The General's Christmas (2 page)

He pondered the sacrifices
they were making. Other men had chosen to stay home with their
families, close to hearth and domestic bliss, away from the
bone-chilling cold, away from the haggard faces with sunken cheeks,
and anxiety-filled eyes. His force was not experienced, nor was it
strong or well-supplied. Although they lacked arms and supplies,
they compensated with an abundance of heart; the heart to fight for
freedom and the willingness to endure. The strength of their
determination would decide their fate.

Washington knew that his
army could not be victorious in a full assault against the
well-stocked, professional, experienced soldiers of the Crown. But
if his army could be the dogged pack of wolves at their heels,
attacking in the dark, hiding and attacking again and again,
picking off the officers, leading the enemy into rugged and
unfamiliar territory, he might outrun them. At some point, British
Parliament would see the folly of maintaining an army that couldn’t
crush this rebel force in an all-out battle. They would give up and
go home. That was his best hope of defeating them.

Defeat at New York, at
Brooklyn Heights, at White Plains, and the surrender of Fort
Washington had weakened the Americans' resolve. Their morale was so
low that many were counting down the days until their tour of duty
expired at the end of the month. British General William Howe had
announced a full pardon to any American soldier who lay down his
arms and went home. Some had already taken that offer, not waiting
until their term expired. They were hungry, cold, and hadn't been
paid in months. Congress was slow responding to his pleas for money
and supplies. The troops in New Jersey and Maryland were less than
supportive to the cause, and as a result, the Colonists suffered
the consequences.

A gust of frigid air ushered in the corporal
and his letters.

"Here are your new messages,
sir," Baylor announced, "And General Greene is on his
way."

"Very good. Be so kind as to
tell me what you have," said the general.

"A letter from your brother,
Augustine, an urgent message from General Gates, a letter from
General Reed, and another from Governor Trumbull, Sir."

"Give me the urgent message from Gates and
leave the others on the table."

Baylor obeyed and returned
to his own writing table in the dining room. He shivered as he sat
down, and blew on his cold hands. His cheeks bore two crimson
splotches. He rubbed his hands together briskly and combed his
fingers through his dark hair, untidily held by a dark ribbon
behind his neck. He tightened the woolen scarf that his aunt had
given him before he left home, and blessed her again for insisting
that he bring it. Despite the small fire burning in the hearth,
there was a damp chill in the house.

"Good Lord!" bellowed Washington. Corporal
Baylor jumped from his chair.

"Sir?"

"That wretched excuse for an officer!" boomed
the General, "I cannot believe his incompetence and irresponsible
behavior!"

Baylor walked into the room to find the
general shaking a letter in his hand.

"General Charles Lee has been captured! But
not on the field of battle, nor on the road to it! He was taken in
his quarters at ten o'clock in the morning! He appears to have been
sleeping at White's Tavern, over three miles away from camp when
the enemy surrounded him and threatened to burn him out!"

Washington paced agitatedly
in the small room, worried about the consequences of General Lee's
foolishness. He wondered what the British would do to find out what
Lee knew about the plans and current condition of his army. He
wished he could trust Lee, but the past man's actions gave him no
confidence. Lee often acted to his advantage rather than for the
good of his country. Washington was aware of the man's greed and
ambition, and previously Lee had disrespectfully defied his
orders.

The door opened and General Greene arrived,
wiping his feet on the rush mat. The house belonged to Widow
Harris, but Washington insisted that everyone treat it
respectfully.

"Take a chair, General Greene, we have much
to discuss," said the general.

Greene sat down carefully, extending his
stiff right leg that made him walk with a limp. At one time he had
nearly been banned from the army because of it, but Washington
recognized Greene's potential as a leader. Washington poured two
glasses of diluted wine and they both drank in silence. He regarded
the young man in his early thirties with admiration. Despite his
limp and chronic asthma, Greene was a natural military strategist
and a determined patriot. He had demonstrated his uncanny ability
on several occasions, and even though Greene's regiment couldn't
hold Fort Washington against the British in New York, the general
still held Greene in high esteem. The young man reminded Washington
of himself in younger days, and although he never showed his
affection for Greene, he felt it strongly.

"How is Catie?" asked Washington.

"From her last letter I
learned she is doing well, and the baby will be due
soon."

Washington nodded in
satisfaction, appreciating the sacrifice that Greene, like so many
others had made, leaving families to chase the dream of American
independence. The weight of this responsibility pressed heavily
upon his soul. Washington informed him of General Lee's capture.
Greene's blue eyes darkened.

"Captured! This is quite a blow! He's one of
our most experienced officers!"

"Yes, I know. But we'll now have General
Lee's men, increasing our numbers. We can't let his capture deter
our purpose. We desperately need a victory. Time is running out and
if we don't achieve something immediately, we may never recover.
With so many enlistments expiring at the end of this month, I fear
our cause could be lost."

Greene nodded in agreement and took another
sip of wine.

Washington continued, "I've had a letter from
General Reed. He suggests that we attempt to take the outposts
outside Trenton. What do you think? Can it be done?"

Always the optimist, Greene's eyes
brightened, "If we have enough boats to cross the river and could
make a surprise attack, I think we can."

Washington nodded, "I think we should also
attack Trenton. It's not so large and well-fortified that it would
be difficult to take. We'd then control both sides of the Delaware
along this stretch. We urgently need supplies. According to our
scouts, the Hessian troops there have plenty."

Greene replied, "I have every faith that
Colonel Knox can take our cannon across the river, even if the
river is solid ice."

Washington leaned forward, speaking
earnestly. "To achieve a surprise attack, we'll need to cross the
river at points north and south of the city, then move in quietly
until we're upon them. To do that we'll have to cross in the
dark."

