Martha Washington (19 page)

That fall, Martha traveled south to visit her family. Having survived her own inoculation so handily, she had become quite an advocate. She brought Nancy's sons, Burwell Jr. and John, thirteen and eleven, back to Mount Vernon with her and saw them through the pox. When she sent them home in November, she reassured her sister that “they have been exceeding good Boys indeed.”

A month later, thirty-eight-year-old Nancy was dead. Although she had been ailing off and on for three or four years, her death was a complete shock. Martha was distraught, because “she was the greatest favorite I had in the world.” She wrote to Burwell Bassett on December 22, lamenting and condoling with him. But she hoped that her sister had “made a happy exchange—and only gone a little before us.”

Although she wished to be with him and the children, it was impossible for her to leave just then. Nelly Custis was at Mount Vernon, about to give birth any day, and Martha had to be with her, Jack, and little Betsy, who had “grown as fat as a pigg.” Her second granddaughter, Martha Parke Custis, called Patty, was born at Mount Vernon on December 31, 1777, the only Custis baby not to be born at Mount Airy in Maryland.

Besides the birth of her second granddaughter, a much more important fact prevented her from going south. Winter encampment and reunion with her husband was at hand: “The General has wrote to me that he cannot come home this winter but as soon as the army under his command goes into winter quarters he will send for me, if he does I must go.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

W
ashington chose Valley Forge as his winter encampment because of its proximity to Philadelphia—to satisfy Pennsylvania politicians, to block the road to York, to spy on Howe, to be ready to act if the British moved, to attack and harry British foragers, to interfere with farmers bringing supplies to Philadelphia. His troops marched through the snow to reach Valley Forge in mid-December 1777. This was the nadir of the patriot cause, but Valley Forge was also the place where a true continental army was born.

Lafayette wrote to his adoring wife, who probably would have swooned with delight at an invitation to join her husband: “Several general officers have brought their wives to camp, and I am very envious, not of their wives (who are rather dull), but of the pleasure they have in being able to see them. General Washington has also just decided to send for his wife, a modest and respectable person, who loves her husband madly.”

Soon after Patty Custis's birth, Martha left for the north. Jack, Nelly, and their two little girls remained behind at Mount Vernon. Still mourning her sister and best friend, she arrived at Valley Forge in early February 1778, met as usual by one of the commander's aides-de-camp. It was the third year that she had joined her husband in camp. American soldiers had come to look expectantly for the arrival of her carriage—the signal that the fighting was definitely over for the year. Lady Washington was cheered by the troops when she made her annual appearance. Not the least excited of them was George Washington, who fretted for days before her arrival. Valley Forge indelibly created the image of the nurturing commander's wife who did all she could to relieve the soldiers' needs. She became a mother figure matching Washington's patriarchal role—a pleasant, kind woman who visited the hospital and showed “motherly care” for the soldiers, sick and well.

Despite sporadic British attempts to portray the American general's wife as a closet Tory, Martha was publicly and privately dedicated to her husband's cause and his army. As she wrote to Mercy Warren, “I hope and trust that all the states will make a vigorous push early this spring . . . putting a stop to British cruelties, and afford us that peace liberty and happyness which we have so long contended for.” She went on to gloat over the capture of Burgoyne and his army, languishing in Massachusetts while waiting to be exchanged: “It has give me unspeakable pleasure to hear that [they] air in safe quarters in your state. Would bountifull Providence aim a like stroke at Genl Howe, the measure of my happyness would be complete.”

Valley Forge was the place where George Washington became the true symbol of the American cause. No other individual could measure up to his public reputation and acclaim: there were many congressmen, but none of them had a nationwide reputation; there were many generals, but none could match his presence. Without the army he led, all would be lost. That winter, he created an army of soldiers committed to winning the war, not leaving as soon as a short-term enlistment ran out. The very suffering that they went through together created an esprit de corps. That winter, he fought ferociously to feed and clothe his men and to create a professional army.

