The Adventures of a Revolutionary Soldier – Part 2

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 descriptions of the extraordinarily harsh conditions of the war.

Martin describe the radically rough nature of daily soldier living as follows:

It now began to be cool weather, especially the nights. To have to lie, as I did, almost every other night, (for our duty required it,) on the cold and often wet ground, without a blanket, and with nothing but thin summer clothing, was tedious. I have often, while upon guard, lain on one side until the upper side smarted with cold, then turned that side down to the place warmed by my body, and let the other take its turn at smarting, while the one on the ground warmed; thus alternately turning for four or six hours, till called upon to go on sentry, as the soldiers term it; and when relieved from a tour of two long hours at that business, and returned to the guard again, have had to go through the operation of freezing and thawing for four or six hours more;—in the morning, the ground as white as snow, with hoar frost. Or, perhaps it would rain all night like a flood; all that could be done in that case, was, to lie down, (if one could lie down,) take our musket in our arms and place the lock between our thighs, “and weather it out.” … We marched from Valentine’s hill for the White Plains, in the night. There were but three of our men present. We had our cooking utensils, (at that time the most useless things in the army,) to carry in our hands. They were made of cast iron and consequently heavy. I was so beat out before morning, with hunger and fatigue, that I could hardly move one foot before the other. I told my messmates that I could not carry our kettle any further; they said they would not carry it any further; of what use was it? they had nothing to cook and did not want any thing to cook with. We were sitting down on the ascent of a hill when this discourse happened. We got up to proceed, when I took up the kettle, which held nearly a common pail full, I could not carry it; my arms were almost dislocated; I sat it down in the road, and one of the others gave it a shove with his foot, and it rolled down against the fence, and that was the last I ever saw of it. When we got through the night’s march we found our mess was not the only one that was rid of their iron bondage … One day, after roll-call, one of my messmates with me, sat off upon a little jaunt into the country to get some sauce of some kind or other. We soon came to a field of English turnips; but the owner was there, and we could not get any of them without paying for them in some way or other. We soon agreed with the man to pull and cut off the tops of the turnips at the halves, until we got as many as we needed. After the good man had sat us to work, and chatted with us a few minutes, he went off and left us. After he was gone, and we had pulled and cut as many as we wanted, we packed them up and decamped, leaving the owner of the turnips to pull his share himself.

Then another engagement:

There was in our front, about ten rods distant, an orchard of apple trees. The ground on which the orchard stood was lower than the ground that we occupied, but was level from our post to the verge of the orchard, when it fell off so abruptly that we could not see the lower parts of the trees. A party of Hessian troops, and some English, soon took possession of this ground: they would advance so far as just to show themselves above the rising ground, fire, and fall back and reload their muskets. Our chance upon them was, as soon as they showed themselves above the level ground, or when they fired, to aim at the flashes of their guns—their position was as advantageous to them as a breastwork. We were engaged in this manner for some time, when finding ourselves flanked and in danger of being surrounded, we were compelled to make a hasty retreat from the stone wall. We lost, comparatively speaking, very few at the fence: but when forced to retreat, we lost, in killed and wounded, a considerable number … The enemy had several pieces of field artillery upon this hill, and, as might be expected, entertained us with their music all the evening … During the night we remained in our new made trenches, the ground of which was in many parts springy; in that part where I happened to be stationed, the water, before morning, was nearly over shoes, which caused many of us to take violent colds, by being exposed upon the wet ground after a profuse perspiration. I was one who felt the effects of it, and was the next day sent back to the baggage to get well again, if I could, for it was left to my own exertions to do it, and no other assistance was afforded me. I was not alone in misery; there were a number in the same circumstances. When I arrived at the baggage, which was not more than a mile or two, I had the canopy of heaven for my hospital, and the ground for my hammock. I found a spot where the dry leaves had collected between the knolls; I made up a bed of these, and nestled in it, having no other friend present but the sun to smile upon me. I had nothing to eat or drink, not even water, and was unable to go after any myself, for I was sick indeed. In the evening, one of my messmates found me out, and soon after brought me some boiled hog’s flesh (it was not pork) and turnips, without either bread or salt. I could not eat it, but I felt obliged to him notwithstanding; he did all he could do—he gave me the best he had to give, and had to steal that, poor fellow;—necessity drove him to do it to satisfy the cravings of his own hunger, as well as to assist a fellow sufferer.

