• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 1265 0

careless handling. In the towns beyond Valley Forge, Greene’s men discovered great piles of linen and cotton, the bounty from the French merchant ships, forgotten in seaside warehouses. Making use of the fabric was an overwhelming task for the army’s few clothiers, so Greene took the fat rolls of cloth into the towns. In places like Bethlehem and Lancaster, they found women who knew how to sew, who offered their skills as a patriotic service, the one gift they could provide the men of their army. The patriotic pride of a talented seamstress even extended into York, wives of congressmen offering to work as well. What Greene’s predecessor had ignored as bothersome cargo, was now cut and fashioned into pants and shirts and stockings, uniforms for men who had for so long gone about their duty in near nakedness. Because of Greene’s astounding efforts, Washington realized that so much of the suffering and deprivation his men had endured was due not to a lack of patriotism, nor even a lack of concern in congress. For the most part, it was caused by the astonishing incompetence of the quartermaster department.

HE WAS AT HIS DESK, WAS FORMING THE WORDS, YET ANOTHER PLEA to someone in congress who might settle the nervousness that plagued him still about the rumors from France. He went through the names, thought of Henry Laurens, the president, probably his closest ally in congress. Laurens’ son John had become a valuable and efficient member of his staff, and he thought, Perhaps I should have him deliver this letter himself. They might ignore me, but surely Mr. Laurens will not ignore his son. He stared at the blank paper, dipped the pen in the inkstand, held the pen above the paper, but no words came. He stabbed the pen back into the small bottle, said aloud, “I have no patience for this.”

He pushed the chair away from the desk, pulled himself up, moved into the hall. There were heavy boot steps on the stairway, and he saw Tilghman step down into the hall, the young man caught by surprise.

“Oh! Sir, may I do something . . . may I be of service?”

“Come with me, Mr. Tilghman. I require some sunshine.”

They moved out into the yard, and Washington stepped down into soft mud, saw the grooms responding, the horses led toward them quickly. He climbed up, anchored himself in the saddle, waited as Tilghman did the same. Washington could hear shouts, laughter, said, “That’s coming from the river. We should make an inspection. I am in need of good cheer.”

He spurred the horse, moved out into the muddy road, down along the bank of the river. The water was swift, no sign of the ice that had lined the banks, and he could hear the laughter again, farther downstream. He pushed the horse through a narrow path in the brush, could see the troops, men barely clothed, jumping into and out of the water, great splashes, thought, Bathing yet again?

“Mr. Tilghman, I thought they had completed this duty. We should not encourage such recreation.”

Tilghman was beside him now, said, “I will see to it, sir.”

The young man moved forward, and Washington searched the crowd for an officer, someone in command, saw no one he recognized. He felt himself scowling, thought, This is not what I require just now. He jabbed at the horse with his spurs, rode up along a tall bank, could see men now scrambling into the water, then out again. They were not bathing, there was no order, no line. There was motion on the riverbank, small flecks of silver, and he rode closer, eased the horse back down toward the water, could see now, the bank was alive with a slithering mass of fish.

Behind him, more men were shouting, running down from the plateau, joining the commotion, plunging into the river. They carried bits of wood, small pots, blankets, anything that could be used as a scoop. The water was swirling with rippling motion in a section of the river nearly thirty yards long. The shouts brought still more men over the hill behind him. Along the bank, men were tossing their prizes up onto the higher ground, others piling the fish into baskets or larger pots. Tilghman