"I remember an incident," said Wilson, "that will give you some idea,
Mrs. Harmar, of the heart George Washington had in his bosom. I suppose
Mr. Harmar has told you something of the sufferings of our men during
the winter we lay at Valley Forge. It was a terrible season. It's hard
to give a faint idea of it in words; but you may imagine a party of
men, with ragged clothes and no shoes, huddled around a fire in a log
hut--the snow about two feet deep on the ground, and the wind driving
fierce and bitter through the chinks of the rude hovel. Many of the men
had their feet frost-bitten, and there were no remedies to be had, like
there is now-a-days. The sentinels suffered terribly, and looked more
like ghosts than men, as they paced up and down before the lines of
huts."

"I wonder the men didn't all desert," remarked Mrs. Harmar. "They must
have been uncommon men."

"They were uncommon men, or, at least, they suffered in an uncommon
cause," replied Wilson. "But about General Washington. He saw how the
men were situated, and, I really believe, his heart bled for them. He
would write to Congress of the state of affairs, and entreat that body
to procure supplies; but, you see, Congress hadn't the power to comply.
All it could do was to call on the States, and await the action of their
Assemblies.

"Washington's head-quarters was near the camp, and he often came over to
see the poor fellows, and to try to soothe and comfort them; and, I tell
you, the men loved that man as if he had been their father, and would
rather have died with him than have lived in luxury with the red-coat
general.