The Saintly Buccaneer (7 page)

“Boats?” Charity questioned. “What kind of boats?”

“Ah, yes,” Adam smiled. “Nathan said you were a seafaring lass. Well, Paul started out with a small boat, got a bigger one, then bigger—and he’s made quite a sailor of himself. I’ve often thought that it would have been a good thing if he’d gone to sea—but he doesn’t have the discipline for that, I’m afraid.”

Charity wanted to know more, but the sentries approached, and Major Winslow gave orders for unloading the sleigh.
“There’s plenty of room, I’m afraid,” he remarked ruefully as the supplies were placed almost reverently in the large building by a brace of privates. “But it’s a gift from God, all this; and in the name of His Excellency, I thank you, Charity.”

“It’s so
little,
” she lamented sadly. She had noted that the hands of the soldiers unloading the food had trembled as they touched it, and that they had to put it down with force of will. The hunger of Valley Forge marked their eyes, and she whispered, “How can it happen, Major Winslow? How can our people let our men
starve?
”

“Some don’t know,” he answered. “But,” he continued, anger raking his dark face and his mouth drawn to a thin line, “some don’t care. Lots of people think we’re fools out here, led by a madman who wants to make himself a king.”

Charity looked at the pitiful heap of supplies, then at the wolf-lean faces of the soldiers, and she murmured, “It seems... impossible!”

“With God all things are possible, Charity!” There was such strength in Major Winslow’s voice and such determination in his lean face that he frightened her. She had never seen such dedication as she found in these people, and knew instinctively that for this man the war was to the death. When he smiled, she was amazed at how these Winslow men, with all their strength, could have such gentleness! Then she thought of the drunken lust etched on the face of Paul Winslow, and she mused:
They’re not all like Nathan and his father.

****

For the next four days Charity and Dr. Bergen worked from dawn until dusk, and even later. There were four long huts packed wall-to-wall with the sick and dying, and the pair of them were found long after sundown moving down the narrow aisles between bodies illuminated by the feeble yellow lantern light.

Dr. Bergen and Dr. Williams appreciated each other, but would not admit it. They had stared at each other suspiciously
at first; then slowly, as each man discovered the quality of the other, they began to spend their spare time together arguing endlessly—and loudly!—over treatment of the sick men. Once Nathan and Charity had listened to them reach the yelling stage over a fine point of medicine, and Charity had whispered in wonder, “The way they scream at each other, you’d think they were the worst of enemies, wouldn’t you?”

“Good men—both of them,” Nathan had said, and it was true that Williams’ load was lightened by the arrival of his colleague. As for Bergen, any sacrifice he might have made in coming became as nothing, for General Washington himself had made a visit, and his warm thanks to the little doctor had brought tears to Bergen’s eyes. “Such a man!” Bergen had murmured huskily as he told Charity about it. “Such a man our general is! And did I tell you, Charity, he talked with me for half an hour—to me, Aaron Bergen!”

“What did he say, Dr. Bergen?”

“Oh, all about the men, of course.” He shook his head and there was wonder in his bearded face as he said in such a low tone she had to lean forward to hear it: “He loves them—these men of his! How he loves them!”

When not at the hospital, Charity was with Julie, and it was a joy to her to see the improvement from the food and medicine. A rich glow had come to the pregnant woman’s face, and the feebleness that had struck her down was replaced by a vigor that delighted not only Nathan but all of them.

Dr. Bergen argued loudly with Dr. Williams that it was the presence of a
real
doctor which made the difference, but privately he admitted to Charity that it was as much Julie’s faith as his doctoring that had brought improvement, and Charity agreed.

Christmas Eve, Charity and Dr. Bergen made their rounds, taking such small fragments of food and drink as could be spared to the men. Julie was awake when they returned, and seeing the look on her face made Bergen question, “Is it something, Mrs. Winslow?”

“Maybe.” There was no fear in Julie’s face, but she moved carefully as she walked across the room to sit in the one chair. “I think it will be tomorrow.”

“A Christmas child!” Bergen chuckled. “Well, send for me when it’s time!” Then he wheeled and left the hut.

