The Glorious Cause (57 page)

“Ah, yes. What do you think? Consider this my parting gift to your command. This should solidify the entire colony to your service. You may, of course, use this as a model for North Carolina, when the time arrives. There is another document . . . ah yes, the troop dispositions. I feel justified in returning to New York with a significant portion of the troops here. Whether or not the French arrive, I am certain Mr. Washington is expecting us to mount a considerable campaign against his army. We shall not disappoint him.”

Cornwallis felt his mouth hanging open, measured his words.

“Sir. You are
reducing
our troop strength here?” He looked at the paper, counted the regiments, examined the different commands. “You will leave me with approximately . . .”

“Five thousand men. Sizable force. Should be quite sufficient for your needs. I expect you to make considerable use of the loyalist militia. Once this new decree is spread across the colony, you will receive a considerable number of new recruits, mark my words.”

Cornwallis backed away from Clinton’s desk, turned to one side, could not look at the man. Rawdon was behind him, said, “General, may I get you something?”

He shook his head, tried to pull himself upright, felt no strength, his legs softening rubber. He said, “Excuse me, sir. I require some air. The long ride, no doubt.”

Clinton seemed unconcerned, said, “Out you go, then. Perk up a bit, then I will discuss with you my plan for the conquest of Virginia. Magnificent, I must say. Two-pronged attack. We may force George Washington to sign his surrender papers on the front porch of his estate!”

Cornwallis did not respond, moved out into the hall, Rawdon close beside him.

“Sir, are you certain you are all right?”

“Outside, Colonel.”

He moved toward the door, a guard pulling it open, and the sunlight blinded him. He eased his way toward the short steps, saw chairs along the porch, guards down in the yard, Negroes tending the horses. He stopped, moved along the wide porch, close to one chair. He put his hand on the woven cane of the arm, sat slowly. The sun was still in his face, the heat filling him, and he waited for Rawdon to sit, then said, “What is it about command? When a man is promoted, is afforded such responsibility, such authority . . . is it so necessary that his mind stop functioning?”

“Forgive me, sir. I don’t know what you mean.”

“I have endured much in this army, Colonel. But no matter the training, no matter the experience, nothing has ever prepared me for an assault of such astounding stupidity.”

Rawdon smiled, and Cornwallis glared at him, the smile vanishing.

“He will leave us with five thousand men. He believes the loyalists will flock to our banner. He will return to New York to commence a new campaign aimed at the strength of Washington’s army, the precise strategy he once believed would utterly fail. And, if all of that is not sufficient . . . his decree.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I did not yet read it.”

“We have subdued this colony, Colonel. The civilians have returned to their lives, comfortable that this war has finally passed them by. We have asked no more of them than to pledge their allegiance to the crown. It was no threat to the peace, it gave no cause for controversy or protest. But now General Clinton has taken one very large step in the wrong direction. His new decree demands that every citizen of South Carolina sign a new oath of allegiance proclaiming their willingness to participate in the establishment of a royal government.”

“Why is that a problem, sir?”

“Colonel, despite General Clinton’s assumption that the citizens of South Carolina are merely waiting for their opportunity to take up our muskets, my experience has been that most of these people wish only to tend to their farms and manage their shops. General Clinton is compelling them to state their allegiance to our cause, with the warning that a refusal to do so implies treasonous behavior. We are forcing these people to choose sides, when in fact, the war for them should be over.”

Rawdon shook his head.

“I’m sorry, sir. I do not understand the problem. Should we not expect loyalty?”

Cornwallis felt the energy slipping away.

“Colonel, the army is not in the business of ensuring loyalty. Our purpose here is to win victories. With victories, loyalty will follow. An essentially peaceful citizenry is now being informed that they will lend us vocal and active support, or they will be treated as our enemy. It is the seed that sprouts resentment, Colonel. Admiral Howe attempted this in New Jersey, and his brother in Pennsylvania. Ask yourself, Colonel. Did either of them succeed?”

