“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.
We carried the yokes across our shoulders, the way you carry buckets of milk in from a barn. The first trick of the thing was to walk slow and steady, else half the coffee would spill afore your reached the trench. The second was to await a lull in the cannonading.
The other lasses had much discussed the fear we’d face as we approached the parallels. By that point we had seen death and maiming caused by bullets, cannonballs, and exploding shells. Sibby had given me an odd look whilst the others talked but had had no chance to explain herself.
The sound of cannons grew louder as I approached the trench, as did the sound of thousands of working men, their shovels and picks biting into the dirt, and the shouts of officers, and the nervous whinnies of horses. I noticed it all and kept my eyes moving for cannonballs hurtling my way. I exchanged friendly nods with a black woman who was helping a limping soldier make his way back to camp. I’d never seen her before; there were hundreds of camp followers I hadn’t met. But greeting her helped me understand what it was that I’d seen in Sibby’s face: the understanding that we already knew what it was to walk in perilous circumstances. We had learned how to face fear and keep walking.
To my surprise, I was in high spirits despite the danger, for it was a danger shared by all of us. I’d grown tired of the drudgesome tasks of cooking and washing, and found myself whistling like a fifer as I approached the trench. The wind blew from the river and carried with it the mocking sound of the British musicians playing “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” I changed my tune to match it. That song had become a point of pride with our army.
The officer of the watch bid me good day and directed me to the section of the trench where our company was working. The first six pairs of our lads were overjoyed to see me. Well, more likely, they were overjoyed to see the food. But I carried it, so I came in for some enthusiastic and welcome praise as well, which improved my mood even more.
Then Curzon stood up and caught sight of me. He was not pleased.
“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Following orders, same as you.” I bent down till the kettles sat on the ground. “Sergeant told me to feed you. Hello, Isaac,” I said to the fellow working alongside Curzon. “Hungry?”
“Indeed, thanks, missus,” he said.
“It’s not safe!” Curzon exclaimed.
“Of course it’s not.” I handed some bread to Isaac, ducked under the yoke, and stood again. “Do you want your supper?”
Isaac snorted at the thunderstorm gathering on Curzon’s face. I continued walking to the next pair of men, the cousins from Newport, Short Will and Bram.
“Look at us, being served by the prettiest lass in the army,” Short Will called.
“Didn’t dare bring stew,” I said. “But the beef is fresh and the coffee will wake your senses.”
“You’ve no call to be here,” Curzon protested.
“I have a duty,” I said, handing out the bread. “Same as you. Same as everyone.”
“Much obliged, Missus Isabel,” they said.
A distant shell
exploded. I tried my best not to react to the noise, but he saw me jump.
“’Tis no game out here, Country!” he exclaimed. “Leave the kettles, I’ll feed the lads and bring them back tonight.”
“All the lasses are helping thus.”
“If all the lasses decided to swim to France, would you join them?”
“Odsbodikins!” I laughed. “Such twaddle!”
Curzon followed, fuming in silence while I parceled out the food to the remaining lads, then began to walk back to the trench’s entrance.
“Promise you won’t ever do this again,” he said.
“I’ll do what the officers want, same as you. They gave us leave to make this delivery; indeed, they applauded our valor. Sergeant Armstrong did make a strange request, though. He’s a great one for kissing, isn’t he?”
“He kissed you?” Curzon shouted.
“Of course not!”
“He tried to kiss you and you knocked him to the ground?”
I chuckled. “He told me I should kiss you and wish you good luck.”
“Did he tell you why?”
A sentry shouted, “Shell!”
Before I knew what was happening, the earth shook and I was thrown against the front wall of the trench. Dirt rained from heaven, and for a moment it seemed I’d gone deaf. Then the sound rushed back.
Curzon’s face loomed over me. “Are you hurt? Can you hear me?”
I sat up, brushing the sand off my head and face.
