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Subject: [MOORE] MOORE NEWS - VOL. III - No. 48-B
Date: Tue, 11 Dec 2007 12:08:44 EST

. MOORE NEWS
. “Saga of an American Family”


Volume III December 12, 2007
Issue 48-B


Merry Christmas to All, and to All a
Goodnight.
- -
Clemente Clarke Moore
"'Twas the
Night Before Christmas"

Below are Christmas stories from my Joyce-Webster family of North Carolina.
Nary a Christmas passes that I don't read them again and find someone new to
share them with. Some of you have already have read these Christmas stories.
Enjoy them again with me for they come to you with every good wish that each of
you have a wonderful Christmas season and a remarkably happy and successful
2008!

The first story is excerpted from a manuscript I wrote concerning the
Revolutionary War experience of my GGGG Grandfather, John Webster, born in Amherst
County VA in 1758. He was a private in the First Virginia Dragoons commanded
by Col. Theoderick Bland. After the war, he returned home and married my GGGG
Grandmother, Margaret (Maggie) Walker of Bedford County VA. They moved to
Rockingham County NC.

An explanation. The part of John Webster's story below is the fourth
chapter of his biography. His troop of horse soldiers were not in New Jersey when
for the first crossing of the Delaware River and the startling Christmas night
victory; but they hastened on their way north and were part of the second
crossing of the Delaware on New Year's Eve, 1776. Details were well and widely
researched in historical records, particularly at the National Archives. I
read every Revolutionary War Pension Application submitted by members of John
Webster's troop. These old soldiers provided for us a remarkable Christmas gift
in 1776/7.

John and Maggie Webster were the great grandparents of my Grandmother who
gave me a quarter century of enchanting memories of Merry Christmas' in Walnut
Cove, Stokes County NC. No Christmas ever passes that I don't make several
batches of Boiled Custard (Rockingham County style) to share with those who share
Christmas with me.

I hope the right/left indented quotes will transfer correctly formatted. I
think email servers are handling this formattng metter now than it did for a
long time.



Excerpt from “Two Hundred Years . . . . Plus Twenty.” Joyce Browning.
1996



DECEMBER 25, 1776 . . .

As John Webster and the First Virginia Dragoon Regiment approached
Philadelphia, Washing-ton's Continental Army marched out of Morristown New Jersey and
began forming up in a little valley on the west side of the Delaware River. They
carried provisions for three days. By 3:00 p.m. they were marching toward
the ford where skiffs awaited to ferry them across the river. By nightfall,
they had crossed the Delaware and a hard march brought them within sight of
Trenton.

Soon after midnight, the tiny American Army approached their target and
attacked. Completely and utterly surprised in their quarters as they slept off the
effects of their Christmas celebration, only a few hundred British and
Hessians escaped. In addition to the prisoners, the colonial army captured all of the
British arms, provisions, and equipment.

Initially, General Washington had hoped to hold his ground and push ahead. To
do so, he realized, would be foolhardy. More than 2,000 of his troops were
stranded on the west side of the Delaware and reinforcements, including Bland's
Virginia Horse Regiment, did not arrive in time for this Christmas Day raid.
He knew, too, that British reinforcements would soon be upon them in
overwhelming numbers and the countryside was stripped bare of provisions for his
soldiers and animals. Always a pragmatic leader, the American Commander followed the
only sensible course open to him. He led his army back across the Delaware
where they would rest, and he would gather reinforcements and reorganize for
another day.

Bland's Horse was still several days away. There can be no doubt, though,
that these sturdy young Virginians raised a mighty cheer of celebration when they
learned of the stunning Christmas night victory at Trenton.

Knowing the Virginia soldiers were not far away, General Washington sent an
urgent message to Colonel Bland.



I am informed you are on your march from Virginia to
join the army
under my command and that you have the charge of the
prisoners
who were ordered up to be exchanged. As this must delay
your
march very much, and as I do not think it expedient for
the prisoners
to come on just at this time, I desire you will leave
them at the most convenient place . . . and advance
the Horse as quick as you possibly can.
- - George Washington to Colonel Bland, December
29, 1776


The prisoners were secured where they were and Bland's Horse pressed forward
at full speed, arriving at Headquarters two days later.