Martin describes the sometimes awkward mingling with locals of dubious loyalty:

We were billeted among the inhabitants. I had, in my ward, seven or eight sick soldiers, who were (at least, soon after their arrival there,) as well in health as I was: all they wanted was a cook and something for a cook to exercise his functions upon. The inhabitants here were almost entirely what were in those days termed tories. An old lady, of whom I often procured milk, used always, when I went to her house, to give me a lecture on my opposition to our good king George. She had always said, (she told me,) that the regulars would make us fly like pigeons. My patients would not use any of the milk I had of her, for fear, as they said, of poison;—I told them I was not afraid of her poisoning the milk, she had not wit enough to think of such a thing, nor resolution enough to do it if she did think of it.

Martin describes the aftermath of a British raid:

We staid but a short time here, but went on to Danbury, where I had an ample opportunity to see the devastation caused there by the British. The town had been laid in ashes, a number of the inhabitants murdered and cast into their burning houses, because they presumed to defend their persons and property, or to be avenged on a cruel, vindictive invading enemy. I saw the inhabitants, after the fire was out, endeavouring to find the burnt bones of their relatives amongst the rubbish of their demolished houses. The streets, in many places, were literally flooded by the fat which ran from the piles of barrels of pork burnt by the enemy.—They fully executed their design.

Martin describes the fickle nature of military supervision:

I was one day, while lying here, upon what was called a camp guard;—we kept a considerable chain of sentinels. In the night there came, what in military phrase is called the visiting rounds, which is, an officer attended by a small escort, to inspect the condition of the guards, and see that they do their duty. The officer, at the time I mention, was a field officer, a young man; he went to the extreme end of the line of sentinels and began his examination;—one sentry, he found, who had stowed himself away snugly in an old paper mill; another had left his post to procure a draught of milk from the cows in a farmer’s yard, and others were found, here and there, neglecting their duty. He brought off all the delinquents to deliver them up to the righteous sentence of a court-martial. In his progress he came to me, I being at the time on sentry too. I hailed him and demanded of him the countersign, which he regularly gave me and passed on. I did not expect to hear any thing further about it, as I concluded that I had done my duty to perfection. In the morning, before guard relieving, I happened to be posted at the Colonel’s marque-door, when the above-mentioned officer came into the tent, and was telling some of our officers the consequences of his last night’s expedition. I listened attentively to his recital. “At last,” said he, “I came to a sentinel who challenged me like a man; I thought I had found a soldier after detecting so many scoundrels; but what think ye!—as soon as I had given him the countersign, the puppy shouldered his piece, and had I been an enemy I could have knocked his brains out.” At the first part of his recital, I grew a foot, in my own estimation, in a minute, and I shrunk as much, and as fast, at the latter part of it. I was confident he did not know me, and I as well knew it was me he had reference to. Aha! thought I, this admonition shall not lose its effect upon me; nor did it so long as I remained in the army.

Martin describes his experience with the early inoculation program for smallpox:

I was soon after this transaction, ordered off, in company with about four hundred others of the Connecticut forces, to a set of old barracks, a mile or two distant in the Highlands, to be inoculated with the small pox. We arrived at and cleaned out the barracks, and after two or three days received the infection, which was on the last day of May. I had the small pox favorably as did the rest, generally; we lost none; but it was more by good luck, or rather a kind Providence interfering, than by my good conduct that I escaped with life.