J
UNE 8, 1780

In a final blow to Cornwallis’ command, Clinton decided to transport the experienced units of British regular cavalry back to New York. There was no explanation required from Clinton, and no explaining the decision in the camps. Cornwallis had met the news with grim acceptance, sent word to Colonel Tarleton that his Legion would now be more than just a mobile force to strike at the enemy, but would in fact be the army’s only eyes and ears.

As Clinton’s ship sailed out through the harbor, Cornwallis rode back to Camden. His troop strength had been stripped, his expectations of a quick victory swept away. He had no confidence that loyalists in any number would emerge to assist his army, that once he manned the outposts with enough strength to hold the colony safely in British hands, what would remain to march into North Carolina would be a pitiful force. But he had confidence in his officers, and the morale of his diminished force was high. Despite every suffering torment he felt from Henry Clinton, nothing could overshadow that finally, for the first time in his career, Charles Cornwallis was truly in charge.

44. WASHINGTON

P
REAKNESS,
N
EW
J
ERSEY,
J
UNE 1780

News of the catastrophe at Charleston reached headquarters on the last day of May. He had held out hope that there would be another magnificent victory there, the city defended with the same courage and tactical brilliance of four years ago. But his optimism had been tempered. He knew that the first time Clinton had made enormous mistakes, mistakes he was not likely to repeat. He was not, after all, William Howe.

But Washington had believed the colonial troops there were prepared as well. The army was better equipped and better trained, and was led by a man Washington was convinced could stand up to any British threat. The collapse of Benjamin Lincoln’s defense was a baffling mystery, and the cost of the failure far exceeded the cost of the city itself. Lincoln had assembled most of the trained militia available in South Carolina, and all of the regular continental troops. Now, the vast majority of that effective fighting force was held captive by the British. Those who had escaped the sabers of Banastre Tarleton had scattered piecemeal, disappearing into the hills to the west, or stumbling slowly northward to find refuge in the colonial outposts in North Carolina.

It was devastating enough for Washington to consider the sudden wave of problems in the Carolinas. Now he had to confront a new problem closer to home. The morale of the army along the Hudson River had suffered from their inactivity, and many of those with expiring enlistments had gone home. There had been almost no new recruits, the states around New York lapsing into a bored complacency that was shared by the congress. With word of the disaster in South Carolina, morale had plunged even lower, a new tide of hopelessness that drove bored men to desert. The British and Hessians in New York numbered better than ten thousand soldiers, yet Washington’s defenses along the river could muster barely three thousand men fit for duty.

The congress had evaded the responsibility for raising troops by throwing the job back to each individual state. Washington launched a new wave of pleas to Philadelphia, as he had done so many times before, begging the congressmen themselves to return to their home states to exercise their influence directly on the state assemblies, imploring them to send whatever volunteers they could muster. Almost no one complied.

Washington watched New York carefully, fearful that Knyphausen would discover the weakness of his enemy just across the river. The colonial troops made a show of parading along the palisades on the Hudson in regular drills, large clusters of campfires lit in patches of open ground all down the coast. It was a feeble effort at deception, to convince Knyphausen that Washington could still defend the coast with great numbers of troops, an army that could well pose a serious threat to the city itself if Knyphausen was careless. But the effect was the opposite of what Washington intended. Instead of staying put, Knyphausen answered the threat by launching an assault from Staten Island. Washington was not certain of Knyphausen’s ultimate plan, but knew he had no force to put in Knyphausen’s path. With no fight to be had, the Hessians had occupied themselves with pillaging the farms, yet another plague on the civilians who remained in the area. Washington could only watch from the highlands around Morristown, had no idea if Knyphausen had some larger goal in mind. The answer came quickly, and Washington was surprised and relieved to see the Hessians suddenly pulling away, crossing back over to Staten Island. Then he heard from his scouts. Clinton had returned, and Knyphausen had been ordered back to the city. Once again the enemy would settle into their base in New York, while Washington could only wait for some new plan to reveal itself from the mind of Henry Clinton.