As Bland's troops hastened toward Morristown, the British General,
Cornwallis, was advancing from the northeast to reoccupy Trenton. He had a trained force
numbering nearly 7,000 regulars, 28 pieces of artillery, and a rear guard of
1,200 troops - almost double the size of the American army.

Weather became the third player in this game of "Keeps." On New Year's night
the wind shifted, blowing now from the south bringing a temporary thaw. As
the British troops began to advance toward Trenton, they found roads softened
by the warmth, forcing them to halt time and time again to free heavy
artillery. When dusk came, General Cornwallis decided to hold until morning when he
would continue on to Trenton.

We've got the old fox safe now. We'll bag him in the
morning.

- - General Cornwallis


NEW YEAR'S DAY, 1777 . . .

When the American Commander assembled his newly reinforced army on New Year's
Day, he could count a complement of 5,000 men, including John Webster.
Recently, a British officer had called the colonial army "a flock of animated
scarecrows." Nevertheless, this was the largest battle ready force the General had
ever been able to count at one time.


JANUARY 2, 1777 . . .

During the day, the wind shifted again, now bearing down on them from the
northwest. As darkness fell, sleet glazed the roads and dampness seeped into
the powder and flint; but the American Commander was confident that this army
could reprise its Christmas Day victory.

The time was right, he felt, to venture across the Delaware again. As he
prepared to lead his troops across the river, ice had already formed. Shivering
soldiers waded into the frigid water and chopped away the ice at a low water
point. Wagons placed end to end and fitted with boards formed a bridge for the
troops.

On the east side of the Delaware, they set up a camp near Trenton. Before
midnight, the mercury began spiraling into the teens.


JANUARY 3, 1777, 1:00 AM . . .

A party of 400 soldiers remained at the Trenton campsite keeping the fires
burning to give the appearance of an occupied campsite, while the main body of
the colonial army began a quiet march along a back road that lay to the east of
Princeton. This route would bring them behind the British line by dawn. The
American army crossed Quaker Creek, still maintaining quiet on this murky
night, and marched to Princeton along a now frozen road.

The words of those who made this midnight night march describe it best:


. . . About 1:00 AM, the march began, leaving fires burning
and
muffling the artillery wheels . . .

. . . The horses were without shoes and would slide in every
direction
on the ice.

. . . The morning was bright, serene, and extremely cold.
Hoar frost be
speckled every object. At daylight it was noted that the
ground was marked
by the blood of the soldier's feet. . .


When the forward British troops awoke near Trenton the next morning, they
found an empty American camp facing them.

About sunrise, General Mercer's leading continental brigade, crested the
summit of a hill and received enemy fire. Soon the British were reinforced and
General Mercer ordered a retreat to avoid further casualties. His soldiers
scattered into the woods.


. . . Then . . . out of nowhere it seemed . . . the American Commander
appeared in their midst, exhorting them:


“There is but a handful of the enemy and we will have
them directly.
. . . The day will be ours.”

- - General George Washington


Leading Bland's Virginia Horse, the Commander of the American Army turned
toward the British and led a bayonet charge that broke their line. Outflanked and
out-generaled, the British fled. A few trapped in Nassau Hall surrendered.

How would it have felt to have been there on that cold winter's day in 1777?
When the furor of the battle was over and there was time to rest and
reflect, was there any way John Webster could have comprehended the enormity of what
he had just done? He was but 17 or 18, yet he had ridden into one of the
quintessential events of American history with his Commander, the most beloved
figure in American history.

A New Jersey farmer left an account of the post-battle mood.

Immediately after the battle, General Washington and his men came into our
house. Though they were both hungry and thirsty, none of them but showed joy
in the countenance. It animated my old blood with love to see those men but a
few minutes ago had been courageously looking death in the face in ravages of a
bold and daring enemy.

Sometimes, the most informative accounts of a battle are left by the enemy as
in the case of these descriptions of British officers:

. . . I never saw men look so furious as they did when they
charged
with their bayonets. . .

