The Glorious Cause (39 page)

“Doctor, I must assume that you represent the views of your congress, and carry considerable weight there.”

“I would not say that, sir.”

“Ah, of course. Nonetheless, Doctor, I will speak as though you do. The ministry is prepared to withdraw the demands placed upon the colonies by the various acts put into place since 1763. Since these acts were so odious to you, and seemed to produce such hostility to the crown, the king himself is willing to concede that they were enacted in error.”

Franklin could not hold back, said, “Why did you not consider this to be an option
three years ago
?”

Wentworth seemed surprised by the question.

“I don’t actually know, Doctor. Certainly could have saved us all a bit of trouble, yes?”

“A
bit
, yes. What of independence, sir? You have not mentioned the very heart of the matter.”

“Ah, Doctor, because it is not the heart of the matter. It simply cannot be. What King George is proposing is to put aside every issue that produced this conflict in the first place, to admit the errors of his government. There will no longer be any
need
for independence. All our differences will be settled!”

“That might not be acceptable to the congress.”

“Ah, yes, I see. Just as you three here, your congress is composed of men who have a sensitivity to their place in the empire. A trivial matter, Doctor. The king would surely grant as many titles as required. Your congress could create its own House of Lords, modeled on the very foundations of our own. How very perfect. Marvelous. The king should enjoy the notion.”

Franklin was growing weary of the game, said, “I have made no such offer. I’m not certain that independence can be swept away with such a casual gesture.”

“Doctor, there is nothing casual in the power of His Majesty’s soldiers. I assure you, King George is willing to wage war on your soil for ten years to achieve his aims.”

“Mr. Wentworth, the American people are willing to fight for fifty years to see that he does not.” He had endured all he could of Wentworth’s smugness, leaned forward in his chair, thought, It is time for the second act of this play. He conjured up the anger in his mind, let the words fill the cauldron, then slowly allowed it to spill out. He began with a low growl.

“How dare you, sir! You come into my home and insult me and my country with solicitous bribes? You suggest that under your control, we can become an empire to rule the world, and yet, I have seen Ireland, I have seen what your domination has produced! You do not cooperate, you do not create a marketplace. You take, you plunder, you strip the land of those goods which suit you. You return only misery and oppression!”

Wentworth was sitting back in the chair, shocked into silence by the outburst. Franklin felt the churning inside of his mind still, leaned toward Wentworth, said, “You dare to mention your king’s soldiers! They have burned our towns, killed and tortured our citizens, laid siege to our fine cities! And, as if your own soldiers are not capable of inflicting sufficient horrors, your king employs foreign barbarians to further his revenge on the innocent, those who only wish to live in freedom from the outrage of your king’s absurd policies, which change with the wind, to suit whatever madness he may this day enjoy!”

“Doctor, your anger is most unseemly. I bid you, do not allow your passions to undo our good work. I did not intend to offer you fuel for your anger. If I have given you personal offense . . .”

“It is not personal, sir. It is
national
! It is the
outrage
of my country pouring forth, the
disgust
at your notions of how we must serve the whims of your monarch, and the corrupt policies of your ministry! Your country is an ailing patient, sir, rife with disease and infection. My country is young in spirit and body, and seeks alliances with those whose sight is toward the future. We have no interest in holding tightly to the sickness of the past!”

He realized he was shouting, had worked himself into a frenzy of raw anger. He stopped, felt his heart tearing through his chest, his hands shaking. Wentworth was staring dumbly, his mouth open, and Franklin sat back in the chair, let his breathing flow out. He felt the control returning, sat silently for a moment, then reached for his watch, thought, Nearly two hours. Sufficient time, certainly, to impress any French observer. He looked at Wentworth, who seemed completely lost. Franklin was calm, the job complete. The polite smile returned, and he said, “Mr. Deane should be arriving shortly. Since the hour is growing late, and my cook here does admirable work, I would be delighted if you would stay for supper.”

