A Girl Called Samson (120)

That’s when the hard work began. Deborah’s tale was put to the pages back in the early 1800s by a man named Herman Mann, who is said to have interviewed Deborah at length. He didn’t do a very good job. It was an almost impossible read, and Deborah herself barely peeked out from the pages, but I caught a glimpse.

I dug into other original sources from the time period, one written by Dr. James Thatcher, a doctor assigned in the final years of his service to General Paterson’s brigade. In the book by Mann, Deborah is said to have known James Thatcher as a child, but no mention of her is found anywhere in the hundreds of pages of journal entries and detailed accounts Thatcher kept during the war. The Widow Thatcher, whom Deborah lived with from age eight to ten, seems to have been a relation of his, as I indicate in the book, though I do not know for certain what the relationship was.

Thatcher’s journal provided not just a wealth of information on Paterson’s brigade and the war in the highlands but specific accounts of Deborah’s regiment. Her commanding officers, men she served with, and assignments she would have been on were all there in his entries. Thatcher was well acquainted with General Paterson and references him many times. I don’t know if James Thatcher ever found out Robert Shurtliff’s true identity, though he certainly knew both the girl and the soldier. Dr. Thatcher addended his record and made additions to the text long after the war was over, but never mentioned her, though Deborah’s identity was exposed after her bout with yellow fever in Philadelphia. Dr. Thatcher references Dr. Binney as well.

Dr. Binney was an attending physician at the hospital where Deborah was taken, in her soldier’s uniform, unconscious and unknown. It was Dr. Binney who championed her and actually brought her into his home until she recovered. In Mann’s account, Deborah walked all the way back to West Point after she recovered and presented a letter to General Paterson from Dr. Binney, revealing the fact that she was a woman. At that juncture, Herman Mann claims, General Paterson gave her an honorable discharge and kept her secret, remaining a trusted confidant long after the war.

In Deborah’s words, John Paterson was her dear, old friend.

He was not old at all, but I don’t doubt that he was dear. When I read Herman Mann’s account, I could not help but think there was something there, something very special, even if it wasn’t romance. For Deborah Sampson to have become General Paterson’s aide-de-camp was miraculous, and he was very much her protector. More importantly, especially for the times in which he lived, he believed in and admired her for who she was and what she’d accomplished.

I had never heard of John Paterson either. His great-grandson, Thomas Egleston, compiled and published a record of his life in 1894 using the letters and accounts available in Revolutionary War archives—mainly letters to Congress and communications with other officers—along with stories that had been passed down in the family. No mention was made of Deborah Sampson in the great-grandson’s book.

Maybe John Paterson didn’t talk about her, though that’s almost impossible for me to believe. A female soldier who was his aide-de-camp? But no mention of her exists in 279 pages of Egleston’s small print, detailing Paterson’s eight years of dogged service in the Revolutionary War. Her absence felt conspicuous.

General Paterson was described as a strapping, handsome man of Scottish descent, six foot two and athletic, a man who never shirked his duty or sought attention. This is especially remarkable considering his youth; according to his great-grandson, he was one of the youngest, if not the youngest, generals in the war, and he remained in his position until everyone else was sent home. He was made a major general at the close of his duty.

An only son, the youngest in a family of five sisters, with a military father who passed away from yellow fever in service to the Crown, John Paterson was not hard at all for me to bring to life. After reading his great-grandson’s stories and the military communications begging for relief for the men in his charge, I was greatly impressed. Like Deborah, I adored him. Many of the scenes and events in the book are entirely fictional, but his dedication was not. It was also evident, from the archives that remain, that he was often sent in to handle disputes and calm storms, and his reputation was stellar.

His relationship and fondness for Agrippa Hull, a celebrated African American soldier of the Revolution, was noted in the records I found as well. He was well-known and well-loved in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. The story about him donning Colonel Kosciuszko’s dress uniform and painting his lower legs and feet is factual. He was a vibrant and compelling character both in this story and in real life.

According to his great-grandson, John Paterson kept detailed records, and as a general, a lawyer, a judge, and a reluctant one-term congressman, that is not surprising. However, not long after Paterson died, all his personal records and correspondence were lost in a fire.

I took liberties with the ages and relationships of my characters: John Paterson’s wife, Elizabeth Lee Paterson, did not die during the war, and though it seems she met Deborah at some point, she and Deborah did not have the relationship I gave them in the book. Elizabeth Paterson outlived John Paterson and Deborah Sampson by decades and was a fascinating and stalwart woman. John and Elizabeth had five children, including one who died in childbirth and another, Polly, whom I name in this book, who suffered with ill health and died at seventeen. John Paterson has a small monument in Lenox, Massachusetts, and the home he built there was still standing when his great-grandson compiled his record.