Maybe they don’t look like they used to. Or maybe their master died in this war. Sally, all we can do is pray that they stay free.”

  My sister smiled up at me. “I like to pray,” she said.

  May 31, 1781, Thursday

  A dreadful accident!

  This morning from the cliff, Esther and I watched a barge crossing over to our side of the Hudson. There were about twenty people from Massachusetts: soldiers and women with children. Suddenly we heard screaming. Water was rushing up to their knees as the barge tipped from its heavy load. Then before our eyes all were dumped int
o the river. A wagon, two horses, babies, everyone.

  I had not seen Willie for several days nor had Esther seen Ned, her husband, for their brigade has been out on patrol. When she and I noticed a soldier floating facedown in the swift current, we both cried out. There was another dead man, then another. We yelled, pointing down to the three bodies, but no one heard us. Like logs adrift, they soon disappeared around a bend in the river.

  Esther and I clutched hands. We watched people jumping in to rescue children, boats rowing out to help. Somehow the women — in their heavy wet skirts — managed to keep their infants afloat. Men swam the horses to shore by holding on to their harnesses.

  It was several hours before we learned that all had been saved except for those three. I am sad for their families.

  Now it is evening. Campfires are glowing among the clusters of tents. We’ve been told that on the march south, there shall be many more river crossings. If we do indeed follow the Army, how I shall dread this.

  June 2, 1781, Saturday

  Days are sunny and warm, birds fill the trees with song. I’m feeling happy and hopeful. The ladies in camp got together and sewed a pretty wedding dress for me. The sleeves are of light blue linen, the skirt dark blue. My new mobcap was stitched from someone’s apron, and they were able to find two shoes. One is brown, the other black, but they are of fine leather. I do feel elegant.

  The moon will be full on Wednesday. I have whispered many questions to Esther about being married. She blushes as easily as do I. We would rather guess about some things than ask our mothers.