Charity went to sit on the floor beside Julie. The two of them had spent many hours in that position, with Julie listening as Charity spoke of her life. At other times Julie had read from her Bible, always amazing Charity at how the words of the old book—words she’d heard a hundred times—came to life as the young woman read them and commented on their meaning. Charity had never thought of the Bible as a book for life, but more as an ancient tome of philosophy that one could study or read for an hour. As for making it a principle or guide to
practical
matters—why, that had never entered her head, nor had she ever known another human being who thought of it like that.

The night wore on, and finally Julie went to bed, saying to her husband with a calm smile on her lips, “He’ll be here tomorrow, Nathan. Our son.”

Charity looked at the faces of the couple and wondered,
How many people are in warm, safe places, but don’t have the peace and joy of these two in these miserable conditions!

She slept fitfully in a corner of the hut, wrapped in a blanket and expecting at any moment to hear Julie call for help. But dawn came, and with it a knock on the door. She got to her feet to open it and was surprised to find the Quaker chaplain outside. “Why, it’s you, Friend Daniel!” she said with a smile.

He beamed at her use of the title so beloved by the Quakers. “I’m glad to see thee, Miss Alden,” he nodded, then added, “I thought thee might like to go to service with me.”

“Service?”

“Christmas service,” he said simply.

Hearing his voice Julie called, “Friend Dan, come in.”

The burly Quaker entered, and as he bent over Julie, there
was a light in his eyes that Charity did not miss. She had known from the way he had spoken of this woman that there was a special feeling for her—and now she saw the mixture of pain and admiration in his eyes.

“Is it well with thee, Julie?”

“Yes, very well. Now, you take this young woman along. I’ll be all right,” she added quickly, seeing Charity hesitate. “Nathan will be here in a few minutes.”

“He’s on his way,” Greene informed her. “I thought Miss Alden might like to go to our service. His Excellency will be there—in fact, the whole Army will be attending.”

“Preach the word, Friend Dan,” Julie smiled. “Go along, both of you.”

They moved outside and headed for the drill ground just as Nathan came hurrying along with Dr. Bergen. The snow had stopped and now reflected a ruby glow as the sun cast its first rays over the mountains. The shadows lay like long fingers over the camp, dark and sinister at first, but as they moved out of the heavy timber onto the flat plain used as a drill field by the troops, the light swelled into a brilliant display of color—blue-white ice, dark green firs, the crimson reflections of the sun on the snow, and overhead a sky that was for the first time in days a delicate pale blue instead of iron gray.

The Army had already arrived, closely packed in a fanshaped formation. “There it is,” Greene commented quietly. “The Continental Army of the United States.”

“It’s not very big, is it, Friend Dan?”

“No. Not big.” He led her to where the officers were mounted in a cluster, then added clearly, “Not many, Miss Alden. But it’s all pure grain—the chaff has been blown away. These are the men—these pitiful few—who will make this nation free, or it will become a slavish colony forever.”

He said no more but led her to a small platform in the center of the semicircle made by the troops. She could see Washington clearly, and once again she was struck by the
massive presence of the man. His eyes, she saw, were fixed on the ranks, and she knew, as did the men, that he was weighing the possibilities. Would they be enough? Would they stand fast? Would they stay when the skies were falling?

The other officers, including von Steuben, Mad Anthony Wayne, and Hamilton, never took their eyes off their commander. They waited, and finally Washington began to speak. His voice, rising and falling in even cadences, carried clearly across the open space to the rear ranks. When he spoke of “our country,” there was something in the way he said it that made every man on that frozen field believe it was true.

They were starving, freezing, dead with fatigue. They had been deserted by their supporters, cornered and beaten by the British, scorned by the powerful nations of the world—but when Washington said
our country,
they believed it. There was a meaning to their suffering, and as Washington spoke simply of their sacrifice and of the suffering yet to come, they accepted it because he said so.

It was simple, Charity saw at once. Washington was the keystone to the arch; he held the Army together, and without him the whole experiment in democracy would fall to ruins.