. . . They seem to be ignorant of the precision and order, and
even
of the principles by which large bodies are moved, yet they
possess some of the requisites for making good troops, such
as extreme cunning, great industry . . . and a spirit of
enter-
prise upon any advantage. It was once the fashion to treat
them in the most contemptible light, they are now become a
formidable enemy. . .

. . . We intended to renew the battle at daybreak, but Wash-
ington spared us the trouble. This clever man, who did not
doubt that Lord Cornwallis would realize his mistake. . .
made such a forced march under cover of darkness that he
arrived at daybreak at Princetown, where he overwhelmed
the corps under General Leslie, took six 6-pounders and a
part of the baggage, and withdrew past Rocky Hill into the
mountains.

. . . At daybreak on the morning of the 3rd, we suddenly learned that
Washington had abandoned his position. At the same time we heard

a heavy cannonade in our rear, which surprised everyone.
Instantly we
marched back at quick step to Princetown, where we found the
entire
field of action . . . covered with corpses. This brilliant coup
which
Washington performed against Lord Cornwallis, which raised so
much
hubbub and sensation in the world and gave Washington the
reputation
of an excellent general, derived simply and solely from Lord
Cornwallis'
mistake of not marching in two columns from Trenton. Several days
later it
was learned that after the coup at Princetown, General Washington
and his
army had camped in the woods at Rocky Hill, two hours from
Princetown,
until the morning of the 4th - completely exhausted, without
ammunition
and provisions - and only then had resumed the march past Bound
Brook
and Basking Ridge to the mountains of Morristown where the army
had a
main depot.
- - Captain
Johann Ewald, "Journal of a Hessian Soldier"


Read, too, the account of the American General who had just out-foxed
England's General Cornwallis, who had indeed made a serious mistake when he equated
the Colonial Commander with a fox ready to be bagged.

Difficulty crossing Delaware on account of ice made our
passage
over tedious. Our situation most critical and our strength
small.
On the second occasion to my expectation, the enemy began to
advance and after some skirmishing reached Trenton, but
finding
the fords guarded, halted and kindled their fires. Having
discerned
that the enemy were greatly superior in number and that their
drift
was to surround us, I ordered all our baggage be removed
silently after
dark. At 12:00 after renewing our fires and leaving some
guards at the
bridge in Trenton and other passes, marched by a round about
road to
Princeton that we might by a fortunate stroke withdraw General
Howe
from Trenton, give some repute to our arms; happily we
succeeded. We
found Princeton about sunrise, their 3 Regi-ments made a
gallant
resistance, but they must have lost upwards of 500 men killed,

wounded, prisoners. There are 300 prisoners, 14 of which are
officers.
- - General George Washington to the
Continental Congress, January 5, 1777


Weary, but jubilant, the victorious American Army followed their General back
across the Delaware to their camp in Morristown. At the end of Christmas
Season 1776, the "old fox" and his "flock of animated scarecrows" had saved
Philadelphia and forced the British to give up 60 miles of their extended line.
Their gallantry and ingenuity finally earned them the reluctant respect of their
enemy.

Thirty years after that Christmas of 1776, Edmund Randolph of Virginia
recalled the impact of these two victories:


The successes . . . at Trenton and Princeton were not
insulated events
but formed an epoch from which the reputation and
safety of America
may take a new date. The intelligence shot through
America with electrical
rapidity and scattered wonder in its train how these
brilliant acts could have
been achieved.
- -
Edmund Randolph, "History of Virginia"


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~



A GRANDDAUGHTER'S STORY


Pick a quiet wintry afternoon, light a fire and pull up the
rocking chair.
Lift a little child to your lap and spread her toes so that
each tiny crease
absorbs the warmth of the flickering blaze. Rock quietly for a
few minutes
till you begin to discern the frosty etchings on the window
pane and hear
the rattle of dry leaves as a breeze rushes through the cove.
Reflect for a
moment, if you will, on a tale of Christmas Past.


