Chapter 08 | The Life of a Prisoner
“Move along, now!” “Laggards will be punished- and you know what that means. We won’t put up with it.” shouted Colonel Phillip Van Courtland, the American Continental army officer who were leading a large band of British and Hessian prisoners from the Yorktown defeat on a march up through Virginia to imprisonment in Winchester. Wolfgang had already marched 19 miles that day, with a heavy pack and very sore feet. This was their 5th day of marching through Virginia, and, even though they had had some rest a couple days ago, Wolfgang was dead tired. And he’d heard that even after today, they would still be 10 days away from their destination, the New Fredrich Barracks at Winchester, a place 240 miles from where they started in Yorktown. As the prisoners struggled to keep going, a local beside the trail shouted, “You’ll get what you deserve, you mercenary bastards.” It wasn’t the first time they had been heckled, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.
As weariness set in a little more, which hardly seemed possible, it fell quiet as the march continued, and it gave Wolfgang time to think about the ordeals he had just been been through. The battle of Yorktown was the most horrendous experience of his life. Fighting in the trenches at Yorktown against a superior French and American force had been truly a matter of life and death. He could still hear the cannon balls whizzing by his head, and he was worried that the deafening noise had permanently affected his ears. And the constant fear had left him with a crazy feeling. Many of his fellow Ansbach Hessians, including his good friend Wilhelm, had been killed, and he considered it an act of God that the seas were too rough for Cornwallis to sail, and he returned to surrender to the Americans.
The sad and angry memories of the recent surrender ceremonies were still fresh in his mind, as he marched wearily toward incarceration. He had been very sad and humiliated when they surrendered to the rebels, but he was proud at the same time. He knew that when they marched down the road to Surrender Field, even though the British troops had been arrogant and haughty toward the Americans, the Hessians had displayed order and discipline. He had held his head high, and dressed in a clean uniform, had showed his pride in being an Ansbach soldier. They had laid down their weapons to the Americans and French, but not their pride. And he marveled about the fact that their officers were allowed to keep their swords, and that the American officers had wished the prisoners well.
As they marched on, Wolfgang remembered the peace that had come over him as he prayed in the height of the battle. Somehow, God had been more real to him after that. He now regularly read his Bible, and there was no doubt that his close encounter with death at Yorktown had changed his way of looking at life. Somehow, it had even helped him curtail his drinking. Chock one up for that guardian angel! In his state of weariness, he said a simple prayer, asking God to sustain him in this weary ordeal.
Suddenly, as Wolfgang trudged on, his shoulders slightly stooped from the weight of his pack, he remembered what day it was. October 25, 1782. Exactly 4 years since he left his family in Ansbach on that fateful day in October and told them he would be home the following Christmas. He was overwhelmed by feeling- a crazy mixture of loneliness, guilt, and apprehension. He worried that, as a prisoner, it might be a long time before he would be free to return home, if ever. What if he was in jail for life? Or executed? It was the unknown that was so disconcerting. He was still thinking about Ewalt’s devastating revelation about Margaretta. It seemed like such a long time since he had truly heard from her, or from his children, and it was as if he hardly knew them anymore.
Perhaps Wolfgang would have felt better if thoughts of his home and family were all that he had. But he had not been able to erase, or even diminish for that matter, his constant thread of thoughts about Ellie. She was a continual part of the ache in his heart, and he was confused by it. And knowing that Margareta had conceived a child with Heintz Braun and hadn’t told him made it all seem so futile. He had to face the distinct possibility that he would never get this sorted out, and maybe never see or hear from any of the persons he loved again. As he trudged on, tears welled up in his eyes, and his zest for life was at a very low ebb.
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“ I can’t take much more of this, whispered his friend Conrad, marching next to him on the tenth day of their trek toward the prisoners barracks in Winchester,Virginia , “I can’t wait to get to that barracks, no matter how bad it will be.” Yeah, agreed Wolfgang, “we’ve come a long way from Yorktown, and we’ve got more to go. But it sure is pretty around here, and I damn-well don’t miss those cannon balls.”
