The Glorious Cause (33 page)

Washington waited for Lafayette to walk again, was close to his tent now, could see the staff at work, another campfire. Lafayette began to move away.

“With your permission, sir. I must tend to my bandage.”

The young man disappeared into a tent, and Washington could see the man’s shadow moving in the glow of candlelight. It would take a European officer to see war that way, he thought. They have been fighting the same enemies for centuries, and one more day of battle changes very little. If he is correct, then I have much to be thankful for. But there is still tomorrow, and we may awake to find ourselves closely pursued by the enemy. Surely they will not allow us to escape, while they celebrate their victory. If General Howe presses his advantage, how will we respond? And if these men will indeed make another stand, will their commander be up to the challenge?

He could smell something cooking, saw the staff gathering around a low crude table. There was laughter, surprising him, and he wanted to scold them, quiet them with some stern command. Is it not disrespect, after all? We have left men dead on the field today, and there must be respect. We must repay our debt.

He could not hold the anger, felt his eyes closing, forced them open. He backed away into the darkness, could not share their mood, thought, I am not yet ready to look past this day. Mr. Lafayette may be correct, and there will certainly be another opportunity for this army. But I have believed it would ultimately be decided by one sharp engagement, a single massive blow, that this war will be won or lost in one awful bloody day, on ground just like we lost today. Congress believes that, the entire nation seems to believe it. Our enemy has that capability, the power to accomplish that. But I am not certain that we do. And if we cannot strike such a blow, then we have but one other course. We must simply lengthen the war, test the resolve of our enemies by wearing them down. How much support will their Parliament give to an endless conflict? And the congress? He thought of Lafayette, the man’s enthusiasm, his willingness to do whatever is required. We need a great many more like him, officers, certainly, but soldiers as well. That spirit may be this army’s one salvation, since we are deficient in so many ways, so unlike those countries whose history is so shaped by war and professional armies. The British show no discomfort employing foreign soldiers to support their cause. It may be that our best hope of victory will come from a foreign shore as well. French ships filled with cloth and gunpowder are all well and good, but it may be that unless we are strengthened by the power and the spirit of their army, this war will simply drain this country dry.

Howe resumed his pursