The Life of John Marshall, Volume 1: Frontiersman, soldier, lawmaker, 1755-1788. Albert J. Beveridge

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СКАЧАТЬ Howe's, where we had a concert and dance… Oh, how I wished Mr. Paca would let you come in for a week or two!.. You'd have an opportunity of raking as much as you choose at Plays, Balls, Concerts, and Assemblies. I have been but three evenings alone since we moved to town."357

      "My wife writes me," records a Tory who was without and whose wife was within the Quaker City's gates of felicity, "that everything is gay and happy [in Philadelphia] and it is like to prove a frolicking winter."358 Loyal to the colors of pleasure, society waged a triumphant campaign of brilliant amusement. The materials were there of wit and loveliness, of charm and manners. Such women there were as Peggy Chew and Rebecca Franks, Williamina Bond and Margaret Shippen – afterwards the wife of Benedict Arnold and the probable cause of his fall;359 such men as Banastre Tarleton of the Dragoons, twenty-three years old, handsome and accomplished; brilliant Richard Fitzpatrick of the Guards; Captain John André, whose graces charmed all hearts.360 So lightly went the days and merrily the nights under the British flag in Philadelphia during the winter of 1777-78.

      For the common soldiers there were the race-course and the cock-pit, warm quarters for their abodes, and the fatness of the land for their eating. Beef in abundance, more cheese than could be used, wine enough and to spare, provisions of every kind, filled pantry and cellar. For miles around the farmers brought in supplies. The women came by night across fields and through woods with eggs, butter, vegetables, turkeys, chickens, and fresh meat.361 For most of the farmers of English descent in that section hated the war and were actively, though in furtive manner, Tory. They not only supplied the British larder, but gave news of the condition and movements of the Americans.362

      Not twenty miles away from these scenes of British plenty and content, of cheer and jollity, of wassail and song, rose the bleak hills and black ravines of Valley Forge, where Washington's army had crawled some weeks after Germantown. On the Schuylkill heights and valleys, the desperate Americans made an encampment which, says Trevelyan, "bids fair to be the most celebrated in the world's history."363 The hills were wooded and the freezing soldiers were told off in parties of twelve to build huts in which to winter. It was more than a month before all these rude habitations were erected.364 While the huts were being built the naked or scarcely clad365 soldiers had to find what shelter they could. Some slept in tents, but most of them lay down beneath the trees.366 For want of blankets, hundreds, had "to sit up all night by fires."367 After Germantown Washington's men had little to eat at any time. On December 2, "the last ration had been delivered and consumed."368 Through treachery, cattle meant for the famishing patriots were driven into the already over-supplied Philadelphia.369

      The commissariat failed miserably, perhaps dishonestly, to relieve the desperate want. Two days before Christmas there was "not a single hoof of any kind to slaughter, and not more than twenty-five barrels of flour!"370 Men died by the score from starvation.371 Most of the time "fire cake" made of dirty, soggy dough, warmed over smoky fires, and washed down with polluted water was the only sustenance. Sometimes, testifies Marshall himself, soldiers and officers "were absolutely without food."372 On the way to Valley Forge, Surgeon Waldo writes: "I'm Sick – eat nothing – No Whiskey – No Baggage – Lord, – Lord, – Lord."373 Of the camp itself and of the condition of the men, he chronicles: "Poor food – hard lodging – Cold Weather – fatigue – Nasty Cloaths – nasty Cookery – Vomit half my time – Smoak'd out of my senses – the Devil's in it – I can't Endure it – Why are we sent here to starve and freeze – What sweet Felicities have I left at home; – A charming Wife – pretty Children – Good Beds – good food – good Cookery – all agreeable – all harmonious. Here, all Confusion – Smoke – Cold, – hunger & filthyness – A pox on my bad luck. Here comes a bowl of beef soup, – full of burnt leaves and dirt, sickish enough to make a hector spue – away with it, Boys – I'll live like the Chameleon upon Air."374

      While in overfed and well-heated Philadelphia officers and privates took the morning air to clear the brain from the night's pleasures, John Marshall and his comrades at Valley Forge thus greeted one another: "Good morning Brother Soldier (says one to another) how are you? – All wet, I thank'e, hope you are so – (says the other)."375 Still, these empty, shrunken men managed to squeeze some fun out of it. When reveille sounded, the hoot of an owl would come from a hut door, to be answered by like hoots and the cawing of crows; but made articulate enough to carry in this guise the cry of "'No meat! – No meat!' The distant vales Echo'd back the melancholy sound – 'No Meat! – No Meat!'… What have you for our Dinners, Boys? [one man would cry to another] 'Nothing but Fire Cake and Water, Sir.' At night – 'Gentlemen, the Supper is ready.' What is your Supper, Lads? 'Fire Cake & Water, Sir.'"

      Just before Christmas Surgeon Waldo writes: "Lay excessive Cold & uncomfortable last Night – my eyes are started out from their Orbits like a Rabbit's eyes, occasion'd by a great Cold – and Smoke. What have you got for Breakfast, Lads? 'Fire Cake and Water, Sir.' The Lord send that our Commissary of Purchases may live on Fire Cake & Water till their glutted Gutts are turned to Pasteboard."

      He admonishes: "Ye who Eat Pumpkin Pie and Roast Turkies – and yet Curse fortune for using you ill – Curse her no more – least she reduce you … to a bit of Fire Cake & a Draught of Cold Water, & in Cold Weather."376

      Heart-breaking and pitiful was the aspect of these soldiers of liberty. "There comes a Soldier – His bare feet are seen thro' his worn out Shoes – his legs nearly naked from the tatter'd remains of an only pair of stockings – his Breeches not sufficient to cover his Nakedness – his Shirt hanging in Strings – his hair dishevell'd – his face meagre – his whole appearance pictures a person foresaken & discouraged. He comes, and crys with an air of wretchedness & despair – I am Sick – my feet lame – my legs are sore – my body cover'd with this tormenting Itch – my Cloaths are worn out – my Constitution is broken – my former Activity is exhausted by fatigue – hunger & Cold! – I fail fast I shall soon be no more! And all the reward I shall get will be – 'Poor Will is dead.'"377

      On the day after Christmas the soldiers waded through snow halfway to their knees. Soon it was red from their bleeding feet.378 The cold stung like a whip. The huts were like "dungeons and … full as noisome."379 Tar, pitch, and powder had to be burned in them to drive away the awful stench.380 The horses "died by hundreds every week"; the soldiers, staggering with weakness as they were, hitched themselves to the wagons and did the necessary hauling.381 If a portion of earth was warmed by the fires or by their trampling feet, it froze again into ridges which cut like knives. Often some of the few blankets in the army were torn into strips and wrapped around the naked feet of the soldiers only to be rent into shreds by the sharp ice under foot.382 Sick men lay in filthy hovels covered only by their rags, dying and dead comrades crowded by their sides.СКАЧАТЬ