White dog in the Mist: A Fourth of July Tale.

White Dog in the Mist: A Fourth of July Tale.

The Declaration of Independence had been signed. Our nation had been declared. But there was still a major war to fight.

Newly spawned America, as a nation, was facing the greatest military force of that age, the British Empire. The Redcoats were renowned for centuries for their navy and now for their military prowess—the greatest Musketmen of their time.

It was the 29th of August, 1776, just a few months after the signing of the Declaration of Independence.  George Washington had found himself in an impossible predicament.

The British forces had corralled Washington and a few thousand men across a spit of land called the Brooklyn Heights. Surrounded on three sides, Washington’s men had nowhere to go but into the bay itself.

Outnumbered three to one, Washington had no hope for victory. What was worse still, was the British Navy had a handful of ships waiting to sail into the bay, cutting off any hope of escape.

The British ships, as well as the Redcoats, had been detained most of that day by a Nor’easter, a storm that raged down from Nova Scotia.

As the twilight fell across the eastern seaboard, George Washington stood atop the large hill on the Brooklyn Heights. He had not lost the war just yet. He had to find a way. Were it not for the downpour, the battle would have been lost already.

Despite it being August, Washington’s men still huddled about their campfires, fighting the penetrating cold as the downpour soaked through their uniforms.

Such weather had not only prevented the British ships from entering the harbors below, but kept the land battle at bay as well. For musket rifles did not fire well when their black powder became wet.

With the Americans outnumbered three to one, there was no chance of victory. Upon the morrow, our most prominent military commander would be killed or captured and the dream of American independence would come to its terminus.

That was how close we came to losing the Revolutionary War.

As darkness fell across the scene, George Washington uttered a prayer. Was this truly to be the end of America? Would such a powerful empire be the Goliath defeating the smaller, weaker David?

Then at a moment of despair, Washington gazed out across the East River toward Manhattan. Though little could be seen in that twilight, something caught Washington’s eyes.

A dog of pure white, much like a wolf, appeared across the East River, the mile-wide inlet that separated the Brooklyn Heights from New York. Through the misty dusk, the dog appeared like a ghost in the night. It’s eyes locked onto the general, standing still atop the saturated hilltop.

Blinking in disbelief, Washington was certain he knew that dog. He had seen him many times. For the dog, named Lionheart, belonged to a colonel John Glover.

The white of Lionheart could be seen across that precipitous mile long expanse, but the dark uniforms of Glover’s seafaring Massachusetts garrison could not. Were it not for Lionheart’s pure white fleece and fluffy tail, Washington would have had no indication Glover was there.

And where Glover was, the British were not!

While Lionheart wagged that fluffy white tail, Washington descended the Heights to his primary officers.

“Keep the campfires bright and burning,” he commanded, “but gather all the men for an evacuation.”

“Sir?” his subordinate officers questioned.

“You heard me. Glover’s men await us across the East River.”

His chief officer gazed out across the bay. “How do you see that?” he questioned. “And even if Glover has a dozen dinghies, General, we could never get all these men to Manhattan in one night. IF the British…”

“One night…” Washington placed a hand on the colonel’s shoulder. “…is all we have.”

As the storm intensified and darkness fell upon the encampment, American soldiers gathered their packs, musket muzzleloaders, and bayonets, and descended the northwestern hillside toward the shores of the East River.

Those that remained kept the campfires burning, a way to convince the British that Washington’s forces remained for the impending sunrise battle.

Throughout that rainy August night, dinghy after dinghy carried Washington’s men into Manhattan and away from the slaughter that would have ensued the following day.

Lionheart was there to greet each boat as it reached the Manhattan shoreline.

But as the dawn appeared across a now rainless sky, Washington and about a hundred men still remained on the Brooklyn Heights. Thousands would be saved, but not those who remained. From the moment the sun shown upon the New York horizon, Washington and those who remained, were sure to be captured.

It was in that moment that Providence would step in, answering that very same prayer Washington had uttered in the darkening night. For as Washington stared across the East River and the route to freedom…

…Manhattan disappeared altogether.

For a fog had rolled in. A fog, common in the winter months, was very uncharacteristic during the month of August. Still, the fog rolled in, swallowing all of Manhattan and New York town like a whale over a sea of krill.

And still, Glover’s dog appeared across that mist, its glistening white fur a beckon, its amber eyes still penetrating Washington’s gaze.

The fog, as it turned out, continued to conceal the remaining hundred soldiers and Washington himself, until his entire army was safely across the bay.

And just as the final boat touched the shores of Manhattan, the fog lifted.

And the British forces were shocked to find no easy battle to fight and win that August morning. They would have to wait and fight another day when George Washington had anchored himself with a greater force and better position.

It was the fog who saved them that day, the first American army. It was the fog, the Providence who secured it, and the white furry coat of wolfy dog named Lionheart. For without that dog, Washington and his men would have been lost that stormy August in 1776.

And so would have been lost the infancy of a new American nation.

Happy Fourth of July, from Jennifer and me. May the coming year be filled with the Spirit of America, cool foggy days, and furry American Dirruses to lead and guide us to better places!

Oh, and if you like my stories, you can find my novels at https://www.amazon.com/Jacob-Lake-Trilogy-3-book-series/dp/B09FKQDZN6

ALSO:

Today is the day to let Jennifer know you want to go active for the Monster Movie litter.

Today (12 a.m. Eastern), we close the waiting list to any further activity for this litter. Contact Jennifer at jennifer@direwolfproject.com.

Not on the waiting list? Start here:

https://direwolfproject.com/puppy-application/

Here’s the link to the future litters page to see the parents and read my predictions on the above two future litters:

https://direwolfdogs.com/dogs-for-sale/future-litters/

Jennifer Stoeckl is the co-founder of the Dire Wolf Project, founder of the DireWolf Guardians American Dirus Dog Training Program, and owner/operator of DireWolf Dogs of Vallecito. She lives in the beautiful inland northwest among the Ponderosa pine forests with her pack of American Dirus dogs.