Why We Fight

I have been reading The American Revolution, Writings from the War of Independence, selected by John Rhodehamel, part of Penguin Putnam's Library of America collection.

The selections alternate between British and American writings by various authors. Many of the writings are journal entries and record the constant ups and downs of those for and against independence. After hundreds of pages of battle, starving, travel, and exposure to the elements; we suddenly come upon Sarah Wister, a very young woman living at Gwynedd, Pennsylvania (not far from Valley Forge), excited that her home is to quarter General Smallwood of the Contintental Army.

Sarah Wister's little heart goes pit a pat with all of the brave young company filling her home, and she falls in love with a handsome young Major Stodard of Maryland, who "has the softest voice never pronounces the R at all." As she closes her diary the first night of blushing excitement she says, "adieu I am going to my chamber to dream I suppose of bayonets and swords, sashes, guns, and epaulets."

And Major Stodard, his weary soul filled with hospitality, food, peace, and beauty goes to sleep to dream of pretty Sarah Wister who represents life, liberty, and happiness. She put on her best dress for this young soldier, and he put up his best fight for her.

And not far from Sarah Wister, is Albigence Waldo a surgeon with the Continental Army, who is ill, and homesick for his wife and children in Connecticut, who write to him that they have no money or food, and wish he would come home to take care of them. Albigence has no money, he eats a paste of water and flour, and breathes the smoke of the campfires every day while in Winter Quarters at Valley Forge. He writes on Christmas Day, 1777:

"We avoid Piddling Pills, Powders, Bolus's Linctus's Cordials and all such insignificant matters whose Powers are Only render'd important by causing the Patient to vomit up his money instead of his disease."

But a couple days earlier, December 23, he records, "This evening an excellent Player on the Violin in that soft kind of Musick, which is so finely adapted to stirr up the tender Passions, while he was playing in the next Tent to mine, these kind of soft Airs it immediately called up remembrance of all the endearing expressions, the Tender Sentiments....

"....and filled me with these tender emotions, and Agreeable Reflections, which cannot be described, and which in spite of my Philosophy forced out the sympathetic tear. I wish'd to have the Musick Cease, and yet dreaded its ceasing, least I should loose sight of these dear Ideas, which gave me pain and pleasure at the same instant."

This is why beauty and art cannot be neglected, ever. They are not mere entertainments and diversions, but lifters of the soul, healers, keys that open doors of sweet remembrance. Although it may be against the "philosophy" of many brave and war-torn souls, there are acceptable and quiet moments when a cleansing is required so that peace can be regained, and morning made to shine sweeter. How many dirty, sick, and starving soldiers were replenished and washed with memory of home, love, and warm tables by that unnamed violinist? How many remembered what it felt like to be human, and that this is why we fight--for our natural desire to live as humans, not drudges?

"The Man who has seen misery knows best how to enjoy good" (Albigence Waldo, Valley Forge, Dec. 1777).

image: Renior, Woman Playing Guitar