The Adventures of a Revolutionary Soldier – Part 4

Joseph Plumb Martin’s fascinating Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier, continued.

Continuing this essay series on the fascinating Revolutionary War soldier Joseph Plumb Martin, told through his A Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier, this essay explores his narrative of his life after the Revolutionary War ended.

With the Revolutionary War won, Martin almost perishes from a musket mishap:

When we had landed and kindled a fire, and were most of us sitting down by it, one of our men took up the loaded musket (not knowing it to be so) and placing the butt of the piece on the ground between his legs, asked the owner if his musket was in good order, and cocked and snapped it. I was standing by his side with the muzzle of the piece close by my ear, when it proved to be in good order enough to go off, and nearly sent me off with its contents; the fire from it burnt all the hair off the side of my head, and I thought at the instant, that my head had gone with it.

Martin relates a story told to him by a local gentleman:

I was quartered for the night, at a gentleman’s house, who had, before the war, been a sea captain. He related to me an anecdote, that gave me rather a disagreeable feeling, as it may, perhaps, my readers. It was thus,—”At the battle of Germantown, in the year 1777, a Dutchman (an inhabitant of that town) and his wife fired upon some of the British during the action; whether they killed any one or not, he did not say; but after the battle some one informed against them and they were both taken and confined in the provost-guardhouse, in the city, and there kept with scarcely any thing to sustain nature, and not a spark of fire to warm them. On the morning that the Augusta was blown up at fort Mifflin, on Mud Island, the poor old man had got to the prison-yard, to enjoy the warm sunbeams, with a number of other prisoners, (my informant among them, he being a prisoner at the time,) when they heard the report of the ship’s magazine, the poor creature exclaimed, “Huzza for Gen. Washington! to-morrow he comes.” The villain Provost Marshal, upon hearing this, put him into the cellar of the prison, and kept him there, without allowing him the least article of sustenance, till he died. The prisoners cut a small crevice in the floor, with a knife, through which they poured water and sometimes a little spirits, while he held up his mouth to the place to receive it.”—Such inhuman treatment was often shown to our people when prisoners, by the British, during the revolutionary war. But it needs no comment.

After a rare good meal and night’s rest, Martin contracts yellow fever:

After staying in Philadelphia about a fortnight, we left the city and proceeded to the city of Burlington, in New-Jersey, twenty miles above Philadelphia, on the Delaware; which place we understood was to be our winter-quarters. We marched about noon, went about ten miles and halted for the night. We took up our lodgings in the houses of the inhabitants; the house where I was quartered seemed to belong to a man well off for this world’s goods. We were allowed the kitchen and a comfortable fire, and we happened to have, just then, what a soldier of the revolution valued next to the welfare of his country, and his own honour, that is, something to eat, and being all in good health, and having the prospect of a quiet night’s rest; all which comforts happening to us at this time, put us in high spirits. We had received some fresh beef and bread that morning, and, after being settled in our quarters, we set about cooking our suppers … Soon after this came on my trouble, and that of several others of the men belonging to our corps; some time in the month of January, two of our men were taken down with a species of yellow fever; one recovered and the other died. Directly after, one belonging to our room was seized with it and removed to the hospital, where he recovered; next I was attacked with it, this was in February, it took hold of me in good earnest. I bled violently at the nose, and was so reduced in flesh and strength in a few days, that I was as helpless as an infant;—O! how much I suffered, although I had as good attendance as circumstances would admit. The disorder continued to take hold of our people till there were more than twenty sick with it. Our officers made a hospital in an upper room in one of the wings of the house, and as soon as the men fell sick they were lodged there. About the first of March I began to mend, and recovered what little reason I ever possessed, of which I had been entirely deprived from nearly the first attack of the fever … [T]he doctor … left us under the care of a physician belonging to the city, who was a fine man, and to his efforts, under Providence, I verily believe I owed my life; he was a skilful, tender-hearted and diligent man. There was likewise, in the city, a widow woman that rendered us the most essential service during our sickness. As we were unable to eat any thing, and had only our rations of beef and bread to subsist upon, this widow, this pitying angel, used almost every evening to send us a little brass kettle, containing about a pail full of posset, consisting of wine, water, sugar and crackers. O, it was delicious, even to our sick palates. I never knew who our kind benefactress was; all I ever knew concerning her was, that she was a widow. The neighbours would not tell us who she was nor where she lived; all that I, or any others who had been sick, could learn from them was, that she was a very fine, pious and charitable lady. Perhaps she did not wish to have a trumpet sounded before her alms, and therefore kept concealed; I hope heaven will bless her pious soul; yes, she will be rewarded, where it will be said to her, “I was hungry and you gave me meat; I was sick and you visited me,” although she did not visit us personally, she ministered more to our comfort than thousands of idle visits, which are oftener of more detriment to sick people than they are benefit … The first man that died, after my being conveyed there, was the first in order from the entering door of the room, on the side I lay; next, the fourth man from him died, there was then four men between this last that died and me. In my weakness I felt prepossessed with a notion, that every fourth man would die, and that, consequently, I should escape, as I was the fifth from the one that died last; and just so it happened, the man next me on the side of those that had died, died next. I believe this circumstance contributed a great deal in retarding my recovery, until the death of this last man, and that after his death, when I thought myself exempted, it helped as much toward my recovery.—Such strange whims will often work great effects both in hindering and forwarding in such cases. When the body is feeble and the head weak, small causes often have great effect upon the sick; I know it by too frequent experience.