“No harm done . . .” I peered into the kettles. “Except for the mud that’s in the coffee. And bells are ringing in my ears.”
He let out a shaky breath and sat next to me. The men around us were getting to their feet, laughing at themselves and cheerfully cursing Cornwallis and the King’s army.
“Did it rattle your wits?” I asked.
“Possibly.” He shook his collar so that the dirt fell out the bottom of his shirt. “I have to tell you something. Please allow me to say it straight through, without interruption.”
I opened my mouth, but he held up his hands to stop me.
“Please!” he said. “I pray you, not a single word! If you want to listen, nod your head.”
The explosion had most definitely rattled his wits. I nodded once. He was going to need a mustard poultice for his head when he returned to the cook fire.
“I won’t be coming back to camp tonight,” he said, as if he could hear my thoughts. “I have an assignment with another unit, along with Tall Will and Isaac.”
“How long?”
His mouth moved, but the sound did not reach me.
“Beg pardon?” I shook my head. “Couldn’t hear that. My ears are still ringing.”
“You promised to listen,” he said loudly. “It’s just . . . close your eyes.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t say this with you looking at me. Please.”
“Make haste.” I sighed and closed my eyes. He’d need a mustard plaster and maybe some leeches to drain off his imbalance of humors. “I need to get back to Ruth.”
He cleared his throat. “We spent a lot of time looking for her,” he said. “Ruth, I mean. I want you to know . . . I need to say . . . I didn’t mind it, the looking for her. And–”
“Back to work, Private Smith!” called a gruff voice.
When Curzon spoke again, his mouth was quite near to my ear. “And I do love you, Isabel Gardener.”
“Beg pardon?”
Did he just say that? I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. The shadow of his presence vanished. The air filled with the sounds of pickaxes, shovels, booming cannons, grunting men working hard.
“Curzon, what did you just say?”
I opened my eyes. He was gone.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Sunday, October 14, 1781
THE PETITION OF THE SUBSCRIBERS, NATIVES OF AFRICA, NOW FORCIBLY DETAINED IN SLAVERY . . . MOST HUMBLY [SHOWETH] THAT THE GOD OF NATURE GAVE THEM LIFE AND FREEDOM UPON THE TERMS OF THE MOST PERFECT EQUALITY WITH OTHER MEN. . . .
THEREFORE, YOUR HUMBLE SLAVES MOST DEVOUTLY PRAY FOR THE SAKE OF INJURED LIBERTY, FOR THE SAKE OF JUSTICE, HUMANITY, AND THE RIGHTS OF MANKIND . . . THAT THE NAME OF SLAVE MAY NOT MORE BE HEARD IN A LAND GLORIOUSLY CONTENDING FOR THE SWEETS OF FREEDOM.
–PETITION OF NINETEEN NEW HAMPSHIRE SLAVES THAT WAS SENT TO THEIR STATE’S HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES DURING THE REVOLUTION AND WAS DENIED
BY THE NEXT DAY I’D convinced myself that he had not said what I thought he’d said. The shell explosion had rattled both our brainpans, in addition to filling my ears with dirt. Hearing him say, or rather not-hearing him say, or possibly not-hearing him not-say, that thing, that word, it set my mind to spinning like a weather vane in a windstorm.
He’d already departed the camp, which, in truth, was a relief.
I hung an armload of sweaty blankets on a line that I’d strung between tent poles.
Soldiers were often taken from various companies and melded together in special details so as not to deplete any one brigade. These details were assigned to temporary tasks like guarding wagonloads of ammunition, requisitioning hay, or escorting Philadelphia politicians who wanted to observe the siege. But he could be carrying messages to General Greene in Carolina, or up to Jersey. Mayhaps as far as Boston, which would mean it could be weeks before he returned. Assuming he didn’t end up captured, or shot, or dying alone in the wilderness after falling from a horse . . .
I gave myself a hard pinch. There was nothing to be gained by wallowing in dark thoughts. Half of these blankets needed to be beaten to get rid of the lice. I had duties. Curzon had duties, and he was more skilled than most at staying alive.