That night, they finally reached a place to set up camp, 2 ½ miles beyond Fredricksburg, on the Rappahannoc river. The river was not very deep, and provided a great place for bathing and messing around in the water. Wolfgang had been aware that the he and the other Hessian prisoners were marching along the same route, called the Washington-Rachambeau trail, that the French and Colonist forces marched, coming from New York to surprise the British at Yorktown. He wondered, in a short moment of humor that surprised him, if Washington had “washed” in this very same river, and if he, Wolfgang, should be careful about bathing in it because it might somehow have been “contaminated by the rebels.”
The October night was clear and starry, and after the prisoners had worked to help set up camp, they were fed, and guarded closely while the fell into various degrees of fitful sleep. As he lay on his pallet, Wolfgang’s thoughts flitted to ideas of escape. Perhaps the guard nearest him would fall asleep. Wolfgang could stealthily creep away, heading for the river. He was a good swimmer, strong, and able to swim across, escaping into the woods on the other side. Even without anything but a shirt, trousers, and shoes, he could fade into the crowds in Fredricksburg, and later find food somewhere. He knew his inability to speak really good English could hurt his chances, but it might be worth a try. What did he have to lose?
Surely the British in charge of the prisoners would not take time to try to find him, in lieu of marching the others to the prisoners barracks so far away. Wolfgang almost talked himself into trying to escape, but the guards – there were two by now- were alert, talking about the lack of women in their life, and as he waited for them to tire, he fell into a deep sleep- a reward for a grueling day of marching- and his grand plan for escape gave way to his much less grandiose dreams.
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Wolfgang had that unique ability to remember his dreams, sometimes in color. And sometimes, his dreams seemed to be predictors of, surprisingly, future events. More than once, when something happened to him, Wolfgang would think back to an earlier dream, and feel that he had been here before.
When he awoke on this morning, he had a vague disturbed feeling, and as he reviewed his dream, he understood why. In his dream, he had found himself lost in a very large barracks type building, which had hundreds of pathways, like a maze. He was searching for the right one, but he couldn’t seem to find it. A great worry came over him as he frantically went up one pathway and down another, reaching dead ends and having to retrace his steps. A woman, who he couldn’t see, but whose voice was enticing, kept urging him to go toward her, but she always eluded him. It was cold, with wind blowing through large holes in the walls, and he was the only one there, except for that voice. As he raced, randomly, through the hallways, he suddenly came to a large crack in the floor. As he stood, listening to the voice, with one foot on one side and the other foot on the other side of the crack, he realized, in a moment of terror, that the floor was separating, and was now far enough apart that he could not lift a leg to get on one side or the other. And below the floor was a very deep, dark chasm. Just as he was about to fall, the seductive voice seemed to fade away, almost as if taking a dying breath. And then Wolfgang must have awakened, for he remembered nothing else. But as he thought back on the dream, it made him very uncomfortable, and he wondered if it had any meaning for his life. Somehow, he transferred the unsettled feeling in the dream to what might occur if he escaped, and it cooled his ardor for taking that risk.
Another reason was that he had begun to hear and think about reports that earlier on the march some of the English prisoners had defied the orders of the American escorts, and pushed it so hard that the American militia had to kill one prisoner and wound three. Wolfgang, even in this time of depression and insecurity, valued his life too much to risk getting killed on the way to freedom.
It was Sunday, and the prisoners were given a day of rest. They had marched for 10 days, and were very weary and sore. Many of the prisoners had been wounded and carried canes. All of them had carried their packs, as well as canteens and eating utensils. It had been a hard march, and they still had several days to go.