Then he said, “And now, our chaplain will speak to us, to all of us. May Almighty God, who rules over this new nation as He rules over the stars in their courses, bless his words to our hearing.”

Dan Greene stepped forward, opened his Bible, and read the words:

Raising his head, he lifted up his voice and began to preach. “This scripture refers to the Lord Jesus Christ. One day He
will come. Kingdoms may rise and fall, but He will come. That is the one certain thing in this earth—that one day the earth will be under the authority of Him who can do no wrong.” Then he stopped, and when he paused, the silence was almost palpable in its intensity.

“But
until
He comes, the Lord of Glory,” he cried out suddenly in a tone that rang like a great bell over the frozen ground, “we are men who must occupy this earth—and we believe that He, this almighty God who will come, wants us to live as free men and not as serfs!”

Charity stood there transfixed. This was no sermon delivered as a religious duty by a hired parson! It was a prophetic cry from the heart of one man, but it caught the hungers of all who listened; and as Dan Greene spoke of God’s love and purpose, he forged it to the cause for liberty for which these men were asked to lay down their lives.

She couldn’t remember much of the sermon, but she would never forgot that scene—never! Washington, his face set like a flint, staring out at the troops. The ragged, bearded men with hollow eyes grown suddenly bright with hope. The hush that was broken by Greene’s voice—and the ragged but powerful
Amen
that went up as he closed with prayer. She was certain that when she became an old woman, she would see this scene as sharply and clearly in her mind’s eye as she had seen it with her physical eyes just now.

Commands were given, the troops were dismissed, and Dan came to stand beside her. “I expect thee is cold.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She hesitated, then said, “I—I thought your sermon was moving.”

He didn’t answer, but took her arm and they made their way back to the hut. He seemed to be constrained, so she remained silent, but as they came in sight of the hut, he lifted his head quickly. “Look! There’s Nathan—something’s happened!”

He broke into a run, and Nathan shouted as he saw them, “He’s here! By the good Lord—he’s here!”

He was laughing, tears running down his face as Greene caught him in a bear hug, and the two of them danced around in the snow.

Dr. Bergen came outside, considered the two big men waltzing in the snow, and remarked with a grin, “Pair of blasted fools!” But there was light in his small eyes, and he nodded to Charity, “Go on in and greet the newest member of the House of Winslow.”

Julie was sitting up, holding a white bundle. “Come and see him, Charity,” she called, her eyes bright with joy.

Hesitantly, Charity approached the bed. As she knelt and Julie pulled the blanket back, she exclaimed, “Oh, he’s got red hair!”

“Yes,” Nathan voiced from behind her. “And he’s got a name, too.”

“A name?” Charity asked. “What is it?”

Julie had a playful look in her eyes, and she reached out to take Nathan’s hand as she announced, “His name is Christmas. Christmas Winslow.”

“Christmas?” Charity smiled. “What a wonderful name! I never heard of a man named Christmas.”

“He came on Christmas—and the Lord has promised me that he’ll be a blessing to his people—just as the Lord Jesus came to be.”

Charity’s eyes filled with tears and she put out a timid hand and stroked the fine red hair. “Christmas Winslow—may you be as good a man as your father and your grandfather!”

“Amen!” Dan Greene affirmed fervently, which was echoed by the rest as they sat gazing at the newest arrival at Valley Forge—and wondering what his life would be like.

CHAPTER SIX

RING OUT THE OLD

“He’ll make a fine American—and from the sound of that crying, he’s got the lungs to be a preacher as well!”

Charity pressed herself against the rough log wall and stared at General Washington. If the room had seemed small before, now the general’s bulk seemed to take all the available space. He was standing in the center of the floor, his head almost brushing the shakes of the ceiling, smiling down at Julie, who was holding the baby up for him to admire.

Christmas Winslow was the only person in the room not impressed with the imposing stature of General George Washington. He had just had his meal cut short, and his face was red with rage as he protested vigorously. Washington put out a finger gingerly, and the flailing hand of the baby encountered it, grasped it, and to everyone’s surprise, Christmas stopped crying.