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By Root 1330 0

salutes. He could see that many were still barefoot, and it was not because of the mud. The cargo from the French ships had included shoes as well as an abundance of cloth, and the seamstresses around Morristown had made an extraordinary effort at producing new shirts and pants for the men. But nothing could be done with the shoes. For most of the men in his army, the shoes did not fit. The jokes had come, the men turning their irritation into humor, a variety of explanations why French feet were apparently so much smaller than those of the Americans. But if his troops had put their best face on the situation, to Washington it was yet another frustration, knowing that another long march had to be made by men whose bare feet could cripple the army. Worse, the autumn months would give way quickly to a new winter. Without adequate shoes, the men could not march at all.

He continued to ride along the riverbank, studied the boats, looked across the river, saw a few more scattered on the far bank. He moved past a larger Durham boat, saw one man standing out in the bow, holding a long fishing pole. The man suddenly tugged at something, the pole curving down to the water. The man let out a shout, his solitary battle suddenly churning the water around him. Washington stopped the horse, the staff holding back behind him, and he watched the combat, the man struggling to hold the pole out of the water. There was a large splash, and the man tumbled back into the boat, the pole in two pieces. Washington realized now the fisherman had attracted an audience, and the men around him began to laugh, some applauding. The fisherman struggled to his feet, frowning as he rubbed a bruised elbow, was suddenly aware of Washington.

“Oh, sir! Cursed thing got away! Busted my pole!”

Washington could not help a smile, a welcome break in his mood.

“What kind of fish was it, soldier?”

The troops around Washington were quiet now, sharing the fisherman’s surprise at the question. The man still nursed the pain in his elbow, said, “It weren’t no Tory fish, I can tell you that, sir. They just float right on up and beg you to take ’em in. No fun a’tall. Had to be an American fish. Nothin’ else put up that kind of scrap.”

The men around him began to cheer, and Washington still smiled, knew it was all for his benefit, an overdone show.

“Thank you, soldier. Best leave the American fish alone. These rivers need plenty of scouts.”

He nudged the horse, began to move again, the troops returning to their work. He tried to recall the last time he had gone fishing, stepping through the mud and rocks of the Potomac, the details long forgotten. He was not a good fisherman, was more in love with his land than the water it touched, had envied those who were so skilled.

His smile began to fade, and he turned away from the river, glanced back at the staff, Tilghman suddenly up beside him.

“Sir? May I be of service?”

The young man was always serious, and Washington said, “You a fisherman, Mr. Tilghman?”

The young man absorbed the surprising question.

“Uh, somewhat, sir. Much younger. Been a long time, sir.”

“I should like to know how to do that. I am told that the Potomac is quite full of fish, all varieties. Can you teach me?”

He saw a puzzled look on Tilghman’s face, and the young man said, “I would be honored to accompany you, sir.”

Washington looked ahead, thought of Howe, and his brother, a man who must certainly be at home on any water.

“All that time at sea. Do you suppose Admiral Howe takes the time to fish?”

There was a silent pause, Tilghman weighing his words.

“I don’t know, sir. May I get you something, sir? Are you feeling all right?”

The horse carried him up to the crest above the riverbank, and the image was firmly in his mind now, the Potomac, the sweeping view from the porch of Mount Vernon, orange sunsets painting the forests below the river.

“Sir?”

The soft daydream was pushed away by Tilghman’s voice, and the view of Trenton, the town spread out before him. He could see formations of troops, the officers following his orders to keep