Wolfgang, Conrad, Ewalt, and Jakob had found a waterfall on the river, and were enjoying not having to march today. They had been surprised about the freedom allowed them by the American captors, but knew that the militia was never far away. “What do you think will happen to us,” Conrad suddenly asked as they were standing waist deep near the cool, refreshing water fall. “We’re heading for Winchester, to the Hessian Barracks there,” said Ewalt, “Haven’t you been listening?” “I know that,” retorted Conrad, “but what about when we get there?” “I heard that prisoners are allowed to work for farmers in the area,” chimed in Jakob, “That would be a good thing, if it really happens.” “We may be there a long time,” said Ewalt, “so don’t get the notion that you’ll suddenly be back in Ansbach.” “And I don’t think it will be all fun and games, either. We’re prisoners, you know, and where I come from, prisoners aren’t exactly treated like kings.” Wolfgang had been quiet, feeling the fact that he was a little older than the others, but he finally joined in, “My take is that they will make us work hard, and won’t really keep or feed us very well. I don’t much look forward to it.” “Well, it will probably beat being canon fodder,” mused Ewalt, “ Poor Wilhelm would know what I mean.”
This comment plunged Wolfgang into a period of quiet sadness. Wilhelm, along with a lot of other things, had been on his mind lately. “Don’t take it so hard, Wolfie,” exclaimed Conrad, “They will make you General Wolfgang pretty quickly, and you’ll be able to go to town and kiss the young lasses as much as you want.” “Be sure to take me with you, general,” Jakob said in mock pleading. “ I will polish your boots, and kiss any left over young beauties.” “Yeah,” said Wolfgang, the humor lifting him out of a potential state of depression. “Then you would be standing at attention in more ways than one.” He liked Jakob. He had good sense, but at the same time had a good sense of humor. He made for a good balance between caustic Ewalt, serious Conrad, and troubled Wolfgang.
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Ellie was 23 years old. In the past couple of years, she had begun to recover her spirit, and to respond better to her cousin Amelinda, and to her aunt and uncle, Leopold and Irmgard. She had stopped her schooling, and took a greater interest in cooking, sewing, and helping Irmgard with the housework. She had become an excellent cook, and had a job in a local Newport pastry shop, where her pastries and pies were in great demand.
Even though Amelinda set a very good example, Ellie could not be coerced into dating any of the local men. For reasons entirely impossible for Amelinda to fathom, Ellie exhibited absolutely no interest in the opposite sex. Amelinda would tell her in detail about her escapades with men, with little reaction. She even tried to get Ellie to read a risqué novel, but to no avail.
Other than that, things seemed to be going fairly well- until today. At dinner, Ellie told everyone that while she was deeply appreciative of all the help her aunt and uncle had given her, she had made up her mind that she was going to return to Pennsylvania, and seek to help her father in his waning years. Irmgard gasped, not realizing whether she had heard correctly or not. Amelinda, overcome with emotion, began to cry and urge Ellie to reconsider. Leopold, in his quiet manner, observed that they had not heard from her father, John, for a long time, and who could know if he was still living or not. And anyway, he had not always treated Ellie with respect, and how could she be sure it would be any different.
Ellie was not to be persuaded. She had developed into a strong young woman, and when she made up her mind, it was made up. She almost surprised herself with her focus and determination. Change is always difficult, and especially if one is pretty satisfied with the present situation. Ellie couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was telling her that it was the right thing to do. Within a fortnight, Ellie had packed her belongings, said her tearful goodbyes, and had boarded a coach for Franklin County, Pennsylvania.
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Meanwhile, word had reached Ansbach that many of the Hessian soldiers had been captured at Yorktown, and that even though there were several pockets of British resistance, the war in America was gasping to an end. Maria Margareta did not know whether Wolfgang had been killed in the battle of Yorktown or not, but she had not heard from him in several months. She was busy dealing with a 15 yr old daughter and a 13 year-old son, and had her hands full. She worried about both of them, with no father, and faced with the many temptations that young people face. But she did the best she could, and had resigned herself long ago to Wolfgang’s absence.
Ernst the grocer was always available, whenever needed, to do the “man’s chores” around the house, and was often invited to Sunday dinner at the Odoerfer house. There was no doubt that Ernst was very fond of Maria Margareta. Yet, even with Wolfgang gone so long, Maria Margareta still kept Ernst at arms length, and puzzled him by her reluctance to let their relationship develop further. Her continued loyalty to a man who had left her to raise her family by herself was amazing to Ernst, and kindled his affection for her all the more. Maria Margareta knew that Wolfgang may have been killed in the battle of Yorktown, but he was the father of her children- at least most of them- and until she knew for sure, Ernst would have to wait. So, even though the neighborhood ladies still gossiped about what was happening, Ernst was a kind and listening ear to help her sort out her problems with the children, and a handyman fixing things around the house, but nothing more.