J
ANUARY 7, 1778

Franklin could never be sure if Vergennes’ spies had made their report, but a message from the French Foreign Ministry was too sudden to be coincidence. The word came less than one day after Franklin’s meeting with Wentworth, carried by the hand of Gerard himself, signed by Vergennes. If the American envoys would agree to negotiate no further with anyone representing the English government, the creation of the necessary paper would begin immediately. Gerard was discreet, would say only that there had been a change of heart in the French court. For reasons unexplained, King Louis XVI had been persuaded that France would make official its own alliance with the Americans.

29. WASHINGTON

J
ANUARY 1778
—V
ALLEY
F
ORGE

The man was huge, a scowling hulk, rode at the head of a long column of troops who were as ragged as their commander. They passed through the outposts to unexpected cheers, moved through the frozen earthworks as huddled soldiers rose to greet them. They pushed their way up the long snowy hill to the plateau, each man amazed at the sight of this strange new town, built by the hands of Washington’s army. The cabins were waiting, the grim vacancies created by so many who were sick or simply gone. As they spread into their new homes, their fresh fires added new clouds of smoke to the vast sea of black air that drifted over Valley Forge. They did not complain of the choking misery of the cabins, the hard cold ground kept away by the thin layers of worn blankets. Instead, they were grateful for the shelter, the long miserable march from Saratoga now complete. It was a homecoming of sorts, this hearty regiment of Virginians, led by the crude and powerful man who inspired as much good humor in the army as the passion for a good fight. With word of the return of these lean and victorious riflemen, the stories began to flow, the pride of accomplishment, these men who had done so much to destroy Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne. As their revelry began, their leader continued on to headquarters. Daniel Morgan had returned to Washington’s command.

The reception had been boisterous, a dinner in the mess cabin that was as lavish as any they could assemble. The senior officers had all come, and Washington could see that the towering Virginian had lost none of his flair for dramatics. He enjoyed the tales of Morgan’s long march, knew some were more tall than others. Throughout the long evening, the huge man’s antics gave the entire command a blessed distraction from the difficulties in the camp, and Washington knew tomorrow he would hear of the antics of Morgan’s men, a certain distraction for the rest of the army as well. Nearly three years earlier, Morgan had been the first Virginian to march soldiers to Boston, his sharpshooting riflemen the first company of southern troops to join New England’s effort against the British. They had been a rowdy and undisciplined lot, had tormented Washington with their drunken brawls. But their reputation for astounding marksmanship, and the hard line with which they faced the enemy excused their behavior. When Burgoyne’s march toward Ticonderoga seemed a desperate crisis, congress had found comfort in sending Horatio Gates. Washington had felt more comfort in sending Daniel Morgan.

It was very late, and he had sent most of his staff to their quarters. One by one, the senior officers had offered their compliments, some finding difficulty in the climb to their saddles, struggling through an alcoholic haze. With the party nearly over, he had invited Morgan to the main house. He waited for a final good-bye, Morgan shouting something crude out the door, horses moving away, and Washington moved out of the hall, into his office. Greene followed, and Morgan was quickly there, his laughter subdued now by the change in location. The light was soft, the fire low in the hearth, and Morgan seemed to understand that the house was quiet, that the time for festivities had passed.

Washington pointed to a stout wooden chair, and Morgan dropped down, leaned the chair back, a precarious perch, and Greene laughed, said, “I must say, Daniel, you do take a toll on the furniture.”

Greene sat as well, and Morgan produced a bottle from his belt, held it up to the firelight, frowned at the emptiness, said, “Furniture is meant to be used, Nat. Like this brew. We’ve used a good bit of this tonight.” He set the bottle on the small table beside him, said to Washington, “You have some men of great capacity in your command, George. Haven’t known too many generals to survive for long with such an appetite for spirits. That quality is best reserved for the foot soldier.”

Washington smiled at the informality, Morgan’s trademark, the man’s words slurred more by his lack of teeth than any injury from the alcohol.

