New York - The Novel

down. The key, Washington insisted, was to ensure that the roof was well sealed.
    “For it’s a Philadelphia winter we have to contend with,” he reminded them, “not a northern one.”
    It wasn’t long before Yankee troops discovered what he meant. For instead of a covering of northern snow, which seals in everything it falls upon, Valley Forge was suffering through a different kind of winter. Snow there was, from time to time, and freezing sleet, but it would soon melt. Then it would rain, so that the water seeped its way through every crack and crevice, before it froze again. The dry cold of the North might kill a man who had no shelter, but the cold, damp winds and clinging chills of Valley Forge seemed to seep into the marrow of men’s bones.
    Log cabins or not, their clothes were in tatters, many still had no boots, and everyone was half starving. The commissary did a magnificent job. There was fish from the river. Occasionally there was meat. Most days, every man was given a pound of decent bread. Most days. But sometimes there would be only firecake, as they grimly called the tasteless husks of flour and water the cooks might have to give them. And sometimes there was nothing. James had even seen men trying to make soup out of grass and leaves. Some weeks, a third of the army was unfit for any duties at all. Their horses looked like skeletons and frequently died. There was nothing left to forage, not a cow within miles. And when James was sent out to the small towns of the region to see if he could buy more provisions, the only money he had to offer were the paper notes offered by Congress, which most traders were suspicious of.
    Each day, they buried more men. As time passed, the deaths mounted into hundreds, passed a thousand, reached two thousand. Sometimes James wondered if they’d ever have made it at all without the camp followers—about five hundred of them, mostly wives or female relations of the men. They were given half-rations and half-pay, and they did their best to care for their menfolk. In February, they were joined by Martha Washington. Washington always put on a brave face to his men, but James spent enough time in his company to see that in private he was close to despair. Though he and the other junior officers did all they could to support their chief, he remarked to Mrs. Washington once: “The general’s saved the army, and you’ve saved the general.”
    One other person gave Washington comfort. A young man sent from France by the indefatigable Ben Franklin. He’d arrived some monthsbefore. Though only twenty years old, he had several years of service in the Musketeers. Arriving in America, he was immediately made a major general.
    Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, was a rich young aristocrat, with a fine ancestral estate. His young wife, whom he left behind in France, was the daughter of a duke. An ancestor had served with Joan of Arc. And he had slipped out of France in search of one thing, and one thing only.
La Gloire
. He wanted to be famous.
    Believing that this might further good relations with the French, Washington had taken him onto his staff. And then discovered to his surprise that he had acquired a second son.
    Lafayette had no illusions about his own lack of experience. He’d take on anything asked of him. He also proved to be competent and intelligent. At Brandywine, he’d fought well and been wounded. But in addition to all this, his aristocratic upbringing and his sense of honor had given him the very qualities that Washington most admired. Slim and elegant, he had exquisite manners, was completely fearless—and he was loyal to his chief, which was more than could be said for most of the other Patriot commanders. When Gates and other generals schemed against Washington behind his back, the young Frenchman came to know of it, and warned Washington at once. They tried to get him out of the way by sending him up to Canada, but he soon got out of that, and rejoined Washington at Valley Forge, where his Gallic charm helped to lighten the grim realities of daily life.
    James liked Lafayette. In London, since an educated gentleman was supposed to speak the language of diplomacy, he’d learned to speak a little French. Now, with plenty of time on their hands at Valley Forge, Lafayette helped James improve his mastery of the language considerably.
    But Lafayette was not the only man Ben Franklin sent across. His other and still