Ashes (27 page)

H
OW CHEQUERED IS HUMAN LIFE!
H
OW PRECARIOUS IS HAPPINESS!
H
OW EASILY DO WE OFTEN PART WITH IT FOR A SHADOW!
T
HESE ARE THE REFLECTIONS THAT FREQUENTLY INTRUDE THEMSELVES UPON ME, WITH A PAINFUL APPLICATION.
I
AM GOING TO DO MY DUTY.

–L
ETTER FROM
C
OLONEL
A
LEXANDER
H
AMILTON TO HIS WIFE
, E
LIZABETH

I
DID NOT SLEEP WELL
and rose long before dawn. That day's rations included a heavy bag of rice. I cooked it up with a lump of butter and added it to pork that had been stewing. It didn't taste of much, but it would fill the lads' bellies, and that was all that mattered.

They had been digging the trench all through the night. As the sun climbed into the sky, they returned to camp, tired and filthy, but in high spirits. I heated more water for washing. In those days of digging no man was ever clean in the proper sense of the word. The best I could do was to keep lice and other varmints from infesting their clothes, and insist that they dried their feet after working, so mushrooms wouldn't grow between their toes.

After eating, most of the fellows went to their tents to sleep while they could. Ruth sat by the fire holding the wooden cup and ball that Aberdeen had bought for her the day he first told me he was spying for the British. She stared into the flames, her face downcast, and did not play with the toy. She'd not spoken a word all morning.

Three men remained close to the campfire: Isaac and Tall Will, who cleaned their muskets whilst nattering about the best way to defeat the lobsterbacks, and Curzon, who was sharpening the axes. I washed the cook kettles, then washed them again, waiting for the moment when Curzon and I might be alone enough for a quiet confab, but it did not appear on its own.

Finally I cleared my throat.

“Curzon, might I trouble you to walk with me to fetch some water?”

He looked up in surprise as Isaac and Tall Will grinned. The lads of our company were as fond of romantical notions as any hero in a storybook.

“Aye,” said the husband whom I had never married. “But I can fetch it on my own, if you'd rather stay here with Ruth.”

My sister didn't even look up at the sound of her name.

“She's a bit poorly,” I said. “And my legs are hungry for walking.”

Isaac and Tall Will chuckled, but both Curzon and I ignored them. He glanced at the keen edge of the axe, then leaned it against the woodpile, picked up the two empty kettles, and joined me.

“Lead the way,” he said.

  *  *  *  

I did not lead, nor did he follow. We walked side by side, occasionally so close to each other, when the path was crowded, that my skirts brushed against his legs and our elbows bumped. 'Twas a comfort to be walking in his company again, for it recalled the simpler days of our friendship. But we both held ourselves stiffly, recoiling from the elbow bumping as if burned by unseen sparks. He made a few observations about the dreary weather. I mentioned my irritation with the lack of variety in the meals I prepared for the company. Otherwise we walked in silence all the way to the spring and most of the way back.

Finally I stopped.

“You and Ruth are leaving?” he guessed.

“Beg pardon?”

“I know you're not happy here,” he said, his eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead. “I figgered you've been busy finding a way out. The army will let you both leave, if you want. You're not bound to it the way an enlisted fellow is.”

“We're not leaving,” I said.

“You're not?” he quickly asked.

“That is, uh, I've not planned on it,” I stammered. “It's hard enough keeping up with the work that every hour brings.”

“You lasses work every bit as hard as we do,” he said.

The words filled me with an unaccustomed sense of pride.

“Thank you,” I said with great feeling. “'Tis kind of you to notice.”

He kicked at the ground with his boot. “Have to be blind not to notice such a thing.” He put his hands on his hips, then he crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was not certain how he should stand. “If you're not leaving, then why did you want me to walk with you? Was there something else on your mind?”

“Indeed.” I glanced about to make sure that we could not be overheard. “I saw Aberdeen yesterday.” I quickly told him all about my encounter. He listened close, frowning through much of it.

“Is there a way to tell the captain of the spying, without telling him the particulars of the spy?” I asked. “It's just . . .”

“You don't want Aberdeen in trouble, do you?”

I sighed. We'd met many folks on our journeying who had family or friends who supported the British. For the first time I truly understood how hard that was for them. “He chose the side he thought was right. He doesn't deserve to be punished for that.”

“Don't trouble yourself,” Curzon said gently. “What he told you is commonly known throughout the camp. We have spies too, more skilled than Aberdeen, I daresay. It's why we've been digging all night, every night. We must position the cannons closer to Yorktown before the British ships arrive from New York if we've any hope to win.”

I was relieved that the Continentals were already aware of the threat, but I was still worried. “Is it possible to alert the officers to Aberdeen, mayhaps to describe him, so that if he is spotted–”

“Spying is a deadly business, Country. It matters not that Aberdeen is a friendly lad or that he's sweet on Ruth. It would go worse on him if I were to tell everyone what he looks like. It could guarantee his death.”

“Best to keep quiet, then,” I said.

He nodded. “If you see him again, come find me. Mayhaps I can talk sense into his thick head.” An enormous yawn overtook the rest of his words.

“You must rest,” I said. “A few more hours and they'll hand you a shovel again.”

“I dare not lie down,” he answered. “Captain ordered Isaac, Tall Will, and me to attend him at Colonel Hamilton's tent when the drums sound. . . .” He broke off speaking as the call of the drums echoed forth from the center of the encampment.

“What business would three privates from Rhode Island have with a colonel?” I asked with concern. “Are you in trouble?”