Martin describes more dangerous pranks:

One day, two or three of our young hotheads told me that they and some others of the men, whom they mentioned, were about to have some fun with “the old man,” as they generally called the Captain. I inquired what their plans were, and they informed me that they had put some powder into a canteen and were going to give him a bit of a hoist. I asked them to let me see their apparatus, before they put their project in execution; accordingly, they soon after showed me a wooden canteen with more, as I judged, than three pounds of gunpowder in it, with a stopper of touchwood for a fuse, affixed to it, all, they said, in prime order. I told them they were crazy, that the powder they had in the canteen would “hoist” him out of time; but they insisted upon proceeding,—it would only frighten him, they said, and that was all they wished to do,—it would make him a little more complaisant. I then told them that if they persisted in their determination and would not promise me on the spot to give up their scheme, I would that instant go to the Captain and lay the whole affair before him. At length, after endeavouring, without effect, to obtain my consent to try a little under his berth, they concluded to give up the affair altogether; and thus, I verily believe, I saved the old man’s life; although I do not think that they meant any thing more than to frighten him. But the men hated him, and did not much care what happened to him.

Martin describes his feelings upon leaving the army:

I confess, after all, that my anticipation of the happiness I should experience upon such a day as this, was not realized; I can assure the reader that there was as much sorrow as joy transfused on the occasion. We had lived together as a family of brothers for several years (setting aside some little family squabbles, like most other families,) had shared with each other the hardships, dangers and sufferings incident to a soldier’s life, had sympathized with each other in trouble and sickness; had assisted in bearing each other’s burdens, or strove to make them lighter by council and advice; had endeavoured to conceal each other’s faults, or make them appear in as good a light as they would bear. In short, the soldiery, each in his particular circle of acquaintance, were as strict a band of brotherhood as Masons, and, I believe, as faithful to each other. And now we were to be (the greater part of us) parted forever; as unconditionally separated, as though the grave lay between us. This, I say, was the case with the most, I will not say all; there were as many genuine misanthropists among the soldiers, according to numbers, as of any other class of people whatever; and some in our corps of Miners; but we were young men, and had warm hearts. I question if there was a corps in the army that parted with more regret than ours did, the New-Englanders in particular, Ah! it was a serious time … Some of the soldiers went off for home the same day that their fetters were knocked off; others staid and got their final settlement certificates, which they sold to procure decent clothing and money sufficient to enable them to pass with decency through the country, and to appear something like themselves when they arrived among their friends … I now bid a final farewell to the service. I had obtained my settlement certificates and sold some of them, and purchased some decent clothing, and then set off …

After a brief stint as a teacher in a Dutch community, Martin heads to Maine, where he would spend the rest of his life:

I stopped a few days with him and worked at the farming business; I got acquainted with the people here, who were chiefly Dutch, and as winter was approaching, and my friend recommended me to them, I agreed to teach a school amongst them—A fit person!—I knew but little and they less, if possible … Any how, they wished me to stay and settle with them. When the spring opened I bid my Dutch friends adieu, and set my face to the eastward, and made no material halt till I arrived in the, now, State of Maine, in the year 1784, where I have remained ever since, and where I expect to remain so long as I remain in existence, and here at last to rest my war worn weary limbs.