“We do not often imbibe to this degree, Daniel. It is not . . . encouraged. However, this was a special occasion. With all you have heard this evening, I would add my own salute. Welcome back.”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, George. That fat little sparrow not to my taste as a commander.”

Greene seemed to light up at the description, smiled broadly, said, “We do exercise some caution here, Daniel. We’re too close to his friends in congress to offer such frank commentary on General Gates. He is, after all, the hero of Saratoga.”

Morgan sniffed, frowned again, and Washington could see that Morgan did not find the comment amusing. Washington said, “I should like to hear your account of those days, Daniel. Most of congress, and from what I hear, much of the nation feels Mr. Gates is our best hope for victory.”

Morgan stood up suddenly, the chair rattling behind him, tumbling to one side.

“Your damned congress knows as much about fighting . . . by God! The hero of Saratoga? Well, of course, it was simple to predict how his reputation would come bursting out of that place. He’s down there in York right now, no doubt filling them with all his grand exploits.
Sparrow
was too kind, George. The man is a . . . vulture. Lives off the efforts of everyone else. Keeps himself out of danger, while his men do the work. That little turnip wouldn’t know a line of battle if it trampled him under its boots!”

Morgan was stalking around the room now like some great cat, his thick arms moving as he spoke.

“Hero? The heroes of that fight were Benedict Arnold, and Enoch Poor, and old Ebenezer Learned. My riflemen played some smart role as well. I had to
seek out
General Gates to get my orders to advance. He was back in his headquarters having a card game with some British officer. He would rather have spent that day reminiscing with a prisoner than leading his men into battle. And, damned if he didn’t come prancing out in the field just as we had the enemy in full rout! Then he began to spout all this talk . . . glorious victory!
His
glorious victory! There was some in my group had to hold tight to their muskets, or they mighta drawed a bead on that fat little partridge!”

His fury had exhausted him, and he moved back to the chair, set it upright with a sharp clatter, sat again.

“Hero of Saratoga! I’d plant my boot right where that hero does his best work!”

Washington was stunned, saw Greene staring openmouthed, a smile now spreading across Greene’s face, and he said, “Well, now General Washington, what do you think about that? Am I mistaken, or was that a right smart bit of fresh breeze that blew through this place?”

Morgan sat with his arms crossed on his chest, still mumbling to himself. Washington didn’t know how to respond, focused on Greene’s obvious pleasure.

“It is not a habit we should encourage. However, I am grateful for your candor, Daniel. I was aware that Mr. Gates had a desire to elevate his station. I was not aware that he would be so clumsy about it. It is not for me to make light of this, nor to contradict his version of events at Saratoga. He was in command. He does have the privilege of claiming the victory. But you are correct. He is in York right now, assuming his new duties on the Board of War. I suppose we should be grateful that his new position has removed him from the battle.”

“Board of War?” Morgan unfolded his arms, leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “What in blazes is that?”

Greene said, “You have been too far away, Daniel. Congress has decided that they had best administrate this war from behind. General Washington is still in command in the field. But the Board of War will determine what that command shall be.”

Morgan sat back in the chair, seemed dazed.

“From behind? Then General Gates is in the right place.”

Washington looked toward the door, saw movement, Tilghman peering in.

“Sir, can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, no, Colonel. We will be retiring soon. You may as well.”

Morgan watched the man move away, said in a low voice, “Should we be concerned about spies, George? With all the talk about intrigue . . .”

“Mr. Tilghman is most loyal, I assure you. I have no fears about the men in this command. We have had our difficulties, certainly, some of those who have shown themselves to be more concerned with their place in history than in the good of this army.”

Greene said, “The intrigue is not in this camp, Daniel. It’s in York. There is considerable effort being made to sway the congress to replace the general with someone of a more heroic quality.”

Morgan shook his head.

“You mean Gates. How far is York? Twenty miles? Twenty-five?”

Greene nodded.

