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          A gale of ice and sleet assaulted a figure preoccupied with bustling into the Black Powder Tavern, a quaint hostelry situated near the battered encampment of the Continental Army which was strategically located along the Schuylkill River. Having trudged through expansive white mounds besieging Valley Forge, the heavily cloaked man stationed himself at the entrance of the rustic chalet to affix his rustled wig and knock sludge off ornate yet worn gaiters. With ribbon overflowing at his throat, the stately gentleman stepped into the lodge.

          A navy frock coat speckled with snow wilted as the guest bent his head to enter beneath a low hanging stoop. Ice clung to his lithe figure, causing both cheeks and nose to glow a brilliant red sheen which alit the scattering of freckles over his pallid complexion. Clicking leather soles together, liquid crystals shivered off as he preened himself of his thick outer coating like a bird. Unweaving a wet, chamois scarf from his shoulders, the Marquis peered into the dour hovel while hanging the damp fabric to dry upon the mantle. 

          Mead and the stench of cabbage and stewed ham perforated the hazy air singed with the acrid spoor of tobacco. Nothing alike the grand sloping parlors of his beloved Auvergne Lafayette noted as he stole past drunkards, rambunctious tradesmen and fur trappers busy gambling near a crackling hearth. Batting a waft of smoke away from his nostrils, Gilbert squinted in the gloom and spotted a familiar pair settled in the rear section of the disreputable locale who were pouring over parchments and bundled pamphlets.

          A raven quill pen momentarily stopped scratching coordinates with dripping indigo powdered ink upon the off chance the man looked up from intense scribbling to recognize his estranged companion.

          “Gilbert!” Nathaniel Hale cried out merrily, “What a surprise! Come, come my friend and join us.” He rose in green muslin to great the nobleman who instead waved off the formalities and gripped him in a warm embrace.

          “Mon Dieu, c'est tellement froid!” Pulling away to take in the entirety of his friend, Nathan quickly realized the Frenchman suffered a blight from the woodlands of Virginia bedecked by December.

          “Why, you are covered with Heaven’s powder! Hopefully the angels’ dust has not seeped into your bones. You’re much too young to have them already creaking.” He patted off the slush dripping from the epaulettes of the foreign major general’s winter uniform just as a second figure approached. The newcomer’s meek and genteel nature instantly brightened the abode as he murmured out a soft Polish greeting.

          “Thaddeus, vat joy - you ‘re ‘ere as well!” Lafayette’s thin lips broke into an illuminating smile while high cheekbones bloomed rosily as he felt the considerate officer drape a shawl about himself and carefully tuck the fabric in place to soothe his cold form. And as gently as he arrived, Kosciuszko lapsed back to the table to finish calculations whilst the duo conversed.

          Gripping the embroidered cotton still warm from Kosciuszko’s radiated heat, the officer sniffled and appreciatively acknowledged their concern,

          “Merci beaucoup. Ze weather und I do not overly agree or zo it appears. Hon, hon, hon, I fear Lady Virginie desires to test me until I prove my devotion to zis glorious land. Providence ‘as lead me to ‘er arms und if she zo requires et, I shall willingly shed my blood in ‘er noble cause for liberté. In ze very least, perhaps I vill freeze to death before she recognizes my worth.”

          “Hah, do not abandon hope! I know your idealistic heart is far more optimistic than to cower before a measly seasonal storm. One such as you ought to take part of our assortment and warm yourself by the fireside before that courageous blood truly does freeze. We can’t have that. No, where would that leave the Patriot’s cause then?” Nathaniel jested while meandering his attention back to an assortment of pastries and refreshments lining decorative plates.

          His knuckles hardened into fists. The white bone emerged at the shaking tension in his appendages for the man recognized the severe duality piercing his consciousness. What right had he, a mere courier for General Washington, despite the fact that he was indeed transporting secret intelligence discreetly across the Southern colonies, to be so heartily supplied while momentarily passing through this hellish scene? Here they were gathered together under lavish surroundings while the plight of his fellows raged on only miles from the lodgings from which they were taking comfort.

          “You are welcome to our share. Tis much heartier than the pepper pot tripe broth back at the campsite. I ache knowing that the men’s diet has resorted to nothing but firecakes.” Swallowing the bile of self-disgust, Nathaniel’s lips curled up into a scowl, “Dysentery and pneumonia plague that skeleton of an army as well. They are in a starving condition, out of health and spirits.”

          “I fear the desperate lack of supplies may force these brave men to mutiny,” Thaddeus keenly observed, his mouth down turning at the knowledge issuing from a recent report he had received that bore depressing statistics. An astonishing number deserted midmonth and the garrison contemplated that many more would follow if the camp was not resupplied within a fortnight. Further complicating matters were the vacant wage notes the troops were still awaiting from Congress. With each passing day it became painfully apparent that the makeshift new government was incapable of filling the soldiers’ coffers. Sighing, the Polish officer absentmindedly tapped a finger against the ridge of his cup,

          “I cannot blame them. If I myself were not used to the horrors of winter, I too vould lose my sanity.”

