LITMIR.BIZ

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sick and broken down, moved over. On that day, Dr. Waldo, a surgeon from Connecticut made this entry in his diary:

      "Sunset. We are ordered to march over the river. I'm sick—eat nothing—no whiskey—no baggage. Lord-Lord-Lord."

      A few days later he makes this entry:

      "The army, who have been surprisingly healthy hitherto, now begin to grow sickly. They still show alacrity and contentment not to be expected from so young troops.

      "I am sick, discontented, out of humor. Poor food, hard lodging—cold weather—fatigue—nasty clothes—nasty cooking—smoked out of my senses, vomit half my time—the Devil's in it. I can't endure it.

      "Here comes a bowl of soup—full of burnt leaves and dirt.—Away with it, boys. I'll live like the chameleon upon air. 'Pooh-pooh,' says Patience. You talk like a fool.—See the poor soldier—with what cheerfulness he meets his foes and encounters hardships. If bare of foot he labors through mud and cold, with a song extolling war and Washington. If his food is bad he eats it with contentment and whistles it into digestion.—There comes a soldier—his bare feet are seen through his worn out shoes. His legs are nearly naked from his tattered remains of an old pair of stockings—his shirt hanging in strings—his hair dishevelled—his face meagre—his whole appearance pictures a person forsaken and discouraged. He comes and cries with despair—I am sick. My feet are lame—my legs are sore—my body covered with tormenting itch—my clothes worn out—my constitution broken. I fail fast. I shall soon be no more. And all the reward I shall get will be—'Poor Will is dead.'"

      On the 21st of December this entry appears:

      "A general cry through the camp this evening: 'no meat—no meat.' The distant vales echo back—'no meat.' 'What have you for dinner, Boys?' 'Nothing but fire-cake and water, sir! At night. 'Gentlemen, supper is ready.' 'What is your supper, lads?' 'Fire-cake and water Sir.'"

      Again on December 22d:

      "Lay excessive cold and uncomfortable last night. My eyes started out of their orbits like a rabbit's eyes, occasioned by a great cold and smoke. Huts go slowly. Cold and smoke make us fret.—I don't know anything that vexes a man's soul more than hot smoke continually blowing into one's eyes, and when he attempts to avoid it, he is met by a cold and freezing wind."

      On December 25th, Xmas, this entry:

      "Still in tents. The sick suffer much in tents. We give them mutton and grog and capital medicine it is once in a while."

      January 1st:

      "I am alive. I am well. Huts go on briskly."

      I have quoted thus lengthily from this diary, which gives, perhaps, the most vivid picture we possess of that dark period, simply because it touches upon almost all that concerns the life of the soldiers that winter—upon their dwellings, their food, their health, their courage.

      The Doctor repeatedly speaks of the huts which were to shelter the men. In the order issued by Washington to his generals early in December, directions were given concerning the construction of these dwellings. According to these directions, the major-generals, accompanied by the engineers, were to fix on the proper spot for hutting. The sunside of the hills was chosen, and here they constructed long rows of log huts, and made numerous stockades and bristling pikes for defence along the line of the trench. For these purposes and for their fuel they cut off an entire forest of timber. Can't you hear the steady crash of the ax held by hands benumbed with the cold, as blow, by blow, they felled the trees on the hillside, eager to erect the crude huts which were to give better shelter than the tents in which they were yet shivering and choking? In cutting their fire wood, the soldiers were directed to save such parts of each tree as would do for building, reserving 16 or 18 feet of trunk for logs to rear their huts. "The quartermaster-general, (so says the order of December 20th) is to delay no time, but procure large quantities of straw, either for covering the huts or for beds." This last item would suggest the meagreness of the furnishing. Throughout the entire winter the soldier could look for few of the barest necessities of life. An order from headquarters directed that each hut should be provided with a pail. Dishes were a rarity. Each soldier carried his knife in his pocket, while one horn spoon, a pewter dish, and a horn tumbler into which whiskey rarely entered, did duty for a whole mess. The eagerness to possess a single dish is illustrated by an anecdote which has come down in my own family, if I may presume to narrate it. My Revolutionary ancestor was a manufacturer of pottery. In the leisure hours of this bitter time at Valley Forge, he built a kiln and burnt some pottery. Just as it was time to open the ovens, a band of soldiers rushed upon them, tearing them down, and triumphantly marched off with their prize, leaving Captain Piercy as destitute of dishes as before.

      As for the food that was meant to sustain the defenders of our liberty, the diary I have quoted, together with Washington's daily orders, gives us sufficient information to enable us to judge of its meagreness. Often their food was salted herring so decayed that it had to be dug 'en masse' from the barrels. Du Poncean, a young officer, aid to Baron Steuben, related to a friend, a few years after the war, some facts of stirring interest. "They bore," he says, "with fortitude and patience. Sometimes, you might see the soldiers pop their heads out from their huts and call in an undertone—'no bread, no soldier;' but a single word from their officer would still their complaint." Baron Steuben's cook left him at Valley Forge, saying that when there was nothing to cook, any one might turn the spit.

      The commander-in-chief, partaking of the hardships of his brave men, was accustomed to sit down with his invited officers to a scanty piece of meat, with some hard bread and a few potatoes. At his house, called Moore Hall, they drank the prosperity of the nation in humble toddy, and the luxurious dessert consisted of a dish of hazel nuts.

      Even in those scenes, Mrs. Washington, as was her practice in the winter campaign, had joined her husband, and always at the head of the table maintained a mild and dignified, yet cheerful manner. She busied herself all day long, with errands of grace, and when she passed along the lines, she would hear the fervent cry—"God bless Lady Washington."

      I need not go into details concerning the lack of clothing—the diary I have quoted is sufficiently suggestive. An officer said, some years after the war, that many were without shoes, and while acting as sentinels, had doffed their hats to stand in, to save their feet from freezing. Deserters to the British army—for even among the loyal American troops there were some to be found who could not stand up against cold and hunger and disease and the inducement held out by the enemy to deserters—would enter Philadelphia shoeless and almost naked—around their body an old, dirty blanket, fastened by a leather belt around the waist.

      One does not wonder that disease was rampant, that orders had to be issued from headquarters for the proper treatment of the itch; for inoculation against smallpox, for the care of those suffering from dysentery which was widespread in the camp. On January 8, an order was issued from the commander-in-chief to the effect that men rendered unfit for duty by the itch be looked after by the surgeon and properly disposed in huts where they could be annointed for the disease. Hospital provisions were made for the sick. Huts, 15 by 25 and 9 feet high, with windows in each end, were built, two for each brigade. They were placed at or near the center, and not more than 100 yards from the bridge. But such were the ravages of the disease that long trenches in the vale below the hill were dug, and filled in with the dead.

      To turn to the activities of the camp—its duties, privileges, and amusements, and even its crimes. Until somewhat late in the spring, when Baron Steuben arrived at Valley Forge, there was little system observed in the drilling of the several brigades. Yet each day's military duty was religiously attended to, that there might, at least, be some preparation for defence in case of an attack from the superior force at Philadelphia. The duties of both rank and file were strictly laid down by Washington, and any dereliction was punished with military strictness.

      In the commands issued on February 8, the order of the day is plainly indicated. I give the words from Orderly book:

      "Reveille sounded at daybreak—troop at 8—retreat at sunset—tattoo at 9. Drummers call to beat at the right of first line and answer through that line. Then through the

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