A
Christmas Crossing
Lynn Hubbard
© 2013 by Lemon Press
All rights reserved
www.lemonpresspublishing.com
www.lynnhubbard.com
Introduction
Thrust into a war she did not choose, Sarah Fanum yearns for simpler times. Times when all she had to worry about were bad crops or bad weather.
Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Set in 1776, my short story, A Christmas Crossing describes the night that changed the course of the Revolutionary War. It is not your typical Christmas story, but one that has affected every fabric of our lives as an American.
Author’s Note:
I was inspired to write A Christmas Crossing after visiting Yorktown, VA. I have always been enamored by the Revolutionary War and wanted to share my love for history with my love for Christmas. I hope you enjoyed it.
~Lynn Hubbard
Washington Crossing the Delaware by Emanuel Leutze PD
1
It was Christmas. The night was dark. Snow filled clouds blocked out the stars offering them little to no light. With the hope of freedom in their hearts, the men pressed on.
Battered by sleet and snow, Sarah stood huddled on the Pennsylvania shore, with the other women watching them go. She clutched a thin blanket around her frail shoulders even though it did little to block out the frozen wind. Nonetheless, she was one of the lucky ones.
Many of Washington’s soldiers had no coats, and some, no shoes. Their bare feet were numb from the cold. A trail of bloody footprints marked their way as they marched across the icy ground.
Tears stung her eyes watching Silas step into the last Durham Boat. The deep wooden sides seemed to swallow him up as he sat down for the arduous voyage. The boat was originally constructed to carry iron, not men. She could hear the sound of creaking wood and cracking ice as it was poled off into the river. She said a prayer and it disappeared into the darkness.
Sarah barely noticed the other women around her shuffling back to camp. They would wait, as they had so many times before, for their men to return. With a fearful heart, she turned and walked back to camp alone.
The sleet had topped the snow with ice. It crunched beneath her feet as she walked. She desperately hoped that the river would not freeze this night.
Pulling her blanket closer, she thought of how much her life had changed in just a few short months.
2
Her father, Henry Fanum, was a stoic man who believed in ‘live and let live’. Although most of their neighbors were Tories, he preferred not to choose a side. Having a small farm, they did not have to worry as much about thieves. The few animals they owned were not worth much. Keeping his head down and working hard, he hoped to avoid the conflict.
This worked well until the raids increased; then no one was safe. Needing more recruits to squash the uprising, the British hired an army of Hessians from Germany to come to America and fight for them.
The mercenaries and British combined made their way through Sarah’s New Jersey home. Along their path, they took whatever they needed; and then some. Tales of their pillaging and defiling women spread quickly, and the people were on edge.
The only thing of any real worth on the Fanum Farm was Henry’s family. Until the skirmish was settled, he had taken to keeping the women in the house and animals in the barn when danger was near.
If only it had worked.
***
Stumbling over a tree root Sarah fell to her knees. The wet snow seeped into her blanket. However, it did not compare to the coldness that crept into her soul. Once again, her memories besieged her.
***
She could recall that summer day vividly. She was sitting on her bed next to the window to use the light to work on her sewing. She hated sewing and would much rather be outside in the glorious sunlight.
Sensing her emotions, Sarah’s mother, Hannah, rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Looking up at her mother’s shimmering red hair and smiling face lifted her spirits. She and her brother had inherited the same radiant color. That moment of simple peace would stay in Sarah’s heart forever.
For, in the next instant, her world would be turned upside down. Sarah heard their dogs barking wildly. It was then that she first smelled the smoke. Looking anxiously out the window, a horrific sight met her eyes. Their barn was on fire! Throwing caution to the wind, she ignored her mother’s shouts of warning; she burst through the door of their house and ran. Knowing the barn was lost, she headed to the fields looking for her father and brother.
She soon found her father lying on the ground next to the plow. Blood was seeping out of his chest and into the rich soil below. In such shock, she barely registered the soldier standing over him. His bayonet was still wet with blood; the same color as the uniform he wore. In a trance, she turned to watch him unceremoniously wipe it off on the ground. As her situation started to sink in, his eyes turned to meet hers, and she took a tentative step backwards.
Her mother’s scream cut through the air and Sarah darted back towards the house. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her head. She could hear the soldier behind her, and she ran even faster. A shot rang out, but on she ran without looking back.
The wind shifted, blowing the hot, smoky air toward her from the burning barn. Her lungs and eyes burned.
She threw open the door and jumped on the back of the vermin who was covering her mother. Unfortunately, she did not see the other man in the room waiting his turn. Chuckling, he grabbed her by her hair and tried to pull her off. Intent on chocking the life out of the man below her, she ignored the sting and bit down on his ear as hard as she could.
Sarah cried out in despair as she felt his strong arm wrap around her waist. Then she found herself on her back. With the soldier's attention turned to his belt buckle, she reached over and grabbed the sharp iron spit from the fireplace. Using the strength of fear, she ran it through him.