Maria Magdalena, maturing rapidly and developing a spirited personality, wondered what was happening with her mother and Ernst, and there was evidence that concern was the basis for her rebellion. She began to spend more time with a group of friends who found ways to get as many beers as they wanted, and who were beginning to experiment with other ways of the world. She didn’t always come home when expected, and this caused a lot of friction between her and her mother. Maria Margareta was beginning to wonder if she was losing control, and if it had gone past the point of no return. It often weighed heavily on her mind, and she again felt the oppression of raising children by herself. Ernst listened, and was kind, but didn’t seem to want to get involved in dealing with the problem.
Georg had heard kids at his school whispering about his mother’s taking up with Ernst, and he resented having to deal with yet another problem with them. But beyond that, he thought about his father, wondered if he was dead or alive, and resented the fact that Ernst was the focus of his mother’s attention. It was not a good time in his life to be saddled with these problems, and he became more and more withdrawn from family interaction. His school work also began to suffer, and those around him wondered what was the matter.
And Maria Margaritta thought about her secret, and wondered, as she often did, how her daughter Ute, who had been adopted by friends in Nurenburg, was doing.
Not only had the war in the colonies been terribly hard on Wolfgang, it was clear that his family, too, had suffered greatly.
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Wolfgang was fed up with all the marching. After leaving the river, they had marched 18 hours in heavy rain to get to the Frak-Weiler court house in Fairfax. That was followed by another long march the next day. He knew they had marched at least 200 miles since leaving Yorktown.
As the Blue Mountains came into their view, they saw a large group of Indians on horses on a nearby ridge. They appeared to have rifles, and Wolfgang, having heard stories of Indians in northern Virginia ravaging the land and killing people and livestock, felt that they would have attacked them, had the prisoners not been escorted by a militia of over 500 men. After periodic sightings of the Indians for a couple of miles, they were seen no more, and the militia and their prisoners set up camp in the foothills of the Blue Mountains.
It was a cool November night, and as Wolfgang lay on his pallet, gazing at the stars, his mind was flitting from one thing to another. He knew his time as a soldier had taken on a new life of its own. It had been a long time since he left Ansbach, he had felt the coldness of the letters from Maria Margareta, and had written home less and less. Even tonight he thought he needed to write a letter, telling them that he was alive and a prisoner, but feeling that his captors wouldn’t get it to the proper people to get it delivered back to Ansbach, he let the idea die.
For the thousandth time in the past year, Wolfgang thought of Ellie, and their secret meeting at the redoubt near Newport. He knew in his head that he would never see her again, and that he needed to totally forget about her and get on with it. But in his heart, he couldn’t do it. I will be obsessed with this for life, he thought, and it will always be an unfulfilled “might have been.” His bevy of thoughts always left him feeling inordinately sad, for in his stew of regret, guilt, and grief, he wallowed hopelessly in misery.
Wolfgang did not like the way he had felt in the past couple of years. He was generally an optimistic person, who could deal with problems and put them behind him. But he seemed to be turning into a brooding person whose problems seemed to be unsolvable. His recently acquired habit of reading the Bible had sometimes helped him pull out of his pit of sadness, but he seemed to always get drawn back into the slippery mire of depression.
As they marched on laboriously the next day, after wading through the cold, biting water of the Shenandoah river, Jakob, marching just ahead of Wolfgang, began to talk excitedly. “There it is!” he exclaimed loudly, “ It ain’t Ansbach, but it is Winchester, and we won’t be marching much longer!” The small city, which couldn’t have had more than 300 houses, appeared over the knob of the hill, and the word had been passed through the ranks. “That’s all you know,” retorted one of the militia officers, who was marching alongside the prisoners, and who was often seen hanging around General Phillip Van Courtland, “We’ve got four miles to march on past that city of Germans, so don’t start celebrating yet.”
