“Shall the army of the north alone win victories?” was the cry. “Can we not strike even a blow with the army of the Schuylkill? Give us a general who will fight.”
With at least outward calm, Washington faced this fresh outburst against him. He knew that the British defenses were too powerful to be taken at that time, and he refused to dash his small force against their bristling lines.
“It would mean only destruction,” said he, and the greater part of his officers agreed with him.
His enemies, always at work, about this time succeeded in altering the form of the Board of War—and most significant of all, General Gates was made president of it. Mifflin was also one of the five who composed the board, which had the direction of military affairs in its hands; and it was plain to be seen that these two were intended to be the master spirits of the war. At once the board began its work. Two inspector-generals were appointed; and one of these was Conway, who was given the rank of major-general, in the teeth of Washington’s plainly expressed opinion as to the man’s unfitness.
Seeing that nothing was to be gained by keeping the field in the dead of winter, Washington now prepared to hut his army at Valley Forge, about twenty miles from Philadelphia. At once another cry burst upon him.
“Why have we raised and officered an army?” was the burden of this complaint. “Its purpose is to protect us from our enemies. And to do this it should keep the field.”
The brave heart of the commander-in-chief burned in his breast at this; his gallant fellows were without shoes, blankets or clothing to protect them from the icy winds. Their tents were thin and gave them little shelter; and to ask men so circumstanced to keep the field was heartless and inhuman. So in spite of the storm of protest, the ragged army took up its gloomy march through the snow to Valley Forge. Cold, bitter weather was upon them; the naked feet of many left bloody footprints in the snow. And yet, while this suffering was being undergone, great quantities of clothing, shoes and woolen stockings were lying at intervals along distant roadsides, rotting for want of teams, supplied by those in charge of such things, to cart them where they were held in such pressing need. Washington’s enemies were now in charge of such supplies, and this was another blow leveled at him—a blow calculated to break his high heart and cause him to throw up his commission.
Inch by inch the plotters had forced General Schuyler from his command in the north; successful there, they were now using the same methods upon Washington. But through it all he stood unflinching and unmoved save by the suffering of his soldiers. The depths of the conspirators’ meanness was equaled only by the depths of his courage; the obstacles erected in his path, the pitfalls dug for his feet were meant for one whose patience and patriotism could be measured. But in a splendid soul like that of General Washington, these virtues are unmeasured; and so he passed on serene and unmoved, his calm eyes fixed steadily upon the future.
It was while the naked army shivered in the midst of that most rigorous of winters at Valley Forge that Ben Cooper one day received a letter. It read:
“Come at once. Everything now ready.”