He Who Loses His Life... (The story of Adam Sethur)
by Derek Johnson
Links by Melissa Rudy
A thick coat of ice lay on top of the snow. Each footstep broke through the snow's crust, and the shards of ice cut into my foot. My boots offered no protection from the winter, countless days of marching had left my toes exposed, bloody, and frozen. Behind me stretched a trail of bloody footprints, my own as well as those of almost eleven thousand other men.
Through the blowing snow I saw those marching figures in front of me. Thin scarecrows clothed in rags; bones held together by nothing but courage. Blank eyes staring out of gaunt faces. So much had happened; the war hadn't been kind. I did what I could, trying to ease the pain of the weak and injured. I carried the packs of four who were too weak to do so for themselves.
We'd been marching for two days and only covered four miles. Just a short time before, we could have covered four miles before breakfast. We were carrying the wounded and we all hobbled like old crippled men. I'm sure things will get much better once we reach Valley Forge. Things certainly couldn't get worse.
A few in our ranks are too sick and injured to move forward, even at this limping, crawling pace. Washington needs volunteers to stay behind to care for the wounded. At another time, in another place I had been a doctor. If I stay behind perhaps I can raise them to health. I have to, I can make a difference to these men. I couldn't live with my self if I continue on. God has given me abilities, abilities not to benefit myself, but to benefit others. My Lord had been a servant and I too must do likewise.
As the army inches away like a broken serpent, I pray. I pray that this wouldn't be the last time that I see the army; I pray that I can raise these men to fight again for freedom and liberty.
"Mr. Sethur, sir," my new fellow surgeon, a boy of twelve, calls, "I think we should go check on the men." As I enter my "hospital" I can't help but curse the horrors of war. Walking the length of the tent I count my charges. Seventeen cots, seventeen souls who depended upon me and this boy for their every need. Seventeen- there were so many of them and only two of us.
"Peter, it looks you and I are going to be working together for awhile. Tell me, what do we have for supplies?"
"Supplies?" The look that crossed his face combined laughter and tears, "We don't have any. They really don't expect us to do anything except bury the men once they die."
"What! How could Washington do something like this, we don't even have any food!" Peter quietly reminded me of the condition of our army. They had no choice. "We can't waste time lamenting what we don't have, these men are dying. How are you with a rifle? Because I only have nine shells."
"I'm a pretty good shot- my Pa got killed when I was just a kid, so I did all the hunting for Ma and my three sisters since I was eight."
I wanted to send him home. I wanted to ask him why he was here, he was still only a kid."Okay, take my rifle into the woods and bring us back a deer. These men need food. The forests should be full of them, if the soldiers didn't scare them all away."
He grabbed the gun and headed out into the darkening sky. The wind had stopped blowing but the snow was deep and it was below freezing. As Peter set off for the distant pines, I prayed he would survive this war and see his Ma and sisters once again.
I turned to attend to my patients. Their greatest need, regardless of their ailment, was for water. Snow was the only water that could be found. I packed the only container I had, a small tin cup, with snow and held it to the fire to melt. I burned my fingers countless times bringing water to those dying men. After each had been provided for, the moans subsided. I wish I had more than water to give them.
The night crept in bringing with it the cold. I counted. There were seven blankets. The rest lay shivering on their cots. Some didn't even have the strength to shiver. Using an old bayonet I went out and hacked down pine boughs and laid them on top of those without blankets. The men were too weak to speak. The silence was deafening.
I was catching a disease. The worst plague possible for our sinful race- hopelessness. Every man in this tent had the sickness. It rested in their eyes; they communicated it with their glances. They knew they were dying, and worse yet, they didn't care.
Where was Peter? Why wasn't he back yet- it's been dark for over three hours.
I fell into fitful sleep, dreaming that Washington himself came here, he brought with him medical supplies, food and water. I woke well after dawn. My first thought was of Peter. Where was he? Had I sent him to his death? The thought of death reminded me of the vacant stare in the injured men's eyes. How many had survived the night? A painful check of the cots confirmed what I had feared. I now had only nine men left in my care. There was nothing I could do for the other eight, except hope that my actions had brought a few hours of peace and comfort to their dying.
I went through the process of giving each man his melted snow rations. I tried not to think about why it took me less time to finish my task. The next order of business was to bury the bodies. A nearby stone wall provided me with the rocks I needed to make a mound grave. I had just moved the first body into position when I heard a familiar voice.
"Sethur! Mr. Sethur! I did it, I got us a deer! Now the men can get better!"
I forgot about the holes in my boots; I forgot about hopelessness. I ran for the first time in months. I ran to greet my friend, and I knew everything was going to be alright.
(For more information and books about the American Revolution click here.)
Questions from He Who Loses His Life... (The story of Adam Sethur)
- How many men were marching to Valley Forge?
- Why was Sethur happy to see Peter when he returned from hunting?
- Why didn't Sethur and Peter have any supplies?
- How did Sethur feel when eight of his men died?
- If you had been Sethur would you have stayed behind to take care of the seventeen men? Why or why not?
- What would have happened if Peter had not returned at the end of the story?
He Who Loses His Life... (The story of Adam Sethur)
OUTLINE:
I. Sethur and the revolutionary army on the way to Valley Forge
II. Sethur decides stay behind to care for the injured
A. meets Peter
B. discovers that there are no supplies
III. Sethur provides for the injured
A. Sends Peter deer hunting
B. Melts snow to give the injured water
C. Uses branches to keep the men warm
IV. The next day's events
A. Eight men die
B. Sethur gives men water
C. Begins to bury the dead
D. Peter returns with deer
ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS:
- 11,000
- He didn't think Peter was coming back, He thought Peter was dead
- The army didn't have any supplies to give them.
- Sad, expected it, wished he could have saved them
- Various student answers
- Various student answers
SOURCES FOR STORY:
Busch, Noel F.; Winter Quarters; Liveright, New York 1974
Stein, R. Conrad; The Story of Valley Forge ; Childrens, Chicago 1985