“It’s still the last day of marching,” Conrad rejoined in his usual serious manner, “And after 16 days on the trail for 240 miles, I praise the Lord for this day.” “The Lord didn’t have anything to do with it,” Ewalt said in a sour tone, “If I’m not mistaken it was us that kept lifting our feet and putting them down.” “ Conrad, I think you would give the Lord credit for a fart, even if was accidental.” “I wonder if the Lord farts,” Jakob queried with a wide grin, “Maybe that was the smell back there a mile or so, when someone blamed in on a skunk.” Wolfgang, a little older than his friends, seemed to be in a world above this give and take. And not in the mood for humor, he trudged on, thinking about what the prisoner barracks might be like.
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Wolfgang made a mental note that it was November 5, 1881 when they arrived at the prisoner’s barracks in Winchester, Virginia. They had marched past an orchard of apple trees, circled Round Hill, entered a forested area, when, suddenly, a gasping sound emanated from the ranks as they got their first view the ramshackle barracks.
Months later, friends of Wolfgang in the Bayrueth Regiment, Johann Dolya and Stephan Popp, showed Wolfgang the pages in their diaries that described the camp. Dolya wrote, “ If this be our winter quarters, God have mercy upon us: numerous wretched huts built of wood and clay, most of which have no roofs or poor roofs, no cots, only poor fireplaces, neither doors nor windows, and lie in the middle of a forest…” Popp’s entry was worse than that. Popp wrote that the barracks was, “ a wretched place, everywhere going to pieces, and nowhere protected from the rain and dew- snow and wind drove in- the open fire filled it with smoke… with each cabin holding from 32 to 36 men (standing up)”
They got through the first few days. Barely. “My God,” shouted Ewalt, “You can’t even lay down in those damn barracks.” “I haven’t slept for three days!” “Join the club,” Conrad chimed in, “I feel like one of the pigs in old Rudolph Gottleib’s stye-mud and all.” “Those pigs were probably brighter than you guys,” Jakob said with his usual grin, “They knew that it didn’t do any good to complain. So at least be as smart as a pig.” Wolfgang didn’t want to enter the pig conversation, but he had come to a conclusion that he wanted to share with the others. “We can either bitch about this all day and night, or we can do something about it, and soon, “ he asserted. “I vote to get the lead out, fix up these crappy barracks, and build some more.” “Now that’s a smart pig,” Jakob interjected, “ Maybe a bunch of energetic pigs could improve this mess.” “I’m in,” said Conrad, “But just how do you propose to get the wood and stuff?” Ewalt, who felt more than a little grumpy, mellowed enough to give his blessing to the idea. “We could try to get permission from someone to cut down some of these trees to get wood, and maybe some of the people that live here could loan us some tools- let’s get on it first thing tomorrow.”
The vigor with which the prisoners attacked the problem of improving living conditions was amazing. They built cabins, made cots, repaired the roofs and filled the cracks with either wood or with clay. Ewalt had the idea of getting bulrushes from the forest, and cutting grass to make a filling for the dilapidated mattresses. This became very popular, and with all the prisoners that were there, you could see the supply of grass and bulrushes beginning to dwindle.
The prisoners ate a lot of raw, partially uncooked oatmeal, as food was in short supply. But since many of the prisoners had money that had been allowed to keep after the surrender, they quickly found ways to buy all sorts of food from local residents. Since many Germans lived in and around Winchester, the prisoners spoke their language and were readily accepted. Many of them were allowed by Colonel Cannada, the commanding officer in charge of the barracks, to work for farmers doing plowing, woodcutting, repair work, or other tasks. They received a small amount of pay for this, and were able to buy food instead of trading their clothing and possessions for it, as some did.
Wolfgang began to get used to living in the prisoners barracks, and even enjoyed getting to know some of the local residents, especially after the miserable weather in the early winter began ease a little. He had not even spoken to a woman for many months, and so it was really pleasant and exciting for him to exchange greetings on occasion with the daughters of some of the farmers. But while the prisoners had some freedom to go into Winchester, they were often watched, even at a distance, by members of the colonists militia, who also lived at the barracks.