A look of shock crossed his face; his hands were instinctively grasping the iron bar and trying to pull it out. Terrified, Sarah gave it an extra shove and knocked him over a stool. Her relief was short-lived; her mother’s attacker was now turning on her.
Sarah fought like a wildcat as he tried to subdue her. Hannah tried to come to her aid, but was tossed to the side for the effort. Sarah screamed, as she was once again thrown to the floor, and her dress was pulled up over her head.
She heard the door bang open and pushed her skirt down in time to see her brother Silas appear and cut the man’s throat from behind. A shower of blood splattered on her as she watched in frozen horror. She could taste the coppery essence in her mouth and turned her head to vomit. Her stomach emptied with the gravity of their situation sinking in. Their father was dead. They had killed British Soldiers, a hanging offense, she was sure. Her sobs filled the air as her brother knelt at her side and hugged her tight.
“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Silas whispered.
She was shaking from emotion as she turned to look for her mother. She found her lying on the ground next to the fireplace like she was asleep. Sarah tried to shake her awake, but there was a dark stain on the stone hearth. She was gone.
Sarah held her and wept.
***
Their leader, General George Washington, was a powerful force. He would stand toe to toe against any man. He was also compassionate; he knew his men were suffering and did everything in his power to get them the supplies and funds they needed. He made it a point to walk among his troops and listen to their needs and ideas.
It was this quality that drew Silas to him; that, and the chance for revenge. Revenge for the death of their parents, and for the black mark lef
t on all of their souls. Sarah refused to stay with the neighbors and followed her brother to war.
She was one of the many women who left their homes behind to sleep in dirt and follow the camp. It was better, she thought, to be there, to know what was happening. To keep abreast of the goings on instead of fretting away in an empty house wondering if your loved one would return.
Sarah slowly wandered back to their camp. The cold was making her tired. She pushed it away. There would be little sleep for her this night. Those left behind were cooking their evening meal. However, Sarah was too full of worry to eat.
She prayed her brother would return safely. It was a daring move on the General’s part. Typically, armies did not fight in winter. Travel was too treacherous. Food, supplies, and amenities were slim. In fact, if you could believe the rumors, Cornwallis was packing to return home to England for the winter.
The Americans were not as relaxed. The mood in the camp was as dismal as the weather. The sick, which were left behind, wondered if they would survive the next few days. Most of the men’s contracts were expiring soon, and they longed to return home. Sarah knew Silas would not be among those eager to leave. They had no home.
Not wanting to spend the dark night alone, she entered one of the houses being used as a hospital. She was looking for her friend, Margaret. Margaret was a boisterous woman. Once overly large, her skin sagged on her frame. However, even the lack of food could not diminish her spirit. She was like a lantern in the darkness. Barely able to see, Sarah was surprised when a metal cup was pressed into her hands.
“It’s coffee. It’s cold, but it’ll help get ya through the night.”
She gratefully sipped at the bitter blackness. Sleep tugged at her again; but she was too distraught to rest. Silas was all she had in this world.
A groan broke the stillness and Margaret turned to mop her husband Homer’s brow with a wet cloth. Even in the frigid air, he was still hot with fever. A rattle escaped him, and with each breath Sarah worried for his life.
“Pleurisy. It’s a bit harder for him to breathe at night. I hope it will pass soon. Getting that supply of blankets the other day was a blessing.”
“Yes. Yes it was. We are still in need of more blessings though.” Sarah replied.
“God is on the side of those pure of heart.”
Homer fell back into an arduous sleep, and Margaret sat down on the floor to rest. The snores and groans of the other men in the house were softened by the wind howling outside.
There were so many ill. The house was full of them, lying on straw covered matts. There was hardly anywhere to walk, much less sit. With a flicker of candlelight, Sarah looked around at the other men, if you could call them men. Some of them were just boys. She prayed for their health as well as Homer’s. Needing comfort, Margaret started to hum a song; a Christmas carol.
Sarah was almost startled. It seemed impossible that Christmas was here. There was no feast, no presents, and no family. Nevertheless, it was Christmas. They needed a miracle, and this was the time for miracles. Hope swelled in her chest, and she relaxed a bit, the soft music was filling her heart and lifting her spirits. Softly, she started singing along.
Silence surrounded them. Even the ones moaning in pain settled down to listen. Sarah tried not to think back to last Christmas. It was just too painful. Instead, she let the melody comfort her as it did the others.
Passage of the Delaware by Thomas Sully PD
3
The storm pressed onward. Wind slipped through the cracks of the wood hewn house, bringing in the cold and dampness. Sarah was stiff from sleeping on the wooden floor. Chilled from the winter storm, she was not sure if she would ever be warm again. As dawn arrived, she fretted for her brother and the other soldiers who had not yet returned.
