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THE CAMP-FIRE AT SKIPPACK CREEK.
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What heart that values American liberty, or that can appreciate its blessings, has not felt and, while musing upon that dark period in our struggle for independence, when a British army, flushed with success, drove Washington, and his handful of continental troops, through New Jersey and across the Delaware? Or what cheek has not been flushed with enthusiasm, when reading of the battle of Trenton? The page of history which contains the narrative of that glorious action, has often appeared too tame to reflect the feelings with which we pursue it; and we long to have near as some actor in the stormy event, that we may hear him dwell upon each little incident, and paint scenes and characters, as is not done by the formal historian. Alas! The heroes of '76 have departed! Yet here and there is found, among their posterity, a letter, a camp-journal, or a written narrative, penned in hours of gloom and danger; but which, rude and unlearned though it be, transports us to the troubled camp, and gives us a glimpse of the sufferings endured by our fathers, to achieve independence for their children.
For some days before the battle of Germantown, the American army was encamped at Skippack Creek, a little stream which runs into the east bank of the Schuylkill, about twenty miles above Philadelphia. It was autumn; and large fires were frequently kept burning, to warm the half-clad soldiers. Wearied with their constant marches since the battle of the Brandywine, the soldiers were allowed a short season of repose; and alternately companies ranged the woods in quest of fuel, nuts, and game. At night, the men lay together in small groups, in that part of their tent or hut nearest the camp-fire; and while thus endeavoring to keep themselves warm, many were the stories which they related to one another, of scenes they had witnessed in former stages of the war. It was with peculiar delight, on such occasions, that a young man named Nathan Black, who had been at the battles of Trenton and Princeton, related to the recruits who had joined since that time, the share he had taken in them. Black was an orphan, who had been bound to a maternal uncle, at the age of twelve years. So read, at least, his indenture; but many inferred, from his size and extraordinary strength of mind, that he was bound when at least fifteen. As the records of the family were lost during the tumultuous scenes with which the revolution opened, it was impossible to ascertain with precision; but Black always affirmed that his uncle had cheated him out of three years, for the sake of the accruing profits. All parties were Quakers; and at first all were tories. But, long before the declaration of independence, young Black had learned to sympathize with his suffering countrymen. Secretly he espoused their cause; and, contriving to escape from his tory master, he accompanied the fifteen hundred Philadelphians who joined Washington after he had crossed the Delaware, and was present in all the important operations of the winter campaign. Such a companion, in the camp on the Schuylkill, was esteemed by officers and men; and no one was oftener employed to gratify their curiosity, by recounting stories in which he had been an actor. "What made you think of turning?" enquired a comrade, as black sat one evening among a group of soldiers, at whose request he was relating an anecdote of a tory who had lost all his property, and become insane. "One reason was," he answered, "I didn't like to be called a tory; and when I heard boys and men hurrahing for freedom, it made my blood stir, though I couldn't tell why. I said to myself, 'What good will King George do me, if he conquers? None. What good will Congress do me? Why, they'll take off the taxes, and perhaps make me a freeman.' These things were up before my mind every day; especially as my apprenticeship would soon be over, and then I'd have to make a living for myself. Besides, uncle Isaac was a tory; and that was enough to set me against the whole party of them. Sometimes, a number of them would meet at his house, to drink wine, and make fun of General Washington. Uncle Isaac was worse than a turk, when he had liquor in him, if it was only a spoonful; and some of the boys or the servants were sure to get horsewhipped before he got sober. "One Monday afternoon, I heard the glasses ringing in the parlor, and knew that somebody would be regulated before he got to bed. Others knew it as well as myself; and so we began to prepare for the worst. In half an hour, Isaac came partly down the steps; and after looking around, beckoned with his fore-finger for me to come up. I followed him on tiptoe; but my heart was heavy. He asked me if I remembered being at a rebel meeting, the Saturday night before. I told him I had only stopped to see what was gong on. 'Did thy duty impel thee to stop, Nathan?' he asked. I told him that it didn't. 'Did thy conscience, Nathan?' I saw I'd get the hiding, anyhow; and so I answered, 'Yes.' 'Then I'll not interfere with thy conscience; but thee shall be regulated, for doing more than thy duty. Thee'll find the horsewhip hanging in the usuial place, behind the dresser.' But just then I felt bolder than I ever had; for, since being at the meeting, it seemed as if I had got a new spirit. So I stood still, till he said the rebel was strong in me; and then I told him I was no rebel. The upshot was, I got beat half to death; and Isaac suffered severely, too, especially about the ribs. He never gave me a good word afterwards; but watched me closely, for fear I'd try to run off. Every day, he'd come into the workshop, about quitting time, and follow me up to the house; and as soon as supper was over, he sat down with the boys till dark; when every one had to retire to his room. "But, one night, I slipped into the cellar, and waited there till Isaac had gone to bed, when I contrived to get the bar from the outside cellar-door, and made my escape. I hid myself, that night, in a field a little above the State-House, where some trees had been chopped down, and the logs piled together on the ground, with brush over them. Some men went down the road to town, soon after; and I knew they were tories, by their talk. Next day, I ran along Sassafras Lane till I reached the American Camp. An officer took me into a tent, placed me by the fire, and listened while I told my story. He asked me if I was willing to join a party that was going to help General Washington. I told him I was; and, some days after, we were on our march. The women had been busy for a long time, making clothes, and providing other little things, to make the party comfortable; so that we were much better off than the regulars in camp. I had never seen a camp before; and it made me feel queer, to see men walking over the frozen ground barefoot, others with their toes and feet frosted black, and some with a ragged blanket thrown over their shoulders instead of a coat. The poor fellows looked on our clothing with longing eyes; and I could