America's Great Wagon Road tracked south from Pennsylvania through the Valley
of Virginia and traversed my home county in North Carolina. It's told that
some of the folks who lived along the Wagon Road wanted to raise their families
away from the milieu of American's first thoroughfare. They found a pleasant
walnut grove cresting a hill that sloped down to a hollow fed by a river
branch. They called their little village Walnut Cove. Maples crowded the hillsides
and flashed silver when clouds scuttled across the sky and wind began to stir.
Summer tree frogs were so numerous and so loud they were a baby's first
lullaby. Higher blue hills in the distance dappled the horizon like the rumpled
peaks of an old and comfortable quilt.

I spent most of my childhood in this little village in Stokes County where my
Grandmother lived. By the time she married and left her home in Rockingham
County, the quiet little cove had come to tolerate daily arrivals of Norfolk and
Southern trains. The sound of those steam engines huffing up the hill and the
wail of their whistles as they rounded the curve before stopping at Walnut
Cove were as familiar as the crunch of wagon wheels and neighs of horses had
been in former days. My Grandmother raised eleven children, three sons and eight
daughters. She had been totally absorbed by her family and the Walnut Cove
community by the time my Grandfather died, before I was born. I never thought of
Christmas Day in Walnut Cove as a unity of traditions. It was just the way
Christmas was celebrated at my Grandmother's house.

. . . . . . . . I awoke to the sounds of someone building a fire in my room
and snuggled down till I could hear the flames crackling in the pine logs and
sensed that the chill was gone. By the time I was dressed and downstairs, the
kitchen was already steamy and warm, lively with activity.

Turkeys roasted in the ovens of the old wood stove. Katie peeled big white
potatoes over a bucket to catch the peels while Susie monitored the pots that
were already simmering on the top of the stove. Whatever day it was, however
important its content, patties of sausage and biscuits were always warming on the
back of the stove. Fresh butter and homemade blackberry jelly were on the
table.

Spicy hams, brought in from the smoke house and cooked the day before, sat on
the back porch shelf. Nearby, little puffs of steam rose from the milk that
had already been boiled and stood cooling so the cream could be skimmed off.
On most mornings, the cream would be churned into sweet butter. But this was
Christmas Day and it would be the nectar of a Grandmother's Christmas Gift.

Christmas Day in Walnut Cove was as bright and merry and garrulous as you
could ever imagine that a Christmas should be. The little town shone with
gem-like radiance, morning frost silvering the rooftops and glittering from every
clump of greenery. Chilled air moving from the mountains through the valley sent
smoke curling up from every chimney in town. The maples' bare branches etched
terse tracings against a winter sky.

All morning long, cousins arrived by ones and twos and threes dressed in
Sunday clothes and showing off their new toys. Aunts and Uncles, burdened with
heavy winter clothing and gaily wrapped packages, hurried into the house to stand
by the fire warming their hands. Watching the family arrive, listening to
their greetings, absorbing the merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day was as
exciting as a visit from Santa Claus.

By mid day, the huge family had arrived. They roamed from one house to
another - - Uncle Paul's across the street or Aunt Anne's and Aunt Sadie's two doors
down, or farther down the street to Uncle Bill's or Aunt Sallie's. It was
marvelous to walk into their living rooms. Christmas trees were cut from the tops
of the white pines that grew in the pasture down by the branch. The fresh
aroma permeated each house. Aunts and Uncles and cousins crowded the living
rooms, and spilled into adjacent rooms, everyone smiling and laughing and talking
and joking. When I introduced my new husband to Christmas in Walnut Cove, I
began to appreciate what had always been mine. He was dazzled - awed - by
the size of this family, overwhelmed by the sound of it, enchanted by the
merriment of Walnut Cove on Christmas Day.

When everyone reassembled at Nannie's house for Christmas Dinner, the
furniture was pushed back against the walls to make room for tables and chairs in
every room. The big dining room table was reserved for Nannie and her older
children; her younger children and the spouses were relegated to the sun porch that
opened onto the dining room; grandchildren had places in farther rooms.
Someone said the Blessing; at least we presumed so because there was lots of
shushing from the grownups' room. We never heard it but knew when it was over by the
murmurs of "Amen." The seating order governed the serving order. By the
time we children were served, Aunts and Uncles were waiting for seconds. Forty or
fifty or sixty people had dinner at my Grandmother's every Christmas Day
until she was almost ninety years old. Her sons and daughters tried in vain to
convince her that Christmas Dinner was too great an under-taking, but she never
agreed to doing it any other way.