It was on one of Wolfgang’s forays into town that a telling incident happened. As he walked down the street near the pub, noticing the militia soldiers nearby, his eyes drifted to two young women walking in the opposite direction, across the street. One had beautiful dark hair, and tantalizingly recognizable features! He gasped, and began to run after them, as fast as he could go. He was sure that it was Ellie! As he ran, his mind raced too- what was she doing here? What would he say to her? Would she know him? As he was about to overtake them, he shouted, in his loudest voice, “Ellie!!! It’s me, Wolfgang!” As she turned to look, Wolfgang was greatly embarassed to see that the woman looked nothing like Ellie in the face, and he had let himself get carried away.
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John Rowe had lived in the countryside in Franklin county Pennsylvania- in the little village of Waynesboro, not far from the Maryland border – all of his life. He had farmed what little land he had as well as he could, and made a meager living. When his wife died several years ago, he became very depressed and confused. He knew that he had not treated his daughter, Elizabeth right during that time, and still harbored deep feelings of guilt for what had happened. But as bad as he had hated to do it, he felt good about sending her to Newport, Rhode Island to live with his sister and her family. He knew Ellie would be safe there, and she would be in a good family, with a chance to get a good education.
As John sat on his front porch, languishing in the perpetual loneliness he had during the 10 years Ellie had been gone, he thought about how his health had steadily gotten worse, and how hard it was to take care of everything inside and outside the house. He had become an old man, and he really had no family in Pennsylvania. It was definitely a tough life, and if he had been a crying man, he would have flooded the porch with tears. He knew he had no right to hope for Ellie to return, but that thought had come to him again and again during the past few months.
It was then, almost serendipitously, that he saw a horse drawn carriage stirring up a cloud of dust as it came bouncing down the lane. It came to a dusty halt in front of the house, and out stepped what John saw as a beautiful young woman. “Ellie?” John said, as he squinted through the cloud of dust, “It’s you!” In that second, he saw in his mind’s eye the 13 year old who had left so many years ago, but then came back to reality, realizing that in her place was a poised, well dressed, and smiling young woman. As they embraced, it was as if all of the wounds of the past were forever healed, and a new era was to begin. She had come home- from Newport to Waynesboro, to care for him as an aged father, and he to appreciate her as an independent young adult.
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It took a couple of days for Wolfgang to sublimate the embarrassment of running after and shouting at a total stranger on the streets of Winchester. He would never forget the incredulous look on her face, and the totality of the empty feeling that overtook him when he discovered his glaring mistake. “What a dolt I was,” he thought. She must have thought I was crazy! And it was a dramatic reminder to him that he had not been able to erase thoughts of Ellie from his mind. “I must never do that again” was indelibly imprinted on his mind as he tried to busy himself with coping with the prisoner’s life.
As the spring of 1783 came to a wet halt, Wolfgang and his friends had begun to actually enjoy summer, and the relaxed life in the prisoner’s barracks. More barracks had been built, and Wolfgang lived in a barracks with Conrad, Ewalt, Jakob, and six other Hessians from Bayrueth. It was a close fit, but livable. And since the weather was warmer, and the huts were tighter, they no longer had to fight the cold and windy conditions that had faced them when they first arrived. Also, there was not much extra work to be done at the barracks, so most of the prisoner’s time was taken working for farmers in the nearby community, or going into Winchester.
“I can’t believe it,” chortled Jakob, “Ewalt has found a local wench!” “I don’t think she is a wench,” Conrad replied, “She is just a nice country girl who has been fooled by Ewalt.” “And he fooled her parents too,” said Wolfgang, “They think ole’ Ewalt is a church lovin’ model of piety.” “You’re right about the piety stuff,” Jakob mused, trying to create some humor as usual, “because she did ask him over for apple pie on Thursday.”
“But as far being church lovin’, one of us should tell them that he hasn’t darkened the door of a church for 200 years.” “Maybe longer than that,” Wolfgang chimed in, “We could tell them that Ewalt is the reincarnation of the devil himself. How long do you think Ewalt can get by working for her father before he finds him out and kicks him out?”
