Guns for General Washington by Seymour Reit

Author:Seymour Reit
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

11

Into the Storm

On Christmas Eve, Henry Knox got his wish: It finally began to snow. Fat white flakes fell steadily, blanketing the trails and adorning the branches of the pines. Early Christmas morning the men rolled out of their warm beds, washed up, ate a quick breakfast, and harnessed the animals. Eager to begin, Henry gave the signal and the guns crept slowly out of Glens Falls.

Just below town, where the Hudson made a loop, the river was solidly frozen. With relief, Will saw that the ice was very thick—thick enough to carry the heavy sleds and carts. The good crust of snow would give traction for the animals. The drivers all made this crossing safely, then they headed for Saratoga. From there the colonel hoped to push right on to Albany.

The recent snow had been a big help and the men were in good spirits. At the rear of the column, Henry rode alongside William’s sled with its giant twenty-four-pounder. “If our luck holds,” he said, “we’ll be right on schedule, little brother. No doubt about it—the general will have his cannons in two more weeks.”

Will, watching the colonel trot to the front of the line, shook his head and smiled. That’s what he liked about Henry—the man was always so cheerful and optimistic, so sure everything would work out. As far as Colonel Knox was concerned, bad luck was something that only happened to other folks.

Henry passed the Beckers’ wagon and gave them a friendly wave. Perched high on his seat, J. P. could see the whole column. Craning his neck, he could even spy Will Knox, whom he admired, bringing up the rear. The drivers in their gray scarves and caps, the troopers in their blue tunics, the guns of iron and glowing brass, the sleek muscles of the straining horses, the shiny leather harnesses, the brown oxen bending under wooden yokes—everything stood out crystal-sharp against the dazzling snow. John P. Becker decided that he’d never seen a grander sight.

When they reached Saratoga the tired men received a welcome much like the one at Glens Falls. It looked to William as if everyone in town came running to greet them. And in the spirit of Christmas, people brought baskets of food and jugs of ale and cider.

The next morning the men started out again. But as they moved through the Hudson Valley, leaving the Adirondacks behind, their luck changed. Instead of stopping, the snow began to fall more heavily—and slowly their kind helper became an ugly enemy.

The temperature dropped, the wind rose, and eight miles below Saratoga the convoy found itself smack in the middle of a raging storm. Waves of snow fell and a howling wind whipped stinging needles of ice into the faces of men and animals. It piled up giant drifts that blocked the trail. Time after time, Will and the others had to climb down and shovel the drifts away before they could push on.

Along with this came bitter, bone-chilling cold. Huddled on the seat, leaning against his father, J.

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