Martin concludes his narrative with a litany of complaints and reflections:

And here I would make an end of my tedious narrative, but that I deem it necessary to make a few short observations relative to what I have said; or a sort of recapitulation of some of the things which I have mentioned. When those who engaged to serve during the war, enlisted, they were promised a hundred acres of land, each, which was to be in their own or the adjoining States. When the country had drained the last drop of service it could screw out of the poor soldiers, they were turned adrift like old worn out horses, and nothing said about land to pasture them upon. Congress did, indeed, appropriate lands under the denomination of “Soldier’s lands,” in Ohio State, or some State, or a future state; but no care was taken that the soldiers should get them. No agents were appointed to see that the poor fellows ever got possession of their lands; no one ever took the least care about it, except a pack of speculators, who were driving about the country like so many evil spirits, endeavouring to pluck the last feather from the soldiers. The soldiers were ignorant of the ways and means to obtain their bounty lands, and there was no one appointed to inform them. The truth was, none cared for them; the country was served, and faithfully served, and that was all that was deemed necessary. It was, soldiers, look to yourselves, we want no more of you. I hope I shall one day find land enough to lay my bones in. They were likewise promised the following articles of clothing per year. One uniform coat, a woollen and a linen waistcoat, four shirts, four pair of shoes, four pair of stockings, a pair of woollen, and a pair of linen overalls, a hat or a leather cap, a stock for the neck, a hunting shirt, a pair of shoe buckles and a blanket. Ample clothing, says the reader; and ample clothing, say I. But what did we ever realize of all this ample store:—why, perhaps a coat, (we generally did get that,) and one or two shirts, the same of shoes and stockings, and, indeed, the same may be said of every other article of clothing—a few dribbled out in a regiment, two or three times in a year, never getting a whole suit at a time, and all of the poorest quality; and blankets of thin baize, thin enough to have straws shot through without discommoding the threads. How often have I had to lie whole stormy cold nights in a wood, on a field, or a bleak hill, with such blankets and other clothing like them, with nothing but the canopy of the heavens to cover me, me, all this too in the heart of winter, when a New-England farmer, if his cattle had been in my situation, would not have slept a wink from sheer anxiety for them. And if I stepped into a house to warm me, when passing, wet to the skin and almost dead with cold, hunger and fatigue, what scornful looks and hard words have I experienced. Almost every one has heard of the soldiers of the Revolution being tracked by the blood of their feet on the frozen ground. This is literally true; and the thousandth part of their sufferings has not, nor ever will be told. As to provision of victuals, I have said a great deal already; but ten times as much might be said and not get to the end of the chapter. When we engaged in the service we were promised the following articles for a ration.—One pound of good and wholesome fresh or salt beef, or three fourths of a pound of good salt pork, a pound of good flour, soft or hard bread, a quart of salt to every hundred pounds of fresh beef, a quart of vinegar to a hundred rations, a gill of rum, brandy or whiskey per day; some little soap and candles, I have forgot how much, for I had so little of these two articles, that I never knew the quantity. And as to the article of vinegar, I do not recollect of ever having any except a spoonful at the famous rice and vinegar thanksgiving in Pennsylvania, in the year 1777. But we never received what was allowed us. Oftentimes have I gone one, two, three, and even four days without a morsel, unless the fields or forests might chance to afford enough to prevent absolute starvation. Often, when I have picked the last grain from the bones of my scanty morsel, have I eat the very bones, as much of them as possibly could be eaten … If we had got our full allowance regularly, what was it? A bare pound of fresh beef, and a bare pound of bread or flour. The beef, when it had gone through all its divisions and sub-divisions, would not be much over three quarters of a pound, and that nearly or quite half bones. The beef that we got in the army, was, generally, not many degrees above carrion … When we drew flour, which was much of the time we were in the field, or on marches, it was of small value, being eaten half cooked, besides a deal of it being unavoidably wasted in the cookery. Now, dear reader, pray consider a moment, how were five men in a mess, five hearty, hungry young men to subsist four days on twenty pounds of fresh beef, (and I might say, twelve or fifteen pounds,) without any vegetables or any other kind of sauce to eke it out. In the hottest season of the year it was the same; though there was not much danger of our provisions putrefying, we had none on hand long enough for that, if it did, we were obliged to eat it, or go without any thing. We were, also, promised six dollars and two thirds a month, to be paid us monthly; and how did we fare in this particular? Why, as we did in every other. I received the six dollars and two thirds, till (if I remember rightly) the month of August, 1777, when paying ceased. And what was six dollars and