Ewalt knew he would get nowhere trying to talk his way out of this stuff, so he just grinned and walked away as quickly as he could. If they only knew that he was really beginning to care for his girlfriend, Jutta, and that he had attended church with her not once, but three times! Not that he had become a convert, but with Jutta, it all seemed so different.
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There are some days in a man’s life that stand out in stark relief, and can be remembered vividly, forever. This day, May 28th, 1782, was one of those days. It all began innocently enough. Wolfgang had awakened early, checked with the militia guards, and gone to help a local farmer, Frederich Stuber, cut weeds around his largest field. Frederich was a jolly middle-aged man who loved his family and his farming. In fact, he simply loved life. Wolfgang couldn’t understand why he was so happy about everything, but he liked to work for him.
It was a hot day, and Wolfgang was sweating like a hot icebox as he swung the scythe again and again. But he was strong, and it didn’t seem to bother him. As he turned from a very hard swing to cut a big thistle, he saw someone coming down the lane toward him. As the person got closer, he saw that it was his friend Jakob. “Hi Wolfie,” said Jakob with a smile. “I didn’t have much to do, so I thought I’d bring you your letter that was delivered by a rebel courier today. Hope it’s good news.” “Thanks, Jake,” said Wolfgang. “But why didn’t you bring big beer along with it? It sure is hot out here.”It was clear that Jakob wasn’t going to leave until Wolfgang opened the letter, so he decided to do just that.
As he began to read, even though it was hot in the shade, a cold sweat broke out on his face. Jakob watched Wolfgang turn pale, and knew that the news had devastated him. “What’s the matter, Wolfie?” Jacob asked tentatively, “Is something wrong? Wolfgang sat down and stared straight ahead, and as his tears intermingled with the sweat, his mind raced back 16 years to the day Maria Magdalena was born. She was such a beautiful baby, and now, at this terribly young age, she was dead. He held his head in his hands and wept.
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It had all started with influenza. So many in Germany had contracted it. But Maria Magdalena’s case had gotten worse and worse, had gone into pneumonia, and they had not been able to do anything about it. Maria Margareta’s tear stained letter, written on a chance that it would find its way to Wolfgang if he was still alive, described the terrible fever, intermingled with chills, and the coughing that seemed to shatter the lungs. Maria Margaretha’s grief, and Wolfgang’s in turn, was almost unbearable.
Maria Margaretha told of many in Ansbach who had influenza, including her and Ernst. Wolfgang knew that Ernst had been great support for Maria Margareta, and that she wondered if Wolfgang was dead after the battle of Yorktown. And the rumors that they were living together. He had learned as much from a letter an Ansbach soldier friend of his had received from his wife after they arrived at the Hessian Barracks in Winchester. The wife lived near Maria Margareta, and had passed the neighborhood gossip on to her husband.
Wolfgang had been thinking a lot about this- perhaps blowing it out of proportion- and felt even more conflicted. Now the news of Maria Magdalena’s death had made his guilt and grief even more pronounced. Wolfgang wondered if Maria Margareta had been careful not to get the pneumonia germs from Maria Magdalena, and he worried about Georg, who was not mentioned in the letter. But worry was all he could do. He was a prisoner, and had few options. He thought about deserting, but the chances of getting away without getting captured and the tremendous difficulty of getting back to Germany on his own, even if he did escape, seemed impossible. It wasn’t so much the courage to do it, but the lack of knowledge of what to do, that overwhelmed and immobilized Wolfgang.
And then, after several weeks of dealing with the grief of his daughter’s death, the second devastating blast of news hit. It came in a letter that had been carried by a Hessian soldier who had been captured by Armand’s American Light Horse brigade, and brought to the Hessian barracks. It had been written by Wolfgang’s son, Georg, telling that his mother, Maria Margaretha, had also contracted pneumonia, and was near death. In the letter, Georg implored Wolfgang to find a way to return, as soon as possible, to Ansbach, and be there to comfort and care for her. Georg didn’t mention Ernst, but Wolfgang suspected that he was there, on the front line of care. In an odd sort of way, this suspicion also gave Wolfgang comfort, knowing that someone would be there to do what was needed. Wolfgang knew that any communication from Ansbach would take weeks to reach him. He would simply have to wait, wonder, and pray in the meantime. That, and writing a letter to let Maria Margareta know that he was alive and concerned seemed to be all he could do.