Martin describes the grueling routine of the line solider:

We arrived upon the lines and joined the other corps which was already there. No one who has never been upon such duty as those advanced parties have to perform, can form any adequate idea of the trouble, fatigue and dangers which they have to encounter. Their whole time is spent in marches, (especially night marches,) watching, starving, and, in cold weather, freezing and sickness. If they get any chance to rest, it must be in the woods or fields, under the side of a fence, in an orchard or in any other place but a comfortable one;—lying down on the cold and often wet ground, and, perhaps, before the eyes can be closed with a moment’s sleep, alarmed and compelled to stand under arms an hour or two, or to receive an attack from the enemy; and when permitted again to endeavour to rest, called upon immediately to remove some four or five miles to seek some other place, to go through the same maneuvering as before; for it was dangerous to remain any length of time in one place for fear of being informed of by some tory inhabitant, (for there were a plenty of this sort of savage beast during the revolutionary war,) and ten thousand other causes to harass, fatigue and perplex, which time and room will not permit me to enumerate.

He describes a foot injury:

While upon this tour of duty, an accident happened to me which caused me much trouble and pain. After we had arrived at the fort with the boats, we tarried an hour or two to rest ourselves, after which we were ordered to take a couple of the boats and return again to King’s ferry. Wishing to be the first in the boat, I ran down the wharf, and jumped into it. There happened to be the butt part of an oar lying on the bottom of the boat, and my right foot, on which the whole weight of my body bore, alighted, in my leap, directly upon it, lengthwise; it rolled over and turned my foot almost up to my ankle,—so much so, that my foot lay nearly in a right angle with my leg. I had then to go to the ferry, where I was landed, and having no acquaintance with any of the party, most of whom were New-Yorkers, and consequently, at that time, no great friends to the Yankees, I was obliged to hop on one foot all the way, (upwards of five miles,) not being able in the whole distance to procure a stick to assist me, although I often hobbled to the fences on each side of the road in hopes to obtain one. It was dark when I was landed at the ferry, and it was quite late before I arrived at the camp; some of my messmates went immediately for the Surgeon, but he was at a game of backgammon and could not attend to minor affairs; however, in about an hour he arrived, bathed my foot, which was swelled like a bladder, fumbled about it for some time, when he gave it a wrench, which made me, like the old woman’s dying cat, “merely yawl out.” The next day as I was sitting under the shade before my tent, my foot lying upon a bench, swelled like a puff-ball, my Captain passed by and must needs have a peep at it; I indulged his curiosity, upon which he said it was not set right, and taking hold of it, he gave it a twist, which put it nearly in the same condition it was at first. I had then to send for Mr. Surgeon again, but he was not to be found. There was a corporal in our company who professed to act the surgeon in such cases, and he happening at the time to be present, undertook the job and accomplished it, but it was attended with more difficulty than at the first time, and with more pain to me. It was a long time before it got well and strong again, indeed it never has been entirely so well as it was before the accident happened. I was not long confined by it, however, but was soon able to perform my duty in the army again.

Martin describes how inadvertently relaying information on the field could turn the tide of battle:

Our brigade moved off to the right into the fields. We saw a body of the enemy drawn up behind a rail fence on our right flank; we immediately formed in line and advanced upon them,—our orders were, not to fire till we could see the buttons upon their clothes; but they were so coy that they would not give us an opportunity to be so curious, for they hid their clothes in fire and smoke before we had either time or leisure to examine their buttons. They soon fell back and we advanced, when the action became general. The enemy were driven quite through their camp. They left their kettles, in which they were cooking their breakfasts, on the fires, and some of their garments were lying on the ground, which the owners had not time to put on. Affairs went on well for some time; the enemy were retreating before us, until the first division that was engaged had expended their ammunition; some of the men unadvisedly calling out that their ammunition was spent, the enemy were so near that they overheard them, when they first made a stand and then returned upon our people, who, for want of ammunition and reinforcements, were obliged in their turn to retreat, which ultimately resulted in the route of the whole army.

