Outside the window next to my computer I see that snow is falling, along with the temperatures, yet again. Fie on the polar vortex. Yet it puts me in mind of Valley Forge and the suffering of the Americans there in the cold winter of 1777-78. And of other examples of severe winter weather described by women, some in our book and others I have since come upon. It seems appropriate to present a few.

In 1777, Frederika von Riedesel, with their three children, had joined her husband in Canada where he commanded the German mercenaries hired by the British. General von Riedesel pushed south into New York with British General John Burgoyne and his troops in an attempt to cut off New England from the other colonies. Frederika, who was with him, witnessed the decisive defeat of their combined forces by the Americans at Saratoga on October 17, 1777. The British and Hessian troops were marched to Boston, where the Von Riedesels were put up in a house in Cambridge. In the following year as winter approached, Congress decided to move the prisoners to Virginia where their maintenance would be less costly. The Baroness and her children traveled by carriage while her husband made the journey with his troops. Frederika described what the family had to contend with.

Before we passed the so-called Blue mountains, we were forced to make a still further halt of eight days, that our troops might have time to collect together again. In the mean time such a great quantity of snow fell, that four of our servants were obliged to go before my wagon on horseback, in order to make a path for it. We passed through a picturesque portion of the country, which, however, by reason of its wilderness, inspired us with terror. Often we were in danger of our lives while going along these break-neck roads; and more than all this we suffered from cold, and what was still worse, from a lack of provisions. When we arrived in Virginia, and were only a day’s journey from the place of our destination, we had actually nothing more remaining but our tea, and none of us could obtain any thing but bread and butter. A countryman, whom we met on the way, gave me only a hand full of acrid fruits. At noon we came to a dwelling where I begged for something to eat. They refused me with hard words, saying that there was nothing for dogs of Royalists. Seeing some Turkish [Indian] meal lying around, I begged for a couple of hands full, that I might mix it with water, and make bread. The woman answered me “No, that is for our negroes, who work for us, but you have wished to kill us.”

. . . The place of our destination was Colle in Virginia, where my husband, who had gone ahead with our troops, awaited us with impatient longing. We arrived here about the middle of February, 1779, having, on our journey, passed through the provinces of Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Maryland, and having traveled in twelve weeks, six hundred and seventy-eight English miles. . . .

The passages from the Baroness’s journal appear on pages 268-69 of In the Words of Women.

To support her family, with a man named Herman Mann as her “agent”, Deborah Gannett undertook lecture tours—a first for a woman. Mann, a hack writer, put together a memoir, an assemblage of fact and fiction, and published it in 1797 as The Female Review or Memoirs of an American Lady. He even commissioned a painting by Joseph Stone, an engraving of which appeared in the frontispiece (see previous post). A small print run sold relatively well. Mann booked and orchestrated Deborah’s “performances”: first she delivered an address to her audience (written by Mann) then, in soldier’s attire and armed with a rifle, she presented the exercise from the soldiers’ manual of arms, the conclusion being the singing of “God Save the Sixteen States.”

With the help of the poet and editor Philip Freneau—he wrote a poem in her honor—Deborah petitioned Congress in 1797 for a pension. Her claim was denied. In 1803 she submitted another petition and was granted $4 per month as an “invalid pensioner” because of her war wounds. In spite of the award she and her family still struggled. Several times during her married life Deborah was compelled to apply to friends for loans to keep the family going. Here is one of two surviving letters, this written in 1806 to Paul Revere, who was acquainted with the Gannetts.

Honoured Sir—After my unfeigned regards to you and your family, I would inform you that I and my son have been very sick—though in some measure better—I hope Sir that you and your family are all in the injoyment of helth which is one of the greatest of blessings.—My own indisposition and that of my sons causes me again to solicit your goodness in our favour though I with Gratitude confess it rouses every tender feeling and I blush at the thought that after receiving ninety and nine good turns as it were—my circumstances require that I should ask the Hundredth—the favour that I ask is the loan of ten Dollars for a Short time—as soon as I am able to ride to Boston I will make my remittance to you with my humble thanks for the distinguished favour—from your Humble Servent—Deborah Gannett.

Deborah subsequently submitted other petitions to Congress seeking pensions and assistance. It was a struggle. Historian Alfred F. Young noted that: “. . . from the time of her discharge late in 1783, it had taken eight years to win back pay (1792), twenty-two to get a pension as an invalid veteran (1805), and thirty-eight to get a general service pension (1821).” He further observed that “it was only after repeated, angry appeals that she had gotten anywhere. . . . She received a pension because she fought for it; no one handed it to her, and at that it was paltry.” Deborah Gannett died in 1827. Her passing was not much noticed at the time. However, the advent of feminism and the accompanying interest in women’s history led Massachusetts Governor Michael Dukakis, in 1983, to proclaim Deborah Sampson Gannett the official heroine of the state.

Back to Alex Myers and his book The Revolutionary. A couple of twists should be mentioned here. Interestingly, Myers is a distant descendant of Deborah Gannett. Further, this book about a woman who disguised herself as a man is by a woman-to-man transgender author, Alice to Alex. And that’s quite revolutionary, don’t you think?

