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This is an absolutely breathtakingly wonderful book: From Sea to Shining Sea by James Alexander Thom. It's about the Clark family of Virginia, whose members "fought for our independence, and explored, conquered, and settled the continent from sea to shining sea." It's historical fiction of the best kind: carefully researched and vividly real. The passage I'm about to quote, "for education and discussion purposes only," concerns possible primary smallpox vaccination that may have been done in Valley Forge. I remember seeing a discussion about whether or not this actually took place, but alas, it is not in this book and I don't remember where else it could have been. Thom was a Marine, by the way, before he wrote historical novels.

VALLEY FORGE, PENNSYLVANIA
February, 1778

"Why are you shakin', soldier? Cold or afraid?"
"Cold, sir."
"Not afraid, eh? That's good," Jonathan Clark said.
The soldier didn't answer. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes was pure terror. He looked as if he might faint. So did half the other men in this company.
Oh, they were cold, too. They were standing in ranks in an inch of snow, and a third of them were barefooted. Some had no coats, others no hats.
But they had been cold all winter. Now they were afraid. So it was time for Jonathan's lecture. He had given it to about half the companies so far.
"Now, hear me," he began. "I know how ye feel. You'd be shaking in your boots, if y' had any boots to shake in."
That brought a chuckle from some of them, and it brought their attention a little way around toward him. They looked at this tall, broad-shouldered young officer with the dark but cheerful eyes, the pock-marked but handsome face, and his warm voice and good humor were somehow reassuring, as they faced this unthinkably dreadful thing that was about to be done to them. He had obviously had the dread pocks, but was a hale man withal. Now he went on.
"I'm Jonathan Clark, Major, 8th Virginia, and I give ye my word: You'd have more cause for fear if we were not doing this.
"As you've heard, there's small pocks in camp. We've done all we can to keep it isolated, but this malady has a way of getting about, wherever there are many souls crowded together.
"You've probably heard it said already--I'm sure y'have, as rumor gets around an army camp about five times as swift as orders do." Again, an appreciative chuckle. "You've likely heard already that what we're doing in this hospital," --he pointed toward the hovel in front of them which went by the name of hospital--"is that we're deliberately infecting men with the pocks.
"Well, if that was all of the truth, I'd not blame ye for shakin' in those boots y' don't have. But let me tell you what a miracle it is that the good Doctor O'Fallon is doing in there." They were listening well to him, doing their best to believe, though it was against their instincts to believe such a thing.
"I have already had the pocks, as you can see. I came down with it in an epidemic after the seige o' Charles Town. Because I've had it, I have no fear of it anymore. I can go amid an epidemic of it without fear. Know why? Because a man can get the pocks but once--I mean, this picks. The other kind we don't much need to worry about here, as there's not been a harlot in sight all winter." They laughed now. "It might be," he said, "that the British in Philadelphia are getting all that. See howlucky we are?" They were having a good time now, laughing at these thoughts.
"I can work with the good doctor," Jonathan said. "I can touch infected men and have no fear. D'ye wonder why it is that a man has the small pocks but once?" He had them curious now. Their fear was in suspension. He knew that fear grows in unknowing, and he was giving them knowledge. "Blood," he went on, "has a property. I'm no doctor, so I can't put it in a doctor's language, but blood has a property that fights disease. I reckon it's like what happens when the Redcoats come to Lexington or such a place: all the patriots run to Lexington to drive 'em back. Well, that property in your blood is like a patriotism in your body: it's to stop the invasion of a foreign evil, if y' follow me." Some were nodding, others listening with mouths hanging open.
"What we're doing is like that. Well, we invade your arm with a speck o' pus from a poxed man. That pus is the foreign evil like the Redcoats I spoke of. Just a light scratch on your skin and a spot o' pus put on it. What happens then is that the patriotic property of your blood rushes to that place, and it stops the invasion right there. And in so doing, your blood learns how to fight that particular evil. So, Instead of bein' generally invaded, like I was, you'll have but th' one spot of disease, one scar, there on your arm. And ever after, you'll be able to wak through an epidemic of the pocks without any fear of it. The rest of your natural life! Think what a gift o'God that is!"
They were seeming to believe him; their faces were beginning to show some hope where they had only shown fear. He concluded:
"General Washington, ye know it, is a man cares about his people. He doesn't want an epidemic here at Valley Forge. And I'll tell it true, he's the first general ever knew enough to do this for his army.
"Now I've seen you walk into the face of bayonets and grapeshot when he needed y' to do it. So I reckon ye won't be afraid to walk in there and face a doctor who's like to save your life. Now s'pose I tell one more truth: that no man or woman ever died--nay, nor even sickened--from this little pinprick you're about to take. It's true! My word on it. And General Washington's. And if that isn't enough, maybe y'll take the word o'God on it...."
(snip)
"Ready, Major Clark?"
"Ready, Dr. O'Fallon. Another set o' men getting their souls fortified right now." They could hear Reverend Davy Jones's voice droning in prayer outside.
"I think it's your talk fortifies 'em most," the physician said. "I'm not so certain mere prayers alone would prepare 'em."
"Mere prayers!" Jonathan mocked him. "In faith, Bones, one might guess you're an Unbeliever!" He rolled back his sleeves, picked up a lance and a cup, and pulled back a linen curtain that hung from poles in a corner of the hut. "Now Corporal," he said to a young man lying inside on a cot, "are y' ready to give for this worthy cause?" He drew down a sheet to expose the man's chest and shoulders, which were covered with white-topped pustules of the readiest kind. The donor looked askance through his swollen eyelids at the lance in Jonathan's hand, coughed violently, then sighed, and turned his face toward the wall.
"Aye," he said in a weak voice, "help yourself, Doctor."
Well, well, Jonathan thought, stooping close over the young soldier to cut the head off a pustule and press its matter out with the edge of the cup, wouldn't Ma be tickled to know she's now got a "doctor" amongst her sons?