More hunger and endurance:

Being pinched with hunger, I one day strolled to a place, where sometime before, some cattle had been slaughtered; here I had the good luck, (or rather bad luck, as it turned out in the end,) to find an ox’s milt [a reproductive gland], which had escaped the hogs and dogs. With this prize I steered off to my tent, threw it upon the fire and broiled it, and then sat down to eat it, without either bread or salt. I had not had it long in my stomach before it began to make strong remonstrances and to manifest a great inclination to be set at liberty again. I was very willing to listen to its requests, and with eyes overflowing with tears, at parting with what I had thought to be a friend, I gave it a discharge. But the very thoughts of it, would for some time after, almost make me think that I had another milt in my stomach … In the cold month of November, without provisions, without clothing, not a scrap of either shoes or stockings to my feet or legs, and in this condition to endure a siege in such a place as that, was appalling in the highest degree.

Martin describes a great battle in defense of a fort:

We continued here suffering cold, hunger and other miseries, till the fourteenth day of November; on that day, at the dawn, we discovered six ships of the line, all sixty-fours, a frigate of thirty-six guns and a gally in a line just below the Chevaux-de-frise; a twenty-four gun ship, (being an old ship cut down,) her guns said to be all brass twenty-four pounders, and a sloop of six guns in company with her, both within pistol shot of the fort, on the western side. We immediately opened our batteries upon them, but they appeared to take very little notice of us; we heated some shot, but by mistake twenty-four pound shot were heated instead of eighteen, which was the calibre of the guns in that part of the fort. The enemy soon began their firing upon us, and there was music indeed. The soldiers were all ordered to take their posts at the palisades, which they were ordered to defend to the last extremity, as it was expected the British would land under the fire of their cannon and attempt to storm the fort. The cannonade was severe, as well it might be, six sixty-four gun ships, a thirty-six gun frigate, a twenty-four gun ship, a galley and a sloop of six guns, together with six batteries of six guns each and a bomb-battery of three mortars, all playing at once upon our poor little fort, if fort it might be called … Before we could embark [by ship] the buildings in the fort were completely in flames, and they threw such a light upon the water that we were as plainly seen by the British as though it had been broad day. Almost their whole fire was directed at us; sometimes our boat seemed to be almost thrown out of the water, and at length a shot took the sternpost out of the rear boat. We had then to stop and take the men from the crippled boat into the other two; and now the shot and water flew merrily; but by the assistance of a kind Providence we escaped without any further injury and landed, a little after midnight, on the Jersey shore … But there has been but little notice taken of it; the reason of which is, there was no Washington, Putnam, or Wayne there. Had there been, the affair would have been extolled to the skies. No, it was only a few officers and soldiers who accomplished it in a remote quarter of the army. Such circumstances and such troops generally get but little notice taken of them, do what they will. Great men get great praise, little men, nothing.

Martin describes a pitiful Thanksgiving dinner for the troops:

While we lay here there was a Continental thanksgiving ordered by Congress; and as the army had all the cause in the world to be particularly thankful, if not for being well off, at least, that it was no worse, we were ordered to participate in it. We had nothing to eat for two or three days previous, except what the trees of the fields and forests afforded us. But we must now have what Congress said—a sumptuous thanksgiving to close the year of high living, we had now nearly seen brought to a close. Well—to add something extraordinary to our present stock of provisions, our country, ever mindful of its suffering army, opened her sympathizing heart so wide, upon this occasion, as to give us something to make the world stare. And what do you think it was, reader?—Guess.—You cannot guess, be you as much of a Yankee as you will. I will tell you: it gave each and every man half a gill of rice, and a table spoon full of vinegar!! After we had made sure of this extraordinary superabundant donation, we were ordered out to attend a meeting, and hear a sermon delivered upon the happy occasion.

Along with awful footwear:

I procured a small piece of raw cowhide and made myself a pair of moccasins, which kept my feet (while they lasted) from the frozen ground, although, as I well remember, the hard edges so galled my ankles, while on a march, that it was with much difficulty and pain that I could wear them afterwards; but the only alternative I had, was to endure this inconvenience or to go barefoot, as hundreds of my companions had to, till they might be tracked by their blood upon the rough frozen ground. But hunger, nakedness and sore shins were not the only difficulties we had at that time to encounter;—we had hard duty to perform and little or no strength to perform it with.