"Which comes fairly early this time of year,"
Greene added.

Washington paused to take
another sip of wine and to ponder the idea. Already his solemn mood
was lifting as the hope of a victory lifted his spirits. To his
credit, he was not one to dwell on past failures. He set down his
glass.

"Call a Council of War for this evening at
six. I want to hear what the others have to say on this
subject."

"Yes, Sir. I was going to
ask you to dine with me at my quarters. Tonight is Christmas Eve.
I'll notify the others and invite them as well."

Washington shook his head in disbelief,
"Christmas Eve already? Well then, the sooner we take action, the
better. Time is against us."

Corporal Baylor carried the letters past the
campfires where men stood, talking about their dismal situation.
Many coughed deeply and spit from the illness that had spread
through the camp when the cold weather arrived. Some spoke angrily,
discouraged by defeat and the lack of basic supplies such as food
and clothes, and others silently suffered the humiliation of
defeat. They had marched from Boston to New York City, up to White
Plains, and then across the North River now known as the Hudson,
into New Jersey through Princeton and Trenton. They were chased
across the Delaware River to their camp, all in the past few weeks,
in a constant retreat from the enemy. Their ragged dress and
haggard faces bore witness to their dire state.

Baylor noted these things
and avoided the eyes that followed him as he passed. He knew they
wondered what it was like to sleep in a bed indoors, or to be fed
regular meals with the general. He consoled himself with the
knowledge that none of them could do his job. Many soldiers
couldn't read or make more than an 'X' for their names. Corporal
Baylor had graduated from Harvard College three years ago and had
the skills the general needed. Although this gave him a distinct
advantage, he felt somewhat guilty because he knew what it was like
to be cold and hungry. He had worked his way through college,
living in cheap rooms without heat and living on barely enough food
until he finished his studies. With his law degree, he had hoped to
join a practice in Boston and establish himself.

Before the war began, his
family had suffered losses when Boston Harbor was closed by order
of Parliament as retribution for the Boston Tea Party. His father's
warehouse business went into ruin, so his family left the city. His
mother died six years ago of illness and his father, a Minuteman,
was later killed at the battle of Concord. Baylor had done his best
to raise his younger brother and sister until his aunt and uncle
took them to their home in Salem. He knew cold and hunger and had
vowed never to feel it again once he had his education. But he also
believed in the American cause. He had seen homes and businesses
ravaged by British soldiers, and he shared his father's ambition to
see the colonies freed from British rule.

He reached the house and
stepped inside just as Major General Nathaniel Greene was leaving.
The major was one of Washington's inner circle of trusted officers,
with whom he consulted on military matters more than any other
soldier.

"Corporal, I've called a meeting at six
o'clock this evening," Washington announced, "I'll need maps for
this area and east of the river."

"Yes, sir," Baylor nodded
and went to the wooden chest where the general's papers were kept.
His mind began to race with the possibility of an offense against
the enemy. Why else would the general require maps of the enemy’s
territory?

General Washington stood at the window,
looking out at the snowy scene, wondering what the weather would be
like over the next few days. But he could no more plan a war based
on the weather than predict what it would be.

Suddenly, a group of men left their campfires
and ran towards one end of the camp. He watched as the group
converged and someone knelt down in the snow, huddling over a
figure on the ground. Fear stabbed him. Had yet another soldier
succumbed to sickness?

“Corporal Baylor, go find out what the men
are doing over there,” Washington told him.

“Yes, Sir!” the corporal
replied, pulling a cloak over his shoulders as he left.

Washington watched the corporal run towards
the group, which parted upon his arrival. He leaned over the prone
figure on the ground and gestured with his arm. Several men lifted
the figure and followed the corporal back to Washington’s
headquarters. Washington watched with great interest as they
carried the cloaked figure inside.

“Over there, near the fire!” the corporal
ordered and the men placed the figure down gently.

When they stepped back, Washington saw that
it was a young woman.

“She stumbled into camp and collapsed,” the
corporal explained.

“Is she still alive?” asked the general.

“I believe so,” replied Corporal Baylor.
Washington told Baylor to fetch Widow Harris.

"Go search the area for others who may have
come with her," Washington ordered and the men left.

Washington looked at the
silent figure on the floor. Her full lips were blue and her skin
was as pale as a marble cemetery statue. She was no more than
eighteen years old. A strand of light brown hair fell from her dark
bonnet, tied under her chin. Her cloak hid her body, but he could
tell that she was small. He wondered how she came here, and
why.

Old Widow Harris appeared and waddled over to
the hearth. When she saw the girl, she cried, "Heavens! Where did
she come from?"

"She wandered into camp alone," Washington
told her, "Can you help her?"

Widow Harris touched the girl's cheek and
hands.

"She's nearly frozen to death! Bring her
upstairs to bed!"

Corporal Baylor nodded and lifted the small
figure effortlessly. He carried her up the narrow wooden stairway
and into the room where Widow Harris was turning down the
blankets.

"I'll put a warming stone at her feet and try
to give her some hot soup," Widow Harris said as she hurried to the
kitchen.

When Corporal Baylor
returned downstairs, the door opened again and another figure was
carried inside. It was another young girl wrapped in a cloak, and
her face was battered. Baylor gasped at her purple bruises and
swollen jaw.

"Take her upstairs," Washington ordered.
Corporal Baylor helped the other soldier carry her.

"Were there any others?" Washington asked a
soldier.

"No sir, but we'll keep
searching."

"Very well," Washington nodded and dismissed
them.

"I wonder where they came from," Corporal
Baylor remarked, descending the narrow wooden stairs.