“Doubtful,” he said with another yawn. “Might be the fellow needs the lines of his tent tightened or some such. Officers are strange creatures. Does no good to try to understand orders; we just have to follow them.”

I
CONFESS
I
FELT A SECRET PRIDE SWELL MY HEART WHEN
I
SAW THE “STAR-SPANGLED BANNER” WAVING MAJESTICALLY IN THE VERY FACES OF OUR IMPLACABLE ADVERSARIES; IT APPEARED LIKE AN OMEN OF SUCCESS TO OUR ENTERPRISE.

–J
OURNAL OF
S
ERGEANT
J
OSEPH
P
LUMB
M
ARTIN
, C
ORPS OF
S
APPERS AND
M
INERS

L
ATE THAT AFTERNOON THE CONTINENTAL
army's fife players and drummers gathered by the tall flagpole at the artillery park, playing loud and proud, stirring every spirit to hope. To the west a similar band played at the flagpole of the French, behind a row of French cannons. They raised their flag up its pole and cheered. Then the starred and striped flag of the United States of America was hauled up its own pole, to even louder cheering, drumming, and the shrill of pipes that sounded like eagles on the wind.

Both flags snapped to attention, mocking the British.

“I think that's General Washington,” said a black-haired lass with a spray of freckles across her nose.

“Nay,” said an older woman called Annie. “Too short. General's that giant of a man chatting to the round fellow. He's the German, Stooben.”

“Von Steuben,” I corrected.

“That's the one. Quite a mouth on him, curses like the Devil in three languages.” Annie laughed heartily. “Mebbe four, how can you tell the difference?”

We were a regular flock, the women, girls, and boys of the army, gathered at the rear of the artillery park to view the ceremonial first firing of the cannons. No officers had come out and prohibited us from watching the grand ceremony. We all figgered that we owned a part of it too, seeing as those lads who had done the work of trenching, bridge building, and cannon dragging had been able to do their tasks on account of how well we took care of them.

General Washington had given the French the honor of the first shot. A dozen huge cannons at the Grand French Battery fired at once. Everyone huzzahed and laughed, and the small children squealed and covered their ears.

Our drums played louder. General Washington took the long-handled linstock from the matross and set its burning fuse to the cannon's touchhole. A breath later the first American cannon sent the general's most explosive regards to the British in Yorktown. Straightaway the general of the artillery shouted an order, and sixty more cannons and mortars roared into service, shaking the ground and causing the remaining trees to shed their leaves in fright.

To watch so many cannons fired creates within you an inestimable amount of awe. It also makes your ears ring as if church bells are clanging inside your brainpan. We burst into loud cheers, though we could scarce hear them. To my surprise, my eyes filled with tears, and an unexpected lump rose in my throat.

Sibby wiped at her eyes, then laughed at me doing the same.

“I'm filled with a patriotical sentiment,” I admitted.

“Is that so strange?” she asked. “We all feel that.”

“'Tis a new sensation for me.”

“Some days that sensation is the only thing that makes me get up in the morning. That and the blasted fleas.”

Ruth's tears fell too, but she wasn't smiling.

“People gonna get hurt.” Her eyes were pinned on the small puffs of smoke rising from Yorktown. “From the cannons.”

She was talking about Aberdeen, of course. Was it better to craft a story about his escape or be honest, as I had promised her?

“This is a war, sister,” I said gently. “We are seeking to drive the King's men away from our country. They want to stay and rule us. So we fight them.”

“If we don't fight, nobody gets hurt.”

“If we don't fight, we cannot be free.”

“The King could make us free.”

“He doesn't want to. The only way to achieve freedom is to fight for it.”

“Makes me sad,” she said.

I had no answer but to fold my arms around her and hold her tight.

  *  *  *  

Our cannons fired day and night, hurling thousands of shells and cannonballs through the air. One night we fired hot shot: iron balls heated red hot before being carefully loaded into the muzzles of the cannons. They set four British ships in the river afire and rendered them useless. With the big guns firing every hour of the day and the night, the time had come to dig a second trench, again cutting the distance between our soldiers and Yorktown in half. Work proceeded more quickly than before, as our fellows were now seasoned to the task. It became more dangerous, too, as they were soon within musket range of the British.

Ruth and I were becoming accustomed to our tasks too. Though downcast about Aberdeen, she soldiered on with the business of fetching our rations and bread, and helping with the laundering of breeches and shirts. I spent the whole of one night caring for a lad who had contracted the worst sort of bloody flux. 'Twas a hideous business with a stench indescribable. At dawn they put him in the wagon bound for the hospital in Williamsburg. Ruth arrived then, yawning and sleep-stumbly. Without a word of complaint, she burned the straw bedding that had been befouled and served the breakfast so I could wash the filth of the night's work off of me.

Her worries about Aberdeen had increased now that thousands of American shells and cannonballs were being flung at his hiding place. She no longer took time to visit with the horses or blow bubbles from the clay pipe given to her by Henry. In our rare moments of rest she took to sitting close to me, sometimes leaning her head on my shoulder. I would kiss her brow then and rub circles of comfort on her back.

The hours our lads had to work on duty and in the trenches increased. It got so that some of the women of the camp decided that if the lads could not come to the cook fire for their meals, we would take the food to them. With the permission of our officers, I followed the lead of Sibby, Cristena, and Sarah, the white lass married to Aaron, the armorer. We fashioned yokes for ourselves, sturdy poles that had notches cut into each end and a blanket wrapped round the middle. From each end we hung a kettle, one with cooked meat, the other with coffee. Bread went into the haversacks we wore on our backs.