          “I ire over the frustration zat His Excellency must be enduring!” Lafayette practically wailed as he passionately bit into a roll. With a full morsel hastily swallowed, the noble lieutenant-general and Washington’s personal aide-de-camp bristled, “His pleas have gone unheard.”

          “Or ignored.” Nathan mused, “I agree Marquis, the Commander’s requests of Congress for relief and supplies continue to fall on deaf ears.”

          “Thankfully, the hawkish Prussian drill master has arrived.” Thaddeus ventured towards idealism, “General Greene, his advisors and I have noted the battalion’s marked enhancement. Baron von Steuben has greatly improved the men's discipline and morale in the short span he has graced our presence. Perhaps cheer shall soon return?”

          “I doubt that!” Nathaniel quipped, slapping his thigh at the audacious verdict, “Ha hah, he works them to the bone! Even now, the pages of his regulatory Blue Book are flying as quickly as the German orders he haughtily issues. He cannot speak a lick of English and the poor companies can hardly comprehend his broken French nor keep up with his incessant demands.” The spy grinned while mimicking the Quartermaster,

          “Line up, about face, keep those filthy and bloodied foot rags clean!” Ever the optimist, Lafayette reflected on his prior training in the Noailles Dragoons at the Académie de Versailles and pointed out,

          “Be zat as it may, at least zome progress is being made, no?” Kosciuszko nodded,

          “Yes zat tis right Marquis. I for one am grateful that America now has an experienced military tactician trained in the arts of defilade positioning and infantry formation. And a Prussian no less! Such luck. Europe can no longer laugh at our endeavor as though it were beyond hope.”

          Seeing the zeal in their eyes softened Nathaniel’s concerns. After all, he had received word from the underground spy ring he was connected to that Cornwallis was on the move away from Philadelphia. Perhaps festering disease would prevent their opponents from fortifying themselves within the city much longer. Or maybe the rumors were true about that sly, old Swamp Fox. If the reports were credible, his brigade was actively deterring attention away from the Continental Army only to refocus the wrath of England upon the evasive guerilla fighters willingly drawing the lobster backs into Carolinian woodlands and marshes for those sorry blighters to bleakly fight shadows.

          Bowing his head momentarily, Hale’s lips wordlessly formed angelic vespers before his voice announced what they all were desiring,

          “I dearly pray to Divine Will that He strengthens their perseverance so that we may yet overcome the British. Ah well, we must sit and wait for winter to thaw. In the meantime, it looks like you are in great need of defrosting as well Gilbert. Here, warm yourself up with a swig of this.”

          He handed Lafayette a piece of chinaware half filled with a dark liquid which boasted a peculiar bubbly consistency. Raising it to his lips, Gilbert dubiously sent the American dish a wary eye despite his usually enthusiastic attempts to sample all forms of Colonial fare in order to compare and observe the differences between New World delicacies and the impressive cuisine of the Bourbon court.

          “Vat iz dis?”

          “For one thing, it’s not laced with poison Marquis,” Nathan joked and prodded him along to take a sip from Chantilly porcelain, “It’s called cocoa. The beans are imported from the West Indies and converted into a powder for drinking. They can also be formed into slim strips – or rather, bar chocolate.”

          “Naturellement, I ‘ave ‘eard of entire rooms dedicated to le chocolat.” Russet eyebrows arched as the Frenchman recalled the elaborate salons of Paris he frequented prior to arriving on Atlantic shores. Placing a hand to his chest in a flourished motion, he humbly bowed, “Even though I am of nobility, such luxuries vere pas pour moi. Still, je suis surpris. Why have I not heard of zis sipping cocoa before?”

          “I suppose it’s still relatively new, though it’s becoming more popular here in the Colonies. I remember the days when a single cup fetched quite a hefty sum! But some clever man, Hans Sloane, I believe, tried their hand at fate. What was once the guarded privilege of European royals became accessible to us common folk – you’ve got to admire ingenuity.” Scratching his chin, Nathan resumed the familiar role of teacher, thankful he had paid attention to the explanation he had received from a pretty hostess when he had tried hot chocolate for the first time many seasons ago,

          “From what I heard, he traveled all the way to Jamaica and brought back this interesting powder, Xocoatl, from South America. Apparently the natives used to grind cocoa seeds, cornmeal, vanilla and chili peppers into the brew as well. Hah, can you believe the look on old Cortés’ face when he first tried it?” The others politely smiled towards him and offered meager laughs of courtesy but the long-deceased Spanish diplomat’s New World ventures were lost to them. Sensing that his humor was not reciprocated, Nathaniel cleared his throat and continued,

          “Ahem, my apologies. The conquistador’s imagined reaction is not what is important. In short, the genius mixed milk with the ancient Mayan’s liquid gold and discovered that the heated substance becomes a delightful drink. Hurry before it grows cold.”

          Ever daring, Gilbert lifted the ceramic to chapping lips and inhaled both the scent, sweet-tasting flavor and velvety texture.