Hunger and deprivation, bloody footprints left in the snow by shoeless soldiers, an encampment ravaged by disease—that was Valley Forge. The congressional supply system had improved for a while, but by the time Martha arrived in February, soldiers were again on the verge of starvation. They were no longer freezing in tents, but they needed a regular food supply.

The men were housed in the wooden barracks they had built, their rags and tatters a joke as they huddled about roaring fires. At least there was plenty of wood in the valley and ample water. Valley Forge wasn't far out on the isolated frontier. It was a small settlement only twenty miles from Philadelphia and surrounded by farms in all directions. American foragers began supplying the camp from those farms, to their owners' unhappiness. Relations improved when a market was set up across the Schuylkill River, where neighboring farmers and traders could bring their goods. Better to choose the goods to offer than have them requisitioned—even though the payment was still continental paper money.

Meanwhile, the British army lived comfortably in Philadelphia. Howe's 23,000 soldiers (to Washington's original 11,000 to 12,000, decreased by some 2,500 deaths over the course of the winter) had settled in for the winter, enjoying themselves mightily. A Hessian captain wrote: “Assemblies, Concerts, Comedies, Clubs and the like make us forget that there is any war, save that it is a capital joke.” British officers organized a very good amateur theater, acting in it along with their mistresses. Food and drink were plentiful for an army with hard cash to spend.

Martha was happy to be with George, but far from happy with their accommodations. At least he had moved out of the tent where he had stayed while his men were building their wooden huts. The small Isaac Potts house, its rough natural stone the color of dull autumn leaves, was a tight squeeze for all the aides, but it was plentifully supplied with fireplaces. Guests had to be satisfied with cots set up wherever there was a clear space or sharing with the aides. The one fair-size room on the ground floor became an office-cum- sitting room, filled with writing tables and chairs.

Trying to make the place tolerable for his wife was Washington's concern. In a letter to Jack Custis, he regretted that “we are in a dreary kind of place, and uncomfortably provided.” At some point in the fall, his baggage had gone astray, and he needed those supplies for the house, “among other things a bed, end irons, plates, dishes, and kitchen utensils.” He ordered them found and brought in wagons to headquarters.

The greatest lack was a dining room: besides the aides, any other high-ranking officer or notable visitor took for granted an open invitation to dine at headquarters. At one time, four congressmen attached themselves to headquarters as volunteers, incurring an officer's disdain: “The rations they have consumed considerably overbalance all their service done as volunteers, for they have dined with us every day almost and drank as much wine as they would earn in six months.”

A large portion of Washington's expenses went to provide food and drink for the fifteen or twenty men, along with the occasional woman or two, who assembled at his table for a simple dinner every day. This was a time for the weary soldiers to relax, discuss the events of the day, debate strategies, and plan ahead. They sat together for two or three hours, drinking toasts in Madeira after the table was cleared. As good as she was at making do, Martha couldn't cope with all those guests without a dining room. As she wrote in a letter to Mercy Warren, “The Generals apartment is very small. He has had a log cabben built to dine in which has made our quarter[s] much more tolerable than they were at first.”

Right behind Martha, the Baron von Steuben, a Prussian professional soldier with a self-bestowed title and rank, arrived at Valley Forge with the skills that made him one of the most useful of all Washington's officers. During that long, cold winter and spring, he drilled the American troops until the rankest amateurs became a cohesive, professional army. Drill became the main amusement of the camp as divisions tried to outdo one another—provoking hoots and catcalls, boasts and strutting, bets and challenges. Steuben's training did wonders for formerly bored and dispirited soldiers.

Accompanying Steuben was a French volunteer, Pierre-Etienne Duponceau, who became one of Martha's staunch admirers. He observed that “her presence inspired fortitude.” Those who visited her in despair “retired full of hope and confidence.”