almost have pulled off my shoes to give to some of them." "Did they cross the river, in that condition?? Enquired one of the listeners. "A good number of them did," replied Black; "but you know some couldn't cross for the ice. Two days after we had arrived, his excellency came to see us. He was on horseback. You know how he can ride; and what a noble way he has of sitting on his horse, when soldiers march before him. I had seen him two or three times before, at Philadelphia, when he didn't look half so fine. He was pleased with our appearance, and gave orders that we should be drilled carefully every day. And drilling enough we had, over the roughest ground, and in the worst weather. Still, our men were in high spirits; although I soon found out that the 'veterans,' as they were called, felt gloomy and suspicious." "Weren't they out of heart?" asked a soldier named Reed. "They were, indeed. Sometimes they whispered among themselves, that the members of congress kept back their pay, and neglected to send on clothes; and, let me tell you, comrades, there were more than a few under-officers there, who threatened to raise a revolt. Others thought there was no use of fighting any longer against the king. We had been driven, they said, from one colony to another; and we'd be driven further, as soon as the river freezed over. If congress wanted them to be butchered, why didn't the members say so, and not let men drop to pieces with cold and hunger? Sometimes our men would try to talk with them; but we received answer, that it was easier to talk about order, with a warm coat and good shoes on, than to fight a whole campaign barefoot and in rags. I believe if it hadn't been that their time was out at the end of the year, they would have gone off by regiments." "Did they get no relief till after the battle? Enquired Whilden, an old soldier, who had been through the French war. "Very little," continued Black. "Once a week, --- perhaps not so often, --- a small bundle of shoes, or coats, or trousers, came up from the city; but it was a poor chance among so many. Most of us lent our coats at times; but this led to some disorder; and was at last forbidden. One day, when there had been a great deal of angry talking, we saw General Washington riding toward the veteran camp. After dismounting, he walked into one of the tents, and began to speak with the soldiers, about their condition. His kindness, and the sorrow he felt for them, brought tears to every eye. They told him how much they suffered, and showed their miserable food and ragged clothes. He passed from tent to tent, and found it was everywhere the same. The general gave them all the comfort he could; praising their faithfulness to the cause when their reward was so poor, and promising to do all he could with Congress, and also with private citizens, for their relief. It cheered the poor fellows, to know that at least his excellency cared for them; and when they saw tears stealing down the general's cheeks, they felt ashamed of their complaining, and willing to endure as many more hardships, if they were only for his sake." "He's got a noble heart!" ejaculated one of the group. "He was born to save America," Whilden added. "There was o more murmuring after that," resumed Black; "but the soldiers rather seemed proud that they were suffering from freedom. And this was fortunate enough; for, shortly afterwards, we received orders to hold ourselves in readiness to march at the shortest notice. This threw the camp into confusion. None of the soldiers knew what enemy was to be attacked; for, as to crossing the river, it wasn't dreamed of. Some began to think that we were to be sent to Philadelphia, to punish the tories; for there were hundreds of them there, as cruel and as bitter against the patriots, as uncle Isaac was. On Christmas eve, all the guns were examined, and a supply of provisions was dealt out. We understood, from this, that the same enterprise was to be undertaken next day. This was a bad prospect; for the weather was very cold, and show fell occasionally, in blinding showers. In the morning, all the soldiers of each regiment were placed together, and the arms were again examined. By and by, General Washington rode along the lines, pointing out the companies that had been selected; and in them were about five hundred of our Philadelphia men. Every heart beat with expectations; and when it was whispered along the ranks, that we were to cross the river at M'Conkey's Ferry, and march down upon Trenton, gladness was seen in all faces. No one doubted that we would gain a victory, if the general led us; and it was soon ascertained that he was going to do so. "In the afternoon, the wind blew from the north, like a hurricane. Hail and rain fell so thickly, at times, that we couldn't see half-way across the encampment; besides, the weather grew colder every hour. The general was on horseback through it all; but the soldiers were allowed to stay in the tents till nearly all the arrangements for marching had been made. The last order was, that we should be careful of our guns and powder; and in a little while after, we were on our road to the ferry, which we reached about dusk. A great many of the men had become discouraged by the storm; and when they heard the ice in the river crashing in all directions, and the water lashing the banks, from the force of the wind, they were almost ready to throw down their arms in despair. But it was too late either to turn back, or stand still. We heard the officers giving orders, yet could see nothing for the storm and the darkness. When the soldiers embarked, they had to cling to each other; so strong was the wind, and so high did the waves toss and turn the boats. After the first loads had started, those who remained behind were numbed with cold, and harassed with doubts. Some said we couldn't cross; others thought the boatmen were calling for help; and all of us could hear, plainly enough, the ice dashing against the boats. It was a long time before the second division could embark; and still many were left behind, I being among them. At last, our turn came; and, hard as it had been to stand on the shore, I found it nothing, compared to that passage of the river. Sometimes, sheets of ice would strike the boat, and carry it for some distance down the river, before the boatmen could row clear of them. Then large waves broke over the sides, wetting us through, and half filling the boat with water. Our fingers froze fast to our guns; and we had no other way to keep ourselves warm, than to sit close together, exposing our hands and feet as little as possible. When we first landed on the Jersey shore, some couldn't stand, but had to be lifted ashore by the others. The artillery arrive safely; and then such of the officers as had remained behind, came over in the last boat. By this time, most of the soldiers had formed in regular order. The general and his staff passed from point to point, exhorting the men to do their duty, and assuring them that if they did, their present sufferings would be ended. |
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