Check out the author’s website and buy his book HERE. For those whose interest in Deborah Sampson Gannett has been piqued, read the excellent biography Masquerade: The Life and Times of Deborah Sampson, Continental Soldier, by Alfred F. Young (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2004) available HERE. Deborah’s letter appears on page 230, courtesy of the Massachusetts Historical Society. Alex Myers conferred extensively with Mr. Young on historical background and other details in writing his novel.

In The New York Times of January 13, 2014, there was a review of a novel by Alex Myers called Revolutionary. I was interested because Myers based his work of historical fiction on the true story of a 22-year-old Massachusetts woman named Deborah Sampson who cut her hair, bound her breasts, donned men’s apparel, and, as Robert Shirtliff, enlisted in the Continental Army in 1782. She lied about her age, claiming to be in her teens, which would account for the lack of facial hair, and collected the bounty paid to those who volunteered.

Deborah Samson (her name was later misspelled as Sampson) was one of seven children of Jonathan Samson, Jr. and Deborah Bradford, both of whom had ties to the earliest settlers in Massachusetts. The family was poor and when the father left when Deborah was five, her mother had to place some of the children with friends, relatives or employers. As soon as possible Deborah was “bound out,” that is indentured, and worked until she was freed at age 22. Tall for a woman, and strong and muscular from doing farm chores, she was, to put it mildly, plain, with a prominent nose and bulky jaw. Sent to West Point with other recruits, she was outfitted (there were no physicals), trained, and participated in skirmishes in Westchester County where there, and elsewhere, guerilla warfare still went on after the defeat of the British at Yorktown in 1781. She was wounded near Tarrytown, New York, but managed to maintain her disguise. Eventually, however, she was revealed to be a woman and was honorably discharged in 1783.

Returning to Massachusetts she discarded men’s clothes and married Benjamin Gannett. The couple lived on a small farm in Sharon and had three children. But Benjamin was not a good provider and in 1792 Deborah petitioned the state of Massachusetts for compensation for her service in the 4th Massachusetts Regiment of the Continental Army. A resolution granted her back pay of £34 and stated “that the said Deborah exhibited an extraordinary instance of female heroism, by discharging the duties of a faithful gallant soldier, and at the same time preserving the virtue and chastity of her sex unsuspected and unblemished.”

More in the next post.

Apparently chastised for her political views, Patriot Cornelia Bell (see previous post) wrote in a conciliatory tone to her Loyalist brother in New York City in March of 1777:

I’ll not trouble you with any more of my politics; they are so disagreeable to you. Every rationale creature, you know, has a right to think, and every one cannot be of the same opinion. I am not a politician. I detest it in a female character as much as you, but we must say something, even if it is nonsense. . . . Adieu, my best beloved Brother; believe me with truest affection,
Your sincere friend and Sister, Cornelia Bell

In 1779, Cornelia married William Paterson, New Jersey’s first attorney general and later influential statesman. The siblings were reunited in July 1783. Although Andrew went to New Brunswick (Canada) at the end of the War, he later was able to return to New Jersey (probably thanks to his brother-in-law) and prospered in Perth Amboy. Cornelia died in childbirth in November 1783.

The excerpt from Cornelia Bell’s letter can be found on page 108 of In the Words of Women. Her gravestone is in New Brunswick, New Jersey; photo by Joanne Guggenheim.

Families were not only separated by the Revolutionary War but their loyalties were often divided. Cornelia Bell lived in Bridgewater, New Jersey, and sympathized with the Patriots, while her brother Andrew, a lawyer, supported the British cause and was in New york City, serving as secretary to Sir Henry Clinton. Despite their differences the close ties between brother and sister were not broken. In a letter to her brother Cornelia commented on the impact of plundering armies.

“Bellfield” Jan’y 30th, 1777I am much oblig’d to you for the anxiety you express on my account concerning the British Troops penetrating this part of the country. Thank Heaven I have seen none of them yet and hope I never shall, though we have been in daily expectation of them for some time past; but from the character we have of them they will not be very desirable visitors, as they mark their own way with ruin and devastation. ’Tis impossible to picture the distress they have brought upon innocent families who have lain in their route, by plundering them of their property, not leaving them the necessaries of life; even Protections are no security, as they have been known to plunder those who have taken them and remain’d peaceably at their habitations. I think their proceedings in that way all very impolitic, as they make themselves many enemies who would otherwise have been their friends.

But such are the effects of War, and those who are so unfortunate as to live within their reach must submit. Gracious Heaven! avert those evils that are impending over our devoted heads and grant us Peace. I am not yet without my fears of their coming up this way, tho this neighborhood is swarming with troops from Crooks to Boundbrook, which I hope will keep them from disturbing our quiet. We are so fortunate as to have General [Philemon] Dickinson at our house. . . . General Dickinson is really an acquisition, for the little inconveniences we must unavoidably suffer are greatly compensated for by his easy, genteel behaviour and the pleasure his conversation affords. . . .
Your sincere, affect. Friend and Sister, Cornelia BellI enclose you General Washington’s Proclamation, which, perhaps, will be new to you and the American Crisis, a mere piece of scurrility.

General Washington had urged those supporting the American cause to sign an oath of allegiance and those “who prefer the interest and protection of Great Britain” to “withdraw themselves and families within the enemy’s lines.” Thomas Paine’s The Crisis Number One with its famous opening line, “These are the times that try men’s souls,” was published on January 19, 1777.

Cornelia Bell’s letter can be found on pages 107-08 of In the Words of Women.