Martha found welcome companionship among the other officers' wives. The Washingtons' favorite, Kitty Greene, was as usual the center of a social group at Nathanael's quarters, where all the foreign officers tended to congregate. She was especially popular because she spoke some French, a language she had studied for just that reason. The irrepressible and bossy Lucy Knox, getting fatter by the year, was at camp that winter, as was Rebecca Cornell Biddle, wife of the commissary general in charge of foraging. Colonel Clement Biddle was a Quaker who, like his friend Nathanael Greene, had been read out of his meeting for becoming a soldier. General William Alexander, a wealthy New Jersey landowner known as Lord Stirling in America because of his claim to a Scottish earldom (disallowed by the British), had brought his mild and friendly wife, Sarah Livingston Alexander (Lady Stirling), and their flirtatious daughter Lady Kitty, who charmed Washington by requesting a lock of his hair.

Martha and the other ladies formed a social circle of the sort she so much enjoyed in Virginia. But the way they occupied their days while conversing and drinking tea was a little different. When visiting, ladies usually did fine needlework, leaving mundane knitting and sewing for home. Needlepoint or embroidery lasted one visit at headquarters: Martha led the way in putting aside fancywork in favor of knitting, darning, and making shirts; the other ladies were quickly shamed into joining her. Dry woolen socks without holes were an infantryman's greatest joy. All those socks were knit by hand; there were no factories to produce them, and a long day's march in leaky boots produced prodigious holes in the men's socks, along with painful blisters. Such wounds easily became infected in the filth they lived in; and once gangrene set in, amputation had to follow. All winter long, Martha and her friends turned out endless pairs of socks for the soldiers.

Once the candles were lit in the evening, the Washingtons and their friends entertained themselves. Duponceau recounted, “In the midst of all our distress, there were some bright sides to the picture. . . . Mrs. Washington had the courage to follow her husband in that dismal abode; other ladies also graced the scene . . . the evening was spent in conversation, over a dish of tea or coffee.” The great pleasure of the evenings was singing. “Every gentlemen or lady who could sing, was called upon in turn for a song,” and Duponceau soon learned the English favorites.

Officers weren't the only men in the army to enjoy the company of women. Most eighteenth-century standing armies included a contingent of women (and children) who traveled with the troops and lived with them in camp. Both the British regulars and the German mercenaries brought women with them and picked up more from among American loyalists.

In the colonies, militia call-ups had traditionally been for a limited period, generally close to home. With a national army and long-term enlistment far from home, the new army soon included what were called “camp followers.” At Valley Forge, for example, where the army eventually consisted of some 8,500 men, 450 women officially accompanied the troops, as well as additional unregistered women and probably more than 300 children.

The poorest enlisted men were unable to provide for their wives when they left work and home. So some of the women pulled up stakes, packed what belongings they could carry, including children, and went to war with their men. Although Washington fumed at the harum-scarum appearance of a bunch of unkempt women swarming into towns alongside a marching army, he understood their importance to the men. The American army provided rations and supplies (and later smallpox inoculation) for the families of the soldiers.

These women cooked, cleaned, mended, sewed, laundered, nursed the sick and wounded, and sometimes took over a gun when their husbands fell. They provided essential functions for the army in general as well as their own families. Washington tried to prevent unmarried women from attaching themselves to the army, but human nature triumphed over his commands. To the great pleasure of the rowdy soldiers, some prostitutes traveled with the army, providing readily available sex.

The officers continued to concoct entertainment of one sort or another. On Washington's forty-sixth birthday in 1778, a military band (mostly fifes and drums) serenaded the general at his headquarters. He was now well into middle age, seen as a grand old man by his army. The camp enjoyed a performance at the bake house of the beloved classic
Cato
, performed by the younger officers. The theater-loving Washington had granted permission for the play, although Congress had forbidden theatrical performances during the war.

Cato
was particularly admired in America, emphasizing as it did the superiority of virtuous agrarian life over metropolitan corruption and high-minded republican rule over Caesarism, or dictatorship. No American patriot could doubt that Cato and his supporters corresponded to the Continental Congress and its army or that the usurping Caesar corresponded equally to George III with his suppression of the rights of a free people. Hardly anyone suspected that George Washington would ever be tempted to make himself dictator. Certainly his army recognized him as Cato, not Caesar.