          “Mon Deur, what a divine concoction! Truly Nathaniel zis es marvelous. I cannot fathom how I ‘ave not tried a beverage akin to zis until dis very moment. Tadeusz, ‘ave you dis in Poland?” Staying concentrated on his survey of military engineering projects and geographical maps, the indicated man answered in a kindly baritone weighted by a thick accent,

          “Ve have czekoladka , yes. But I have not tried Nathaniel’s drink for I have my own here.” The Polish-Lithuanian colonel lifted his tiny saucer of coffee then set it back onto an indigo Doulton tea plate. Lafayette stooped over the tavern table and exclaimed after taking a sniff,

          “Ack! Not zat brew again! Coffee is not zo gut for you – you drink too much of et as et iz!”

          “Tis better than having my fill of wine or beer.” Hazel eyes twinkled momentarily upwards from cartographical sheets in a knowing smile shared between himself and his table companion – both of whom knew how fond the French aristocrat was of madeira, a taste in wine also shared by his esteemed excellency, General George Washington himself.

          “Besides Marquis, coffee and jelly pączki are my solace for these cold and trying times.” To make his point, the Slavic noble took a thin platter of powdered dough oozing with raspberry and fig preserves and offered them to the starved individual who gratefully savored the sweets. White sugared crumbs lingered on the corners of the otherwise dignified aristocrat’s mouth as he continued professing the wonders of the new beverage he so enjoyed.

          “Tout à fait , dez times are zo trying, you must try zis!” Lafayette implored however Kosciuszko waved him off, opting to progress on solidifying fortification strategies for the Fighting Quaker and respected Quartermaster General.

          “Maybe another time. General Nathanael Greene expects these parchments to be delivered promptly to our encampment regiment stationed at White Marsh. I must perfect them before dusk.”

          Not to be deterred, Gilbert spied the Pole’s unguarded saucer and dastardly poured the steaming melted chocolate into the remainder of the cool and bitter draught.

          The engineer’s face fell in dismay. His coffee was ruined or so he thought. After much entreating from the Frenchman’s dramatically clasped hands, Nathan decided to intervene. Reclining from his booth, the gallant man gestured alongside providing a healthy portion of jovial encouragement,

          “Now, now Gilbert, if he doesn’t want to try the drink do not pressure him so. But to be honest, there exists very credible rationale for you to do so Thaddeus.”

          “And vat might that be good sir?” The man grumpily pouted, folding his arms further away from the whimsical vision of an overly excited and firmly bundled Lafayette dripping in frills, scarves and accidental drops of caffeine precariously threatening to mar the cartographer’s pristine work.

          Nathaniel Hale, charming former school master and undercover spy, utilized his charismatic disposition to the fullest in order to placate the disgruntled Pollack whose nerves and patience were all but saved by Mercy.

          “Logic being that if you already favor chocolate as well as that God-unknown preference for those pressed and soaked beans, together they should blend and create something splendid.”

          “Very much like wine und cheese, no?” Lafayette chortled as his teeth chattered. The poor man was still chilled from the stormy onslaught. He stamped his feet by the nearby fireplace and pulled the gifted shawl further around his neck before returning to hear Kosciusko counter,

          “A combination I’d praise vould be Polski Kielbasa sausage and pierogis, though I’m partial to a slice of Rouen’s Havarti.” Thaddeus proudly lauded his homeland’s famed dish and even complimented one of France’s best cheese varieties yet shook his head, “Still, I am unsure if chocolate and coffee are a match comparable to the meetings of French and Polish selections. But now you’ve peaked my curiosity Nathaniel.”

          “That’s a start. After all, why not? I do not think it would harm you any.”

          “Cur non, mon ami, cur non!” Gilbert chanted, patting Kosciuszko on the back before pressing the cup into his friend’s palm to lead it towards Thaddeus’s gritted jaw. Unable to refuse any longer, the man inhaled, breathed a prayer, and then pensively took a first sip.

          Bashfully, he looked up with a flowering expression,

          “Admittedly, you were both correct. I-Its good.”

          “Really?” Nathan asked, his eyes aglow at their childish reactions. The shy officer earnestly nodded in response.

          “Didn’t I tell you Kosciuszko?” Lafayette chimed while swiping Nathaniel’s mug from his surprised hands. He eagerly clinked it to the Pole’s in a form of cheers which almost made the ceramic tumble out of the engineer’s fingers as the Frenchman guzzled the remainder in his cup amid Hale’s peeling laughter that carried throughout the cramped tavern.

          The others joined in his merriment and bid one another a round of “Joyeux Noël!”, “Wesołych Świąt” and other hailing’s of Merry Christmas. Resounding sounds of friendship, brotherhood and joy whisked from the Black Powder Tavern and into the frosted, downy snow falling onto the gathering below full of mirth and the bittersweet aroma of chocolate infused caffeine.

Translations:

French - “Mon Dieu, c'est tellement froid!” - "My God, it's terribly cold!"

French - "...vere pas pour moi. Still, je suis surpris." - "...were not for me. Still, I am surprised."

Polish - "czekoladka" - "chocolate"

French - "Tout à fait" – “absolutely”

Polish - "jelly pączki" - jelly doughnuts

French - “Cur non, mon ami, cur non!” - "Why not, my friend, why not!"