Nevertheless, the situation selected for the encampment was a good one. In some of the towns, perhaps—Trenton, Lancaster, Reading, or Wilmington—there would have been shelter for the troops; but there were many objections to each place named. Had clothing and supplies been abundant, the little army might have harassed the British all winter long, and even shut them up completely in Philadelphia when the spring opened. If the officers quarreled with the commander for his obstinacy in choosing this position, the men set to in some cheerfulness to build shelters. They were not afraid of hard work, and they had suffered enough already from the cold and storms to appreciate the log cabins which went up as if by magic on hillside and in hollow.
On the bank of Valley Creek, near its junction with the Schuylkill, stood a stone cottage (as it stands to-day) of two small, low-ceiled rooms on each of its two floors. Behind it was a “lean-to” kitchen, in the floor of which was a trap which was the entrance to a secret passage which, when the house had been erected, led to the river, being a means of escape should the stone house be attacked by Indians. When Washington selected this house for his headquarters at Valley Forge the secret passage had long since been walled up and the entrance chamber was simply a prosaic potato cellar. The house itself was meagrely furnished—not at all the sort of a headquarters that Lord Howe enjoyed in Philadelphia.
Some distance up the creek, beyond the forge which lent its name to the valley, were the headquarters of big Major-General Henry Knox, of the artillery, and near him was the young French Marquis, Lafayette, but then recovering from the wound received at the battle of the Brandywine—also a Major-General, and trusted and loved by the Commander-in-Chief to a degree only equaled by the latter’s feeling for Colonel Pickering. General Woodford, of Virginia, who commanded the right of the line, was quartered at a house in the neighborhood of Knox and Lafayette.
Up on the Gulph road, the southern troops, lying nearest to Washington’s headquarters, were commanded by that Southern-Scotsman, Lachlin McIntosh, and strung along within sight of the road were Huntingdon’s Connecticut militia, Conway’s Pennsylvania troops, Varnum’s Rhode Islanders, and Muhlenberg, Weeden, Patterson, Learned, Glover, Poor, Wayne, and Scott on the extreme front of the embattled camp. Hadley Morris, still with Wayne’s division, messed with Captain Prentice, but found himself often attached to “Mad Anthony’s” personal staff in the capacity of messenger, for the Quaker general occupied a house in a most exposed quarter, some distance beyond the line of defences, and was in constant communication with the Commander-in-Chief.
Hadley, indeed, scarce knew whom he served. At first his wound had incapacitated him from participating in much of the work which fell to the lot of the rank and file, and, as he rode one of the fleetest horses in the American camp, he came to be looked upon as a sort of volunteer aide, for he had never been regularly mustered into the service. He often saw Lafe Holdness in the camp, and was not surprised, therefore, one day, when he had been sent post-haste to General Washington with some papers from Wayne, to find the Yankee in the front room of the Potts’ cottage in close conversation with His Excellency.
Hadley never entered the presence of the great man without, in a measure, feeling that sense of Washington’s superiority which he had experienced when first he saw him, and he stood at one side now, ill at ease, waiting for a chance to deliver his packet. The Commander had a way of seeing and recognizing those who entered the room without appearing to do so—if he were busily engaged at the time—and suddenly wheeling in his chair and pointing to the boy, said in a tone that made Hadley start:
“Is this the young man you want, Master Holdness?”
“I reckon he’ll do, Gin’ral—if he can be spared,” Lafe replied, with the usual queer twist to his thin lips. “He’s gettin’ more important around here than a major-gin’ral, I hear; but ef things wont go quite ter rack an’ ruin without him for a few days, I guess I’ll take him with me on this little ja’nt.”
Hadley blushed redly, but knew better than to grow angry over Lafe’s mild sarcasm. His Excellency seemed to understand both the scout and his youthful friend pretty well. “I have a high opinion of Master Morris,” he said, kindly. “Take care of him, Holdness. It is upon such young men as he that we most earnestly depend. Some of us older ones may not live to see the end of this war, and the younger generation must live to carry it on.”
Hadley did not think him austere now; his eyes were sad and his face worn and deeply lined. Not alone did the rank and file of the American army suffer physically during that awful winter; many of the officers went hungry, too, and it was whispered that often Washington’s own dinner was divided among the hollow-eyed men who guarded his person and sentineled the road leading to the little stone cottage.