Looking out from my rented room's window one night early last year, I wondered about the traffic the roadway below had seen over time.
Valley Forge road runs along the course of the Schuylkill River, winding from the west where it links with Route 113 and coursing eastward past the forge along Valley Stream which gives the road and area its name.
The road dips down close to the stream, then begins to rise to a summit. Beyond that hilltop, George Washington's bedraggled army made camp in December 1777. Washington, his entourage and a platoon of his guards made quarters at the foot of the hill, near Valley Stream.
What must those men and women thought at the time? What was it like, with the British in control of Philadelphia and the so-called rebels making a go of it in the wild? For just more than three months, the British under Gen. Howe had chased the rebels through Chester County, intent on crushing the upstart traitors to the king.
In following weeks, visits to the library to discover just how the people of the area felt during the sudden conflict raging all about them turned up lots of facts. Historians have documented down to the threads the uniforms of the British, the garb of the revolutionaries. There seems to be a note on every footstep of British invader and local rebel, giving times the step was made and where it was made and what followed next on the path.
Lacking almost entirely--save for some journal and diary entries of locals who saw fit to record what they saw--are the emotions. Where was the fear, if they were fearful? Where was the hope, if they were hopeful?
History is science and deals with facts. Emotions and feelings of people dead over two centuries are not "facts." But the emotions must have been rampant.
Imagine, for example, living in Chester County and facing this choice: Side with the rebels or side with the king and the British. If your side loses, you lose your land and quite likely your life. The homestead your family has farmed for one, two or three generations is on the line. Choose the wrong side, and you lose all, including the futures you planned for your children.
Visiting the Brandywine Battlefield, walking through the shallows of Chadds Ford, I tried to pick up the trace of passion that must have dominated the lives of those citizens in 1777. Visiting St. Peter's in the Valley, where the pastor at the time was driven from his pulpit because he would not--could not--renounce the king, I sought the feelings he must have felt. Walking the graveyards of the county, looking at the tombstones of fallen revolutionary soldiers marked with crisp new US flags and br0nze plaques, I wondered at what went through their minds in 1777.
Historian Bruce Catton notes that American's know the history of our Revolution as they learned it in fourth grade. The characters, Catton said, seem like "cutouts" and not real people. We know how the war ended--in victory and the founding of America. Somehow, knowing it turned out well makes any of the fretting and fear and suffering of the people seem...well...pointless and misdirected. Hindsight eliminates the fear of the unknown, or at least its importance.
Following a lead from a history book, one bright fall morning in 2008 I attended Sunday service at the little church of St. Peter's in the Valley. t had been Anglican during the revolution, but is Episcopal today. After the service, and guided by the history books, I asked some of the congregation about some certain graves in the churchyard.
"Mind your step," one said to me after pointing the way. "The sheep, you know...."
Indeed, the fenced graveyard hosted a handful of fat, wooly white sheep who tend the grass. The sensible visitor keeps a careful eye on the sheep, not knowing if they will defend their home, and on the ground for their droppings.
In a corner of the graveyard, close to the church, lie a half dozen graves covered with field stone. Above them, flapping in the breeze, is a curious sight: A half dozen flags, some of them Continental, some British, snap in the breezes.
In this spot, after the Battle of Paoli--known also as the Paoli Massacre--a squad of British soldiers brough the remains of their captain and a few other British dead. They also brought the bodies of several rebels.
All were buried together. The British hoped that the presence of rebel bodies would deter the local populace from desecrating the British graves.
Thinking of the fallen on both sides, enemies now resting in peace together beneath my feet, I decided to try to understand the passions that must have run wild during that war year of 1777. Human technology has advanced incredibly since that year. But human emotions remain much as they were then.
Trying for complete historical accuracy, I began research for an historical fiction novel of that important year. My goal is to stay true to the historian's facts, but to try to add back into the tale--using the tools of fiction--the passions that any normal human would feel when faced with the same circumstances.
