44 pages • 1 hour read
Laurie Halse AndersonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Curzon and his fellow unitmembers dress as best they can for Caleb’s funeral. Due to the possible presence of British spies, they are forced to bury his body in an unmarked grave, on the outskirts of the camp. Eben is distant, clearly devastated by the loss. As his friends begin to shovel dirt back into Caleb’s grave, Eben breaks from his silence and tears a sleeve from his shirt. He unfurls the fabric and lays it across Caleb’s face to keep the dirt off of it. After, he heads back to camp alone.
That night, Eben and Curzon talk. Eben explains his closeness to Caleb – how he’d gone to live with his aunt and uncle at a young age, and that Caleb meant as much to him as a father would. Eben asks Curzon to divide Caleb’s clothes among the men in their hut – both as a form of honor and also out of need, as the army is in slim supply of new clothes. He tells the rest of his friends that the best way they could honor Caleb would be to win the war.
Their captain resigns his commission, following suit with a number of other officers, many of whom have begun to abandon the army. The privates, however, are not permitted to resign. They are required by law to serve the remainder of their term, or (as in Curzon’s case) until the war is won. A new captain is introduced to the men, who swears that he will do his mightiest to replenish the men’s supplies and clothes. The following day, Curzon and his friends are assembled to watch as a man named Reilly is executed for freeing his two friends from confinement and attempting to flee.
Men tie a noose around Reilly’s neck, to hang him, but when he falls, the rope – frayed and tattered from overuse – snaps. This leads to a debate among Curzon and many of the onlookers. Some insist that Reilly be permitted to live: it was God’s mercy that snapped the rope. Others insist Reilly die – that the army must maintain order, especially in dire times such as these. As they argue, Sylvanus mentions how the conditions they all face – the camp, the cold, the hunger, the disease – is itself a kind of forge, one which tests their mettle and resolve. In the end, Reilly is hanged.
John Burns, meanwhile, is made sergeant by the new captain. This promotion is clearly brought about through Burns’ flattery of his superiors. Curzon fully expects Burns to take advantage of his new position and torment him, but no torment comes. Instead, Burns merely watches Curzon as he works, which Curzon finds unnerving. Burns proves himself adept at scrounging up things for his unit – even going so far as to letting them keep their tents to use as blankets, even after the army demands they be turned in for wash and repair. Curzon and his friends continue to make up their hut as the days pass, adding hay to their bunks for comfort, and a rudimentary calendar for telling time. Curzon asks the date, and is told it is January 19th.
We learn that January 19th is the anniversary of his and Isabelle’s escape from their confinement. She had slipped away, and brought Curzon with her, effectively saving his life, and swore that that day, January 19th, would be her new birthday. Curzon continues to regret her departure, admitting that it had been his desire to flee further north, away from those who would enslave them again. It was this that led to their schism. Curzon longs to know if she is alive.
As the weeks pass, Curzon and his unit continue to work. After finishing their hut, Curzon is sent to help fortify the camp, and dig trenches with some other black soldiers. He notes how threadbare and tattered the army has become due to a lack of resupply and new clothes. That night, he rises from sleep to go to the bathroom, and is ambushed by Burns and two of Burns’ large, surly friends. Burns demands Curzon give him his boots as payback for his phony gambling debts. He’s continued to mar Curzon’s good name with the captain, who he insists believes black soldiers to be an affront. Curzon puts up a fight, but is overmatched. He awakes battered, bruised, and barefoot.
1777 was a tough year for the Colonial Army. Under George Washington, American forces lost a handful of battles and skirmishes in the Pennsylvania area, and ultimately lost Philadelphia to British forces. By the time they made camp for winter in Valley Forge, things were looking grim for the American Revolution.
The months that followed were unrelentingly difficult. Anderson goes to considerable lengths exploring those difficulties – the cold, disease, supply shortages, exhaustion – in nearly every chapter of her novel. And now, halfway through the story, while waiting for a man to be hanged for attempted desertion, we come upon an extremely significant line spoken by a somewhat ancillary character.
Sylvanus, the veteran soldier, often the single voice of wisdom and experience among the privates in Curzon’s unit, remarks of their situation: “This camp is a forge for the army; it’s testing our mettle. Instead of heat and hammer, our trials are cold and hunger. Questions is, what are we made of?” (121).
Were Anderson to have written a thesis to her novel, this line surely would be it. The significance of Valley Forge in the history of the Revolutionary War isn’t that it was a stunning American victory. It was a long, frozen slog that claimed the lives of hundreds of Continental soldiers. It was a grueling series of months, closing out a year of losses, confusion, and routs. But, despite the hardships of the winter of 1777, come the following spring, the Continental soldiers would emerge hardened, passionate, and soldierly. Come the following June, Washington’s men would march out of Valley Forge, into New Jersey, and defeat General Cornwallis at the Battle of Monmouth.
As Sylvanus describes, Valley Forge would indeed temper the American soldiers for battle. Anderson’s subtext would seem to be that it is often hardship that defines who we are. American history is replete with wins and losses, nobility and ugliness, virtue and viciousness. It is the juxtaposition of these ideas–the noble and the profane, the fantastic and the real–that defines us as Americans.
By Laurie Halse Anderson