It began as so many rumors began, from fear and speculation. With the collapse of Lincoln’s army at Charleston, many of the continental troops along the Hudson began to hear talk that Washington would soon be marching to the Carolinas with those troops who could be spared, or whose homes were closer to the new threat. But the defenses along the Hudson were far too weak to drain them of any more strength. Washington had already called for the troops in Philadelphia to march northward, an agreeable strategy suggested by Benedict Arnold. Arnold had been insistent on leaving the city, on returning to the field where he might perform a more valuable service. Washington had to agree, Arnold having already proven himself in every campaign he had participated in. Arnold was even quite specific on the duty he wished to receive, and Washington had complied. Arnold was now in command of West Point, the crucial outpost upriver that prevented the British from opening a clear route into Canada. More importantly, West Point was the strongest fortification for many miles, the first major obstacle to the British should they once again attempt to divide the nation in two.

Washington rode along the palisades with Greene, had to address a new wave of verbal assaults on his quartermaster. Most still came from the Board of War, and even Greene knew that his outbursts of anger had grown tiresome and ineffective. The congress had evaded that responsibility as well, calling on each state assembly to supply goods and equipment for the men in Washington’s command. It was an inefficient system, the states concerned first for their own defenses, supplying first the militia who remained inside their own borders. Now, Greene was making his demands to a congress with even less power than before. Greene’s enemies found a convenient excuse to ignore him, while those who understood the urgency would request, or even beg the states to comply. Despite Greene’s outspoken disgust, most of them did not.

Washington knew that Greene’s role as quartermaster had gone on for longer than either man had expected. But all he could offer Greene was a sounding board, and do what he could to deflect the high-volume complaints aimed at the man who was simply trying to do his job.

They passed by a battery, four twelve-pound cannon anchored deeply into the rocks. Washington halted the horse, looked for the officer in charge. He could see dark openings in the hillside itself, the mouths of small caves, convenient shelter from the oppressive heat. The gun crews emerged, men saluting him, one man raising his hat. He saw an officer, a surprised lieutenant, and the man scrambled up the rocks toward him, said breathlessly, “Good day, sir! And General Greene! My apologies. We were not expecting you.”

The man seemed more annoyed than apologetic, and Washington said, “Don’t be concerned, Lieutenant. Just passing by. Your guns appear to be in good order. Fine work.”

“Thank you, sir! We would be honored if you would call upon us to join with General Lee’s command.”

Washington was baffled, glanced at Greene, who shared the look.

“Of what do you speak, Lieutenant?”

“The Carolinas, sir. I have relations in southern Virginia. I am honored to defend their homes, sir. General Lee will give the British no quarter, that’s for certain!”

Greene leaned forward in the saddle, said, “
Charles
Lee?”

“Yes, sir. The word is, he’s been ordered to command again, to march to North Carolina.”

Washington shook his head.

“The word indeed. Lieutenant, your enthusiasm is appreciated. However, Charles Lee is no longer a part of this army. Unless I an mistaken, he has returned to his home in Virginia.”

“But, sir . . . the word is . . .”

“The word is
wrong
, Lieutenant.”

Greene’s short temper was betraying him, and Washington put a hand out, a silent restraint.

“General Greene is quite correct, Lieutenant. It would do a service to your men, and to this entire command if these rumors were stopped.”

The man seemed crestfallen.

“As you wish, sir.”

Washington could not just ride away, felt an odd sense of affection for a man who was still so eager to serve.

“What is your name, Lieutenant?”

“Johnson, sir. Irvine Johnson.”

“Mr. Johnson, there will no doubt be further rumors on our plans for the Carolinas. By now, there should be no need for secrecy.” He looked at Greene. “I was going to tell you on this ride, General. Now is as good a time. The congress has indeed made their selection for that command. This is not a rumor, Mr. Johnson, and you may tell anyone that you heard this from me. General Gates will soon be in North Carolina, and he will be organizing an army to confront the enemy.”

