“There are many here who have nothing to wear but blankets with armholes, belted by a length of rope.  There are hundreds who have no blankets to cover them at night.  They have to take turns sitting by the fire while others are asleep.  For them a night’s rest is impossible.  Let this letter be read to the people of Albany and may they not lie down to sleep until they have stirred themselves in our behalf, and if any man dares to pray to God to help us until he has given of his abundance to that end and besought his neighbors to do the same, I could wish that his praying would choke him.  Are we worthy to be saved—­that is the question.  If we expect God to furnish the flannel and the shoe leather, we are not.  That is our part of the great task.  Are we going to shirk it and fail?

“We are making a real army.  The men who are able to work are being carefully trained by the crusty old Baron Steuben and a number of French officers.”

That they did not fail was probably due to the fact that there were men in the army like this one who seemed to have some little understanding of the will of God and the duty of man.  This letter and others like it, traveled far and wide and more than a million hands began to work for the army.

The Schuylkill was on one side of the camp and wooded ridges, protected by entrenchments, on the other.  Trees were felled and log huts constructed, sixteen by fourteen feet in size.  Twelve privates were quartered in each hut.

The Gates propaganda was again being pushed.  Anonymous letters complaining that Washington was not protecting the people of Pennsylvania and New Jersey from depredations were appearing in sundry newspapers.  By and by a committee of investigation arrived from Congress.  They left satisfied that Washington had done well to keep his army alive, and that he must have help or a large part of it would die of cold and hunger.

2

It was on a severe day in March that Washington sent for Jack Irons.  The scout found the General sitting alone by the fireside in his office which was part of a small farm-house.  He was eating a cold luncheon of baked beans and bread without butter.  Jack had just returned from Philadelphia where he had risked his life as a spy, of which adventure no details are recorded save the one given in the brief talk which follows.  The scout smiled as he took the chair offered.

“The British are eating no such frugal fare,” he remarked.

“I suppose not,” the General answered.

“The night before I left Philadelphia Howe and his staff had a banquet at The Three Mariners.  There were roasted hams and geese and turkeys and patties and pies and jellies and many kinds of wine and high merriment.  The British army is well fed and clothed.”