After everyone had eaten all they could of turkey with dressing and gravy,
ham, string beans and mashed potatoes, baked apples and sweet potatoes with
marshmallows, squash, biscuits and cornbread, the desserts appeared - - so
many different kinds of cakes and pies, I can't even remember them all.
Christmas Dinner was a rich and abundant feast of hardy tastes and smells; but one
item on the menu surpassed all others. Nannie's Boiled Custard was the very
essence of Christmas in Walnut Cove, rich and robust and lusty. She served it from
an old pressed glass pitcher set on a tray in the middle of the sideboard.
One Uncle checked our distant room every Christmas so he could return and report
that we were all done and the Boiled Custard could be served.

By 1962, my Grandmother's family had grown to seventy-five or eighty people.
She had enriched each life with precious memories of Christmas Day in Walnut
Cove -- a special day that frolicked and laughed and hugged and joked and
glowed. My children and their children will not know a Christmas as vibrant as it
was in Walnut Cove.

. . . . . . . . . . When I was a young woman, I asked Nannie how to make
Boiled Custard like she did, with lumps. I carefully wrote down what she told me
and tucked it away. One summer day, Nannie went to her sideboard and gently
lifted an old pitcher from one of its nooks. With her sleeve, she brushed away
specks of dust. This was her Mother's pitcher, she told me, so I should always
take care of it. I wrapped the old pitcher and put it away, almost forgetting
about it. I did not understand then that her gift embodied the essence of
Christmas in Walnut Cove.

Soon, I was caretaker of my own family's Christmas. I rumbled around and
found that old pitcher and shined it up one Christmas morning. By now, it was
almost a hundred years old and I was at least the fourth in a line of
Grand-daughters who polished it on Christmas morning.

I did not comprehend the perfection of its message; but I remembered that the
old pitcher had once stood on Nannie's sideboard on Christmas Day filled with
Boiled Custard. That Christmas morning, I made Nannie's Boiled Custard and
poured it into the old pressed glass pitcher that was her Mother's, and set it
on the sideboard. Our sons are young men now with children of their own, and
I'm no longer the only Granddaughter in my family. Caroline Browning is almost
five years old.

Each Christmas, the old pitcher is shined and filled with Nannie's Boiled
Custard and we accept it now as our Christmas tradition. Through the years, I
have come to better comprehend its message. Maybe I had to know Christmas through
my own Granddaughter's eyes before I could understand. In time I added a
sprig of evergreen, signifying life everlasting; and I fastened it on with a red
ribbon to celebrate the joy of Christmas. Then I set it on a tray on the
sideboard.

Last Christmas, I learned that Boiled Custard is still a cherished tradition
on Christmas Day in Rockingham County. When I asked my informant - to his
total and utter astonishment - if Rockingham County custard is lumpy and lusty, he
told me that it is. Now I understand.

>From Grandmother . . . . . . to Granddaughter . . . . . . to Granddaughter .
. . . . . how many times?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


NANNIE'S BOILED CUSTARD

Nannie began her instructions by telling me that the secret to lumpy Boiled
Custard is to add beaten egg whites at the end while the custard is still hot.

SEPARATE the yolks from the whites of 9 or 10 eggs. BEAT the whites until
peaks form.

LIGHTLY BEAT the yolks and add 3/4 cup of sugar and 1/2 teaspoon of salt. Set
aside

SCALD over a very slow fire 6 cups of milk and cream, stirring all the time.
Don't let it boil.

ADD the egg, sugar and salt mixture to the milk. When the custard thickens,

ADD 3 teaspoons of vanilla extract and the beaten egg whites.

CHILL and serve into glasses from an old pressed glass pitcher set on a tray
on the sideboard.


And have a wonderful, enchanting taste of Christmas in North
Carolina


__________________________________________________________

MOORE NEWS: Distributed by Joyce
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