As he lay down on his cot in the barracks that night, he was devastated again by the guilt he carried as a result of all that had happened since he joined the ranks of the Hessian soldiers and left his home in Ansbach. On the one hand, it seemed far away, as in another world. He had been gone almost five years now, and the immediacy had faded. His relationship with his wife and children seemed distant and nebulous, as in a past dream. On the other hand, the recent news of his daughter’s death, and his wife’s near death stood out in stark relief, and he suddenly felt closer to them than he had for a long time. Wolfgang said a prayer for Maria Margareta, and fell into a fitful sleep.
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It was warm in Virginia in July, and ever since most of the Hessian prisoners quartered in the Winchester barracks had been been moved to Frederick, Maryland, the conditions in the prisoner’s barracks had been steadily improving. Most of the few Hessians, including Wolfgang, who stayed, were working for farmers or in Winchester, and were able to buy or barter special food from the local citizens. Wolfgang, with the support from his friends and the chaplain at the barracks, had begin to accept the reality of his daughter’s death. He had also received information, from a surprising source, that his wife had narrowly avoided death, and was recuperating.
Three wives of Hessian soldiers had been allowed to come from New York to join their husbands, and one of them had heard the news from Ansbach about Maria Margareta’s recovery. Wolfgang was immensely relieved to hear the news, but somehow, perhaps exaggerating her relationship with Ernst, he could not muster the total joy that was perhaps once possible.
Surprisingly, as July moved into August, Wolfgang began to feel better than he had felt for a long time. Even though he had been through a lot, being a person who gravitated, when possible, toward a positive outlook, he began to feel more comfortable with himself and with the situation in which he found himself. He still had nights when his mind seemed to race back over everything that had happened since he left Germany, and he still had nightmares with vivid scenes from the battle of Yorktown, but many of his days recently had been as pleasant as the sunny August weather in Virginia.
His friends had noticed that he had been more playful, and more frequently joining in the fun. He enjoyed working for Frederich Stuber, and Ewalt thought that Frederich’s jolly approach to life might be rubbing off-even just a little- on Wolfgang. Conrad took issue with that, and said, in his opinion, it was Wolfgang’s frequent attendance at the prisoners prayer meetings that had made the difference. Jakob, not to be outdone by other’s opinions, claimed that Wolfgang was thinking about some of the pretty girls they had seen in Winchester, and that was making him smile a lot.
All three of them knew that Frederich had a right chubby young daughter, not a blazing beauty by any means, who he wanted to capture Wolfgang’s attention, but they politely refrained from starting rumors about any effect she might have had on Wolfgang’s suddenly brighter look on life. And Ewalt kept especially quiet about this, since he didn’t want to stimulate the others to get on his case about his newfound love.
“ Do you ever think about that gal you met in Newport,” Conrad asked Wolfgang as they brought water to the barracks from the lake. “No,” lied Wolfgang, “That was a long time ago, and it’s water under the bridge now.” Conrad looked a Wolfgang quizzically, searching for a betrayal in his face, but Wolfgang, who had played some poker in his day, showed no emotion. “I thought you liked her pretty well,” said Conrad, not letting the subject die, “what do you suppose she is doing?” “ Oh, I don’t know,” said Wolfgang casually, “she probably married a Newport stud, and has two kids by now, so let’s talk about something else.” Conrad had pretty good insight into people, and he didn’t believe for a minute the “I don’t care” attitude Wolfgang was trying to portray.
As the walked on toward the barracks, the birds sang in the hollyhock bushes nearby, the tall grass rustled in the gentle breeze, and Wolfgang thought again of Ellie. But, like his daughter, she might as well have been dead, for Wolfgang had no idea under the sun where she was.