But he’d said that he didn’t regret the years we looked for Ruth. As to the other thing he might have not-said . . .
I pinched myself harder, but it did nothing to calm the toads jumping in my belly.
* * *
Hours later, whilst feeding the fellows an early supper, I asked them about the rumors I’d heard at the bake ovens, that our officers were planning an attack on the heavily fortified and guarded outer redoubts.
“Why would the generals consider such an attack?” I asked. “The entire reason for digging the second parallel was to bring our cannons so close to Yorktown that the lobsterbacks would have to surrender or swim. You still have trench duty, right?”
The lads fell curiously silent. Most studied their stew with profound interest. Drury’s knees bounced furiously, like he wanted to run, though he sat on an upturned log.
Henry stood up. “I’m telling her.”
“No,” said Short Will fiercely. “We promised.”
“You made that promise on my behalf,” Henry corrected. “Had he come to me direct, I’d have set him straight. You marry a lass, you owe her the truth.”
“What truth?” I asked. “What is the meaning of all this?”
“Where did Curzon tell you he was headed?” Henry asked me.
“Didn’t. Just said he had a temporary assignment.”
He set down his bowl, looked direct at me, and spoke slow. “Curzon, Isaac, Tall Will, and four hundred other fellows will attack redoubt ten tonight. A similar group of Frenchmen will attack redoubt nine at the same time.”
“I don’t believe you,” I declared. “There are no cannons positioned to offer them cover. Won’t be for days. You yourself told me the purpose of digging that bloody second trench was to bring cannons closer to the enemy!”
“The ground there is too marshy to support the weight of cannons,” Henry said. “The redoubts must be taken by storm.”
Fire crackled in the silence. The conversating around other cook fires was similarly muted, but as ever the firing of cannons and mortars supplied a constant, low thudding, like the footsteps of an army of giants drawing ever closer.
I still could not believe what he was saying.
“This makes no sense,” I told him. “They can’t order men to simply attack the redoubts. They might as w
ell tell them to waltz into Yorktown, don’t mind the cannons and muskets, lads, just go thee hence. How can they hope to load and fire muskets whilst climbing into the thing? Lambs to the slaughter, is that what they’re to be?”
“They’re to use bayonets and hatchets only.”
“They’ll be fighting hand to hand?”
“Curzon has a quick mind, fast legs, and a brave heart,” Henry said. “He was at Brooklyn and Saratoga, he survived Valley Forge. He’s the perfect sort of soldier for this.”
I barely heard him. I was seeing the redoubt in my mind. Its base was fortified by tree trunks with ends sharpened like spear points, woven into tangles like a monstrous porcupine, so that penetrating close meant injury. From on top the British defenders had a deadly angle. They could fire at will upon their attackers and serve up death with ease.
“When will this happen?” I asked in a small voice.
“They’ve already assembled, but the attack is not due for hours.”
“Could he change his mind, tell them–”
“He wanted to go, Isabel. He volunteered, along with the others.”
The fire gave a loud pop, causing me to jump.
“We know,” Drury said from the other side of the fire. “We know everything. Curzon told us the real story of how you two, you three, came to be here. The circumstances of your past.”
“Don’t worry,” Henry quickly added. “The officers don’t know, nor shall they. In this war for freedom the people who are able to liberate themselves and the ones they love deserve the praise and support of all of us.”
“Why would he tell you our secrets?”
“That’s what friends do,” Henry said gently. “They lift each other up, help carry burdens. He told us so that we could be the best sort of friends to you, to be your brothers, in the event you should ever need us.”
Curzon trusted them. I’d normally be frightened or angry, because trusting others had caused so many problems for us in the past. But these fellows were different. They understood our sentiments, our fears, our thirst for true liberty. The kindness and concern in their faces near overwhelmed me. They were indeed our brothers of the heart.