Martin describes how exchanges were made with the locals:

Our party consisted of a Lieutenant, a Sergeant, a Corporal and eighteen privates. We marched till night when we halted and took up our quarters at a large farm-house. The Lieutenant, attended by his waiter, took up his quarters for the night in the hall with the people of the house, we were put into the kitchen; we had a snug room and a comfortable fire, and we began to think about cooking some of our fat beef; one of the men proposed to the landlady to sell her a shirt for some sauce; she very readily took the shirt, which was worth a dollar at least,—she might have given us a mess of sauce, for I think she would not have suffered poverty by so doing, as she seemed to have a a plenty of all things. After we had received the sauce, we went to work to cook our suppers. By the time it was eatable the family had gone to rest; we saw where the woman went into the cellar, and, she having left us a candle, we took it into our heads that a little good cider would not make our supper relish any the worse; so some of the men took the water pail and drew it full of excellent cider, which did not fail to raise our spirits considerably. Before we lay down the man who sold the shirt, having observed that the landlady had flung it into a closet, took a notion to repossess it again. We marched off early in the morning before the people of the house were stirring, consequently did not know or see the woman’s chagrin at having been overreached by the soldiers.

Martin describes his involvement in the Battle of White Plains in 1776:

We overtook the enemy just as they were entering upon the meadow, which was rather bushy. When within about five rods of the rear of the retreating foe, I could distinguish every thing about them, they were retreating in line, though in some disorder; I singled out a man and took my aim directly between his shoulders, (they were divested of their packs,) he was a good mark, being a broad shouldered fellow; what became of him I know not, the fire and smoke hid him from my sight; one thing I know, that is, I took as deliberate aim at him as ever I did at any game in my life. But after all, I hope I did not kill him, although I intended to at the time. They occupied a much higher piece of ground than we did, and had a small piece of Artillery, which the soldiers called a grasshopper; we had no Artillery with us. The first shot they gave us from this piece, cut off the thigh bone of a Captain, just above the knee … After the action in our part of the army had ceased, I went to a well, a few rods off, to get some water; here I found the wounded captain, mentioned before, lying on the ground, and begging his sergeant, who pretended to have the care of him, to help him off the field, or he should bleed to death … I helped him to the place, and tarried a few minutes, to see the wounded and two or three limbs amputated, and then returned to my party again … One little incident happened, during the heat of the cannonade, which I was eye-witness to, and which I think would be unpardonable not to mention. A woman whose husband belonged to the Artillery, and who was then attached to a piece in the engagement, attended with her husband at the piece the whole time; while in the act of reaching a cartridge and having one of her feet as far before the other as she could step, a cannon shot from the enemy passed directly between her legs without doing any other damage than carrying away all the lower part of her petticoat,—looking at it with apparent unconcern, she observed, that it was lucky it did not pass a little higher, for in that case it might have carried away something else, and continued her occupation … I, with some of my comrades who were in the battle of the White plains in the year ‘76, one day took a ramble on the ground where we were then engaged with the British and took a survey of the place. We saw a number of the graves of those who fell in that battle; some of the bodies had been so slightly buried that the dogs or hogs, or both, had dug them out of the ground. The sculls and other bones, and hair were scattered about the place. Here were Hessian sculls as thick as a bomb shell;—poor fellows! they were left unburied in a foreign land;—they had, perhaps, as near and dear friends to lament their sad destiny as the Americans who lay buried near them. But they should have kept at home, we should then never have gone after them to kill them in their own country. But, the reader will say, they were forced to come and be killed here; forced by their rulers who have absolute power of life and death over their subjects. Well then, reader, bless a kind Providence that has made such a distinction between your condition and theirs. And be careful too that you do not allow yourself ever to be brought to such an abject, servile and debased condition.