This blog will post occasional notes on my project. Stay tuned if you are interested.
Valley Forge road runs along the course of the Schuylkill River, winding from the west where it links with Route 113 and coursing eastward past the forge along Valley Stream which gives the road and area its name.
The road dips down close to the stream, then begins to rise to a summit. Beyond that hilltop, George Washington's bedraggled army made camp in December 1777. Washington, his entourage and a platoon of his guards made quarters at the foot of the hill, near Valley Stream.
What must those men and women thought at the time? What was it like, with the British in control of Philadelphia and the so-called rebels making a go of it in the wild? For just more than three months, the British under Gen. Howe had chased the rebels through Chester County, intent on crushing the upstart traitors to the king.
In following weeks, visits to the library to discover just how the people of the area felt during the sudden conflict raging all about them turned up lots of facts. Historians have documented down to the threads the uniforms of the British, the garb of the revolutionaries. There seems to be a note on every footstep of British invader and local rebel, giving times the step was made and where it was made and what followed next on the path.
Lacking almost entirely--save for some journal and diary entries of locals who saw fit to record what they saw--are the emotions. Where was the fear, if they were fearful? Where was the hope, if they were hopeful?
History is science and deals with facts. Emotions and feelings of people dead over two centuries are not "facts." But the emotions must have been rampant.
Imagine, for example, living in Chester County and facing this choice: Side with the rebels or side with the king and the British. If your side loses, you lose your land and quite likely your life. The homestead your family has farmed for one, two or three generations is on the line. Choose the wrong side, and you lose all, including the futures you planned for your children.
Visiting the Brandywine Battlefield, walking through the shallows of Chadds Ford, I tried to pick up the trace of passion that must have dominated the lives of those citizens in 1777. Visiting St. Peter's in the Valley, where the pastor at the time was driven from his pulpit because he would not--could not--renounce the king, I sought the feelings he must have felt. Walking the graveyards of the county, looking at the tombstones of fallen revolutionary soldiers marked with crisp new US flags and br0nze plaques, I wondered at what went through their minds in 1777.
Historian Bruce Catton notes that American's know the history of our Revolution as they learned it in fourth grade. The characters, Catton said, seem like "cutouts" and not real people. We know how the war ended--in victory and the founding of America. Somehow, knowing it turned out well makes any of the fretting and fear and suffering of the people seem...well...pointless and misdirected. Hindsight eliminates the fear of the unknown, or at least its importance.
Following a lead from a history book, one bright fall morning in 2008 I attended Sunday service at the little church of St. Peter's in the Valley. t had been Anglican during the revolution, but is Episcopal today. After the service, and guided by the history books, I asked some of the congregation about some certain graves in the churchyard.
"Mind your step," one said to me after pointing the way. "The sheep, you know...."
Indeed, the fenced graveyard hosted a handful of fat, wooly white sheep who tend the grass. The sensible visitor keeps a careful eye on the sheep, not knowing if they will defend their home, and on the ground for their droppings.
In a corner of the graveyard, close to the church, lie a half dozen graves covered with field stone. Above them, flapping in the breeze, is a curious sight: A half dozen flags, some of them Continental, some British, snap in the breezes.
In this spot, after the Battle of Paoli--known also as the Paoli Massacre--a squad of British soldiers brough the remains of their captain and a few other British dead. They also brought the bodies of several rebels.
All were buried together. The British hoped that the presence of rebel bodies would deter the local populace from desecrating the British graves.
Thinking of the fallen on both sides, enemies now resting in peace together beneath my feet, I decided to try to understand the passions that must have run wild during that war year of 1777. Human technology has advanced incredibly since that year. But human emotions remain much as they were then.
Trying for complete historical accuracy, I began research for an historical fiction novel of that important year. My goal is to stay true to the historian's facts, but to try to add back into the tale--using the tools of fiction--the passions that any normal human would feel when faced with the same circumstances.
This blog will post occasional notes on my project. Stay tuned if you are interested.
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