Valley Forge: George Washington and the Crucible of Victory by Newt Gingrich & William R. Forstchen

Author:Newt Gingrich & William R. Forstchen [Gingrich, Newt & Forstchen, William R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: War
ISBN: 0312591071
Publisher: Thomas Dunne Books
Published: 2010-11-09T00:00:00+00:00

The evening’s entertainment passed with warmth and friendliness. Martha was back by his side, and he could see the delight in the smiles of his young staff and older comrades for his happiness. At least here, at this moment, the world felt at ease.

The meal gradually broke up, Martha insisting that she help General Greene’s wife with cleaning up alongside Billy Lee. The house was warm, his stomach full, and he now felt a great unease.

Excusing himself from the last few well-wishers, he went into the foyer and drew on his cape and hat.

“Sir?”

It was Laurens.

“Just going out for a walk.”

“Sir, should I call the guard detail?”

He shook his head. Laurens was obsessed with the fear that a British agent, an assassin, might be lurking somewhere, and he was always on guard. Washington himself had long ago taken something of a Presbyterian view of such matters…if fated to die that way, that was fate, and he would not live in constant fear of it.

“May I go with you, sir?”

He smiled.

“Stay here in case any dispatches arrive. I just need to walk off the meal.”

Before Laurens could argue further, he opened the door and stepped out into the storm. The private guarding the entryway roused himself and snapped to attention.

He looked over at the lad, hat rim bent down with the weight of wet snow.

“It is Private Wellsley, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sir.”

“All quiet.”

“Sir. Yes, sir. All quiet.”

“Good work, soldier, stand at ease,” he replied and walked on.

Closing the gate to the barnyard, he walked up the snow-covered road to the main encampment area. Snow swirled about him, all but obliterating the world, carpeting it in pure clean whiteness. Storms like this were rare along the Potomac, but often, out on the frontier, especially in the western Virginian mountains, a blow like this would come on. He and his companions would quickly pitch a camp and sometimes wait for days for it to clear. And when it did, all was blanketed in purity of white.

As he reached the outer ring of encampments and company streets, he slowed. He knew his form was hard to conceal, for he was, after all, one of the tallest men in the army. He hunched his shoulders down, and pulled the brim of his cap low over his brow, passing a picket, who simply saluted after he replied with the password for the day.

The air was rich with the scent of burning wood. He could see the reflected glow of fires from the wattle and daub chimney tops of the cabins. There were snatches of conversations, laughter, the sound of a violin playing a jaunty air. Everyone except the forlorn sentries was inside—out of the storm. He stood silent, listening for a few minutes in the middle of a company street. There had been full rations today and the men were relatively content. With the storm upon them, the instinct was to huddle together close to the fires within, and only to venture out for the most pressing of personal business.

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