"...you might have tracked the army from White Marsh to Valley Forge by the blood on their feet." - George Washington
Historical Note: The snow was six inches deep, and the Schuylkill River was frozen over when the Continental Army struggled into Valley Forge during the Winter of 1777-78. And thus began a harsh weather cycle that made the men miserable, for it would freeze, snow, and then melt and rain, turning the ground and roads into impassible quagmires of mud. These were excellent conditions in which disease and sickness could fester, and did! The shortage of food, clothing, and supplies nearly caused George Washington himself to dispair, and he wrote desperate letters to Congress, begging the Commissary Department for relief, which was not always forthcoming. Thank God that the great General and future President of the U. S. persevered, however, and that the men did not give up the fight!
It was cold. To the night sentry marching in the snow, the cold dampness seemed to penetrate to his bones, becoming a part of his marrow, freezing even the blood flowing in his veins. Would he ever be warm again? He had no answer, and so he kept moving, up and down, turn, and start back.
The icy wind blasted him in the face, and he squinted, his eyes watering, and for a moment, not focusing. He blinked rapidly, and hefted his musket to his right arm and shoulder. He had to keep moving or freeze where he stood. Would this long Winter of 1777-78 ever end? Would there be anyone left in Valley Forge healthy and strong enough to fight, when it did end? He had no answers to those questions, either, so he kept moving.
His friend and fellow soldier had died today; succumbing to the sickness that relentlessly stalked the Continental army; not discriminating, stealing the lives of young and old, officer and common soldier, alike. There had been none of the comforts of home for his friend as he lay dying, no medicine, no nourishing soup to give him strength, and only a thin, tattered blanket to cover his feverish body. He had managed to speak, however, before passing from life, in between great gasps as his body lost its fight with the infection that filled his lungs.
As the night sentry remembered those painfully spoken words, a slow fire began to burn within him, starting in his heart, and spreading throughout his whole being, until he forgot the cold, the wind, his bleeding, aching feet, and the hunger that gnawed at his vitals like some ravenous beast.
"Never surrender." the dying man had said, summoning what little strength he had left to voice his deepest - held convictions. "You must never abandon this fight for liberty, and you must never forget that our cause is just and right. I have desired that Almighty God would grant me a reprieve, that I might live to see the new nation born from this struggle, but I know now that it is not to be."
His eyes, fever - bright, sought and held those of his friend. "Tell my family that I died peacefully, happily, even; knowing that our suffering here is for a greater purpose: that of a free America! A country in which men and women are released from the bonds of tyrannical dictates, and at liberty to worship the One true and living God, in a land that resounds with the joy of a free people, living the truest meaning of freedom, and liberty, and justice. Please tell them, my friend. You must tell them!"
At last, spent with the fervency of his emotion, he had slumped on his pallet, and, a few hours later, had died. And the night sentry knew that his friend was only one among thousands that were dying from disease, starvation, and want, during that long, harsh winter at Valley Forge. And he knew, too, as he marched in the bitter cold that he, too, would just as willingly give his own life for the cause, because freedom is never free, but is purchased with blood, determination, courage, and yes, even with a man's life, if need be.
And the night sentry looked ahead as he marched; but instead of the swirling whiteness all around him, he saw his hope for the future, finally realized. It was the same hope shared by every member of the Continental Army, from George Washington himself, to the poorest foot soldier that had left off ploughing his fields to join the fight. And that bright hope was of a future in which men, women, and even children yet to be born, would live, and love, and work, and most of all, would breathe the very air of freedom. And the night sentry knew without doubt, deep inside his soul, that it would be worth the price.
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