She heard a sob from Margaret and turned to find her hunched over Homer’s still form. He had passed during the night. Not knowing what to say, she laid a hand on Margaret’s heaving shoulder. Mutely, two men approached to remove him. The much-needed blanket was left on the straw for the next infirm man as they carried Homer outside to tend to his remains. Grasping Margaret’s hand, the two women followed.
***
Gone for almost two days, there was quite a stir when the men strode back into camp. Even though they were exhausted, their thin faces glowed with the pride of victory. They marched to their tents to eat and rest. Sarah’s anxious eyes scanned the group for Silas. She was rewarded for her patience as once again, he brought up the rear. Unable to control her relief, she ran to him, almost knocking him down with her embrace.
“I need to breathe, Sarah.”
“I am glad you are safe. Go and rest. We’ll talk later.”
She reluctantly left him to rest and headed back to the women’s encampment. Sarah felt almost giddy; Silas was back, and he was unhurt. From the scattered conversations around her, she learned that only a few of their men were lost, but over 900 Hessians had been captured. It was good to hear the men speaking of hope and victory. There has been so much despair of late.
Of the convoy of women following the troops, most were wives and daughters. The army's provisions were not allotted for them, so they took in laundry to wash, and worked hard to earn their keep.
Margaret and Homer had been so kind to them when they had first joined the army. It was hard for her to think of Homer as gone. They lost more men from sickness than battle. She so prayed that the winter would pass quickly, and that the war would end soon. Reaching the tent she shared with Margaret, she entered and sat down next to the older woman, who was darning socks.
Wordlessly, she picked one up. Margaret had been unusually quiet since Homer’s passing, and she worried for her friend. As of late, it seems like all she has done is worry.
“My heart aches for your loss. What will you do?” Sarah asked at last.
Margaret’s steely gray eyes lifted to meet her worried blue ones.
“I will keep on, just like I have been. There are still socks to mend and bread to bake,” Margaret replied.
“But you can go home now. Back to Connecticut. Why would you stay?”
“I stay to fight. My man might be gone, but the war goes on. This is my land, and I will fight for it until my last breath. I still have my principles. The good King George will take no more from me.”
Sarah wondered at the fire and determination in Margaret’s voice and expression as she returned to her work. She had seen the same look on Silas’ and the other men’s faces. Determination. To make a stand, to live and die for what you believe in. She didn’t understand. She didn’t want to fight. She just wanted this to be over. For Silas to be safe.
Sarah went outside to think. A piece of paper blew against her boot. She reached down and unfolded it, staring at the words for a second, thoughts of her parents springing to mind. Her father saw no need for her to become educated, but her mother insisted. Silently she began to read,
The words were a bit smudged, but the meaning was clear. She had to make a choice. Was she in this cause to support her brother? Or did she have her own reasons to fight for freedom?
Would she rather be ruled by a mad king across the pond or meet with her neighbors, to discuss and choose their own laws? Her father had been a goodhearted man who tried to avoid conflict. It cost him his life. Was it better to perish fighting for something, as Margaret suggested; or become a casualty of someone else’s design?
The howling wind tore the paper from her cold fingers. She watched it drift into the sky; to spread its message to others. The icy breeze chilled her to her bones and she went inside their small tent to lie down to wrestle with her thoughts.
Morning was a boisterous affair. Sarah heard word that the captured Hessians would be marched to Philadelphia as a celebration. The men, thin and weak as they were, had high spirits. She met her brother at his tent, which he shared with five men, so they stood outside to converse. She did not want to be spotted climbing into or out of a sold
iers’ tent, even if it was her brother’s. She smiled, seeing a gleam in his eye. A gleam that she feared had been extinguished long ago.
“It is good to see you happy,” she stated.
“I wish you could have been there! This is a tale that will be passed on to my grandchildren and theirs. Against all odds, we snuck into camp and caught them napping. Hessians! The most fearful foes of all.”
“I am just glad you have returned with your head. Where is your coat?” she asked, noticing his arms crossed in front of him.
“I gave it away. There was a man more in need of it than me. He was practically naked. His clothes were worn clear off! I have my heavy shirt to wear. I am more fortunate than most.”
“Yes. Yes you are.” Her eyes rested upon a man nearby with no shoes. The rags he used to bind his feet were red with blood, and his toes, which peeped out from the wrappings, were of an unnatural color. Tears stung her eyes again, hugging Silas tight.
Map of the Battle of Trenton PD
4
It was hard to believe they were traveling again. After scarcely a day of rest, the General was marching them toward Trenton. The weather had turned, and it was getting quite warm. Well, warm for New Jersey in the winter. The snow had started to melt, and the road was turning into a quagmire from the heavy loads.
The blaring rays from the sun reflected off the snowdrifts and caused her to squint her eyes to protect them. Sarah’s feet felt leaden as she trudged on the muddy ground. She was in the back of the procession with the other women. Trailing behind the supply wagons, she kept her head down as she slogged along. She wished she could make sure it was only mud she was walking through.