“Maybe I should pay a visit to this Board of War. Kick in a door or two. I’ll show them some heroics.”

Washington looked at Morgan closely, thought, He cannot truly be serious.

“Daniel, there is no time for issuing threats to those who oppose this command. If you are correct about Mr. Gates, the truth will prevail, the man himself will determine his place in this war. We can only do what is required of us at the moment, and our situation in this camp is most difficult. I would hope you would confine your efforts to the welfare of your men. The Board of War is my concern, and they have not yet intruded into the business of this army. If we are fortunate, they will confine their lofty opinions to the meeting rooms in York.”

He stared at the letter with a feeling of cold sickness.

“Mr. Tilghman?”

“Sir?”

“Summon Mr. Lafayette.”

He sat back in the chair, stared at the window, could see the row of cabins across the open ground, the housing for his guards. The ground was cut by deep trails, winding through the hard mounds of snowdrifts, dirty snow flattened by the boots of his men. The mood of the camp had been brightened by several days of sunshine, an icy blue sky that caused snow blindness for many of the lookouts, the men whose reddened eyes still suffered from the smoke of their cabins. But the blue sky was gone now, swept away by a blanket of dull gray. He stared above the hill behind the guard cabins, thought, There will be snow again, certainly. He would not focus anymore on the letter still in his hand, the official dispatch from the Board of War, had read it too many times already. He heard sounds now, saw Lafayette in the doorway. The young man said, “You require my presence, sir?”

Washington pointed to a chair, and Lafayette sat quickly.

“You have received orders.”

He handed Lafayette the paper, who read slowly then looked at Washington, questioning, the young man’s usual smile replaced by uncertainty.

“What is this, sir? I am to go to . . .”

“Canada. The Board of War has been busy. They seem to believe that an attack against Governor Carleton’s outposts will bring the Canadian people to our side. They are assuming that a Frenchman in command of the force would inspire the French Canadians to join your effort.”

Lafayette scanned the paper again.

“Did you know of this, sir?”

“Read the last bit, the bottom of the page.”

The Board will be happy on this, as well as every other occasion, to receive your opinion and advice.

“They did not consult me, and despite their graciousness, I am confident that my opinion would likely be ignored. I am pleased on one account, however. If this mission is to succeed, I know of no other officer who I would rather see in your stead.”

Lafayette seemed unconvinced, said, “This states that General Conway is to be my second. Am I to be grateful for that?”

“There is more to that than you are reading, Mr. Lafayette. Mr. Conway has no doubt campaigned for this mission, for the purpose of keeping an eye on you. I caution you to expect some pressure from the Board themselves, and from Mr. Gates in particular. You would be a formidable ally to their efforts at removing me from command. They will test you, I am quite certain.”

“This is madness, sir! A mission to Canada, while it is still winter? I am to . . .
journey to Albany, and assume command of the forces
waiting me there. What forces? How could this mission be arranged and communicated to such a distance without you knowing of it?”

Washington shrugged.

“These are questions that can only be answered when your mission has commenced. Take good care, Mr. Lafayette. If you are successful, then all of America will salute your conquest of Canada. If you are not . . . then you will return to me. Either way, this nation has the advantage.”

F
EBRUARY 12, 1778

The guards were becoming accustomed to visitors, carriages heavy with well-dressed men, mostly from congress. Many were responding to Washington’s complaints with a skeptical eye, would visit Valley Forge to see for themselves why the commanding general had become so annoyingly insistent with his tirades against their presumed neglect. The guards barely noticed them now, a cursory glance, even the officers waving the visitors casually through the outpost. With the visitors past, the guards would make their crude jokes, inspired not by humor, but by bitterness. A congressman would expect a reception, a formal dinner at least, and by now even the foot soldiers knew that Washington was doing all he could to conserve the precious food around headquarters. He must surely dread these visits from the aristocratic prigs in York, who seemed to regard these outings as some winter holiday, a vacation at the expense of the army that protected them.