slouched lower against the wall and pulled his damp cape, actually just a tattered worn blanket, in tight around his body. Sergeant Howard drew back, as if sensing that a raw nerve had been touched.
Sitting there Jonathan studied his feet. The shoes his parents had given him had disintegrated and rotted off long ago, even though as tanners his parents had made sure that James and he had shoes of the finest leather, with even an extra pair tucked into their packs. He had given the second pair to Peter, an act of pity, and now both of them were barefoot, feet encased in strips of burlap, toes sticking out, swollen, cracked, filthy.
He had given up trying to patch his trousers. The frayed ends rose over his ankles, both knees sticking out, the thighs of the pants no longer white but black. As to his backside he was ashamed that only the blanket covered that nakedness. His hat did little to keep out the rain, the heavy felt long since matted out, the crown split open for several inches along a crease.
This is what I volunteered for, he realized. The romance of it was long gone. The girls who had so eagerly kissed him as he proudly marched out of Trenton would most likely recoil with disgust if they saw and smelled him now. Or, worse yet, count him a fool. So many others had stayed, as his parents had begged him to do on the day when what was left of the army passed through Trenton; they were safe at home, well fed, warm, and offered the protection of a forgiving and benevolent king.
“Damn my brothers,” he whispered softly. “Damn all of them.”
He thought again of what he might do when this army took Trenton back, as surely it must. He remembered far too clearly what James had done and what he suspected his other brother Allen might now be doing. When the army had retreated through Trenton three weeks ago, he deliberately avoided going to his house out of fear of what he might discover. But after this? After all this if we survive the night? He would not back down this time.
His parents? They had professed leanings for the patriots in the heady days of summer when the Declaration had been read from the steps of their church. But now? Hessians were most likely quartered in their home and store, and without a doubt his father, who had come to this land forty years ago and could still speak Dutch and even some German, was most likely drinking a Christmas toast with them at this very moment.
Another seizure of coughing took him. Leaning forward, he gasped for air, Peter bracing him, slapping him on the back as if that would actually help to clear his lungs.
He coughed up more phlegm and fell back against the wall of the stall, shivering, and then feeling hot. Peter, more a brother to him now than anyone else in this world, looked at him with concern.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing a smile.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift back to summer, the warmth. Being the youngest and indulged by his mother he had been able to slip off from chores, most especially the noisome tasks at the tannery, his mother arguing that her boys were now of the upper class, as was she, and they did not need to stink of curing leather. She had dreams that he would have started this autumn at the college up in Princeton, for he could already read Latin and even some Greek. Even though it was a Presbyterian college and they were Lutherans, she had dreamed of her youngest being educated——a minister, perhaps, or a lawyer.
He smiled at the thought. Now I’m a private, dressed in rags. If we fail tonight and I’m taken alive, I’ll rot in one of the prison hulksanchored in the East River off of Brooklyn. So much for my Latin and Greek.
And yet no regrets. If anything, his heart was even more hardened to see it through.
The coughing spasm having passed, he opened his eyes. It was a bit brighter in the barn; someone had managed to strike a flame, lanterns had been found, a few men were fishing out stubs of candles. Sergeant
Sitting there Jonathan studied his feet. The shoes his parents had given him had disintegrated and rotted off long ago, even though as tanners his parents had made sure that James and he had shoes of the finest leather, with even an extra pair tucked into their packs. He had given the second pair to Peter, an act of pity, and now both of them were barefoot, feet encased in strips of burlap, toes sticking out, swollen, cracked, filthy.
He had given up trying to patch his trousers. The frayed ends rose over his ankles, both knees sticking out, the thighs of the pants no longer white but black. As to his backside he was ashamed that only the blanket covered that nakedness. His hat did little to keep out the rain, the heavy felt long since matted out, the crown split open for several inches along a crease.
This is what I volunteered for, he realized. The romance of it was long gone. The girls who had so eagerly kissed him as he proudly marched out of Trenton would most likely recoil with disgust if they saw and smelled him now. Or, worse yet, count him a fool. So many others had stayed, as his parents had begged him to do on the day when what was left of the army passed through Trenton; they were safe at home, well fed, warm, and offered the protection of a forgiving and benevolent king.
“Damn my brothers,” he whispered softly. “Damn all of them.”
He thought again of what he might do when this army took Trenton back, as surely it must. He remembered far too clearly what James had done and what he suspected his other brother Allen might now be doing. When the army had retreated through Trenton three weeks ago, he deliberately avoided going to his house out of fear of what he might discover. But after this? After all this if we survive the night? He would not back down this time.
His parents? They had professed leanings for the patriots in the heady days of summer when the Declaration had been read from the steps of their church. But now? Hessians were most likely quartered in their home and store, and without a doubt his father, who had come to this land forty years ago and could still speak Dutch and even some German, was most likely drinking a Christmas toast with them at this very moment.
Another seizure of coughing took him. Leaning forward, he gasped for air, Peter bracing him, slapping him on the back as if that would actually help to clear his lungs.
He coughed up more phlegm and fell back against the wall of the stall, shivering, and then feeling hot. Peter, more a brother to him now than anyone else in this world, looked at him with concern.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing a smile.
He closed his eyes, letting his thoughts drift back to summer, the warmth. Being the youngest and indulged by his mother he had been able to slip off from chores, most especially the noisome tasks at the tannery, his mother arguing that her boys were now of the upper class, as was she, and they did not need to stink of curing leather. She had dreams that he would have started this autumn at the college up in Princeton, for he could already read Latin and even some Greek. Even though it was a Presbyterian college and they were Lutherans, she had dreamed of her youngest being educated——a minister, perhaps, or a lawyer.
He smiled at the thought. Now I’m a private, dressed in rags. If we fail tonight and I’m taken alive, I’ll rot in one of the prison hulksanchored in the East River off of Brooklyn. So much for my Latin and Greek.
And yet no regrets. If anything, his heart was even more hardened to see it through.
The coughing spasm having passed, he opened his eyes. It was a bit brighter in the barn; someone had managed to strike a flame, lanterns had been found, a few men were fishing out stubs of candles. Sergeant
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