Martin describes how a stray remark could alter a person’s fate:

There was an Irishman belonging to our Infantry, who, after the affray was over, seeing a wounded man belonging to the enemy, lying in the road and unable to help himself, took pity on him, as he was in danger of being trodden upon by the horses, and having shouldered him was staggering off with his load, in order to get him to a place of more safety; while crossing a small worn out bridge over a very muddy brook, he happened to jostle the poor fellow more than usual, who cried out “Good rebel, don’t hurt poor Hushman.” “Who do you call a rebel, you scoundrel?” said the Irishman, and tossed him off his shoulders as unceremoniously as though he had been a log of wood; he fell with his head into the mud, and as I passed I saw him struggling for life, but I had other business on my hands than to stop to assist him. I did sincerely pity the poor mortal, but pity him was all I could then do. What became of him after I saw him in the mud, I never knew; most likely he there made his final exit. The Infantry marched off with the prisoners, and left the horsemen to keep the field, till we were out of danger with our prize, consequently I never heard any thing more of him.

More hunger:

We went by easy marches and nothing of consequence occurred until we arrived at New- London; here we were put into houses, and here too we almost starved to death, and I believe should have quite starved, had we not found some clams which kept us from absolutely dying. We had nothing to eat except now and then a little miserable beef or a little fresh fish, and a very little bread, baked by a baker belonging to the town, which had some villainous drug incorporated with it that took all the skin off our mouths. I sincerely believe it was done on purpose to prevent our eating. I was not free from a sore mouth the whole time I stayed there. Just before we left this place a privateer brig arrived from a cruise; she was hauled up and dismantled. One day I went on board her, and in the bread room I found one or two bushels of sea- biscuit; at night I again went on board and filled my knapsack, which was a relief to my hungry stomach. But this bread had nearly as much flesh as bread, being as full of worms as ever the dry sap- wood of a white ash pole was; consequently, it required a deal of circumspection in eating it;— however, it was better than snow balls … While on our march, we halted in a village; here I went into a house, with several other soldiers, which happened to be a deacon’s;—while there some of the men chanced to swear, (a circumstance extremely uncommon with the soldiers,) upon which the good woman of the house checked them … She then turned to me and said, “I do not like you soldiers.” I asked her why? “Because,” said she, “there came some along here the other day and they stole every morsel of my dinner from the pot, while it was boiling over the fire, pudding bag and all.” I told her that her case was, upon the whole, rather a calamitous one, but, said I, “I suppose the soldiers thought your pot could be easier replenished than their kettles.” She made me no answer, whatever she thought.

Martin describes how even attempts at playful distraction could be dangerous:

After being relieved from this guard, I was detached with a small party to the Peekskill, in the southern edge of the Highlands. We took up our quarters in some old barracks; there was a number of bombshells and some old damaged wagon wheels lying near the barracks; one day, after diverting ourselves by filling the shells with water, plugging them up, and setting them on the fire, while the water boiling, the steam would force the plug out with a report as loud as that of a pistol. Tired with exercising ourselves at this diversion, we began to contrive some other mischief, when four or five of us took one of the old wagon wheels, and after considerable trouble and fatigue, we carried the wheel about thirty or forty rods up the mountain, at the back of the barracks and a considerable distance from them, when we gave the wheel the liberty to shift for itself and find its own way back. It went very regular for a few turns, when taking a glancing stroke against something, it took a course directly for the barracks and just in that part too where the men were, who we could hear distinctly laughing and talking—Ah me! what would I not have given had I never meddled with the ugly thing, but it was then too late to repent, the evil one had come. I confess, I felt myself in a forlorn case; the barracks were only a single board thick, and those rotten and old, and the wheel might have gone through them and the men too, that stood in its route, without scarcely retarding its progress. We all stood breathless, waiting the result, when, as it happened (and well for us there was such a thing as chance) the wheel, when within about fifteen feet of the barracks, and with the motion almost of a cannon-ball, struck something that gave it an elevation of twenty or thirty feet into the air, and passed over the barracks and several rods beyond them before it struck the ground again. The reader may rest satisfied that this last circumstance did not cause many tears of grief to fall.

In the next essay in this series, we’ll explore Martin’s discussion of the particularly harsh winter of 1779-80, and his involvement in the Battle of Yorktown that ended the war.