He could feel Greene’s silent amazement, thought, We should move away. He will certainly have something indiscreet to say. Johnson was smiling now, said, “Thank you for your confidence, sir. That is good news indeed. The hero of Saratoga himself! Thank you, sir!”

“Good day, Mr. Johnson. Man your guns well.”

The man stiffened, saluted.

“Sir! God bless you, sir. God bless General Gates!”

Washington turned the horse, saw Greene staring at him with an open mouth.

“Let’s ride, Mr. Greene.”

They rode in thick silence, and Washington was relieved that Greene held his words, waited until they were clear of any troops. He heard a long exhale, and Greene said, “I had some suspicions Gates would go there. Too many in the congress still believe he is our
Zeus
. How could you have allowed that?”

“I was not consulted as to my opinion on Mr. Gates’ suitability for command.”

Greene sat upright. “Not consulted? How can that be? They cannot simply appoint commanders as they see fit!”

“Calm yourself, Mr. Greene. They can do precisely that. It has been clear to me for some time that my command of this army does not extend south of Virginia. It has never been a necessary source of discussion until now. Many in congress feel that the entire thirteen states is too large an area for one man to cast his authority. I cannot find fault with that. Communications and intelligence cannot reach this headquarters in time to answer a crisis.”

“But . . . Gates?”

“He has the respect of the people, Mr. Greene. Consider Mr. Johnson, there. Gates still commands the respect of the men throughout this command. That respect is essential to assembling an army. The people of North Carolina will receive him well, and will respond to his call for troops.”

“How will he be supplied?”

It was a question from the quartermaster now, and Washington smiled, thought, You accepted this better than I would have thought.

“The farms in North Carolina should offer sufficient bounty. Once Mr. Gates has established his presence in South Carolina, young Mr. Laurens will travel there to seek assistance from the state assembly. I have discussed this with his father. The congress will offer their usual request for assistance, but there is no better means of expressing the urgency than from the voices of their own. The Laurens family has considerable influence in that theater.”

They rode silently for a moment, and Greene said, “Does Gates truly have your confidence?”

“It matters not, Mr. Greene. Our first priority is here, right across this river. The Southern Department is now his priority. It is his command.”

He knew Greene would have the final word, waited for it.

“God help us.”

They returned to the headquarters to a strange jubilation. As the sound of their horses reached the house, the staff emerged, assembled into line. Now Lafayette came out, and Washington could see that this maneuver had been carefully rehearsed, the young man stepping crisply to the front, a paper in his hand. Washington remained on the horse, looked at the wide grin on Lafayette’s face.

“What is it, Mr. Lafayette?”

“We have received news, sir.”

The entire staff was sharing in Lafayette’s game, and Washington put aside his weariness from the ride, would play along.

“From what quarter?”

“From Newport, sir.”

“Newport?”

“Newport, sir. I am pleased to inform the commanding general that the French fleet has made port. By now, the French troops are on American soil.”

Greene was not as playful, said, “How many?”

Lafayette smiled at Greene as well.

“Ten warships, sir. Six thousand troops.”

Greene looked at Washington now with wide-eyed surprise.

Washington began to feel the jubilation of his staff.

“You see, Mr. Greene? The Almighty has a way of providing. For now, we shall not concern ourselves with Mr. Gates. I would rather occupy myself by fashioning an appropriate greeting to our new allies.”

Lafayette had returned to the army late that spring. Washington had met him with unconcealed joy, but the young man brought more than his own presence to Washington’s camp. He brought the promise from King Louis himself, a fleet of ships and a new spirit of cooperation, the French monarch clearly intending to correct the mistakes both sides had learned from the failures of d’Estaing.

The young man had brought news both official and personal. His wife had given birth again, a boy this time, and Lafayette had made the announcement to the entire headquarters: the boy was named
Georges Washington Lafayette
. It was an honor that Washington had received with quiet emotion, but there was emotion as well for the young man’s more official news. The French navy had assembled a new fleet, and though the number of ships was not sufficient to engage the British in a major sea battle, they would provide considerable protection for the troops they carried.