sixty-seven cents of this “Continental currency” as it was called, worth? it was scarcely enough to procure a man a dinner. Government was ashamed to tantalize the soldiers any longer with such trash, and wisely gave it up for its own credit. I received one month’s pay in specie while on the march to Virginia, in the year 1781, and except that, I never received any pay worth the name while I belonged to the army. Had I been paid as I was promised to be at my engaging in the service, I needed not to have suffered as I did, nor would I have done it; there was enough in the country, and money would have procured it if I had had it. It is provoking to think of it. The country was rigorous in exacting my compliance to my engagements to a punctilio, but equally careless in performing her contracts with me; and why so? One reason was, because she had all the power in her own hands, and I had none. Such things ought not to be. The poor soldiers had hardships enough to endure, without having to starve; the least that could be done was to give them something to eat … How many times have I had to lie down like a dumb animal in the field, and bear “the pelting of the pitiless storm;” cruel enough in warm weather, but how much more so in the heart of winter. Could I have had the benefit of a little fire, it would have been deemed a luxury. But when snow or rain would fall so heavy that it was impossible to keep a spark of fire alive, to have to weather out a long, wet, cold, tedious night in the depth of winter, with scarcely clothes enough to keep one from freezing instantly; how discouraging it must be, I leave to my reader to judge. It is fatiguing, almost beyond belief, to those that never experienced it, to be obliged to march twenty-four or forty-eight hours (as very many times I have had to) and often more, night and day without rest or sleep, wishing and hoping that some wood or village I could see ahead, might prove a short resting place, when, alas, I came to it, almost tired off my legs, it proved no resting place for me … And even in dry, warm weather, I have often been so beat out with long and tedious marching, that I have fallen asleep while walking the road, and not been sensible of it till I have jostled against some one in the same situation; and when permitted to stop and have the superlative happiness to roll myself in my blanket, and drop down on the ground, in the bushes, briars, thorns or thistles, and get an hour or two’s sleep, O! how exhilarating. Fighting the enemy is the great scarecrow to people unacquainted with the duties of an army. To see the fire and smoke, to hear the din of cannon and musketry, and the whistling of shot; they cannot bear the sight or hearing of this. They would like the service in an army tolerably well, but for the fighting part of it. I never was killed in the army; I never was wounded but once; I never was a prisoner with the enemy; but I have seen many that have undergone all these; and I have many times run the risk of all of them myself; but, reader, believe me, for I tell a solemn truth, that I have felt more anxiety, undergone more fatigue and hardships, suffered more every way, in performing one of those tedious marches, than ever I did in fighting the hottest battle was ever engaged in, with the anticipation of all the other calamities I have mentioned added to it. I affirm that the Militia would not have answered so well as standing troops, for the following reason, among many others. They would not have endured the sufferings the army did; they would have considered themselves (as in reality they were and are) free citizens, not bound by any cords that were not of their own manufacturing and when the hardships of fatigue, starvation, cold and nakedness, which I have just mentioned, begun to seize upon them, in such awful array as they did on us, they would have instantly quitted the service in disgust; and who would blame them? The regulars were there, and there obliged to be; we could not go away when we pleased without exposing ourselves to military punishment; and we had trouble enough to undergo without that.

Finally, Martin mentions that it was not until 1818 and the Presidency of James Monroe (who had himself served during the Revolutionary War) that the “old soldiers” of the war finally received some modest pension for their service:

President Monroe was the first of all our Presidents, except President Washington, who ever uttered a syllable in the “old soldiers’“ favour. President Washington urged the country to do something for them and not to forget their hard services, but President Monroe told them how to act; he had been a soldier himself in the darkest period of the war, that point of it that emphatically “tried men’s souls;” was wounded, and knew what soldiers suffered. His good intentions being seconded by some Revolutionary officers, then in Congress, brought about a system by which, aided by our present worthy Vice-President, then Secretary at war, heaven bless him, many of the poor men who had spent their youthful, and consequently, their best days in the hard service of their country, have been enabled to eke out the fag end of their lives a little too high for the grovelling hand of envy or the long arm of poverty to reach.

That concludes this essay series on Joseph Plumb Martin’s A Narrative of a Revolutionary Soldier. Happy 4^th of July!

Reader’s Note: When my kids were younger, we had a tradition of having them and their friends shoot nerf gun bullets (with sparklers stuck on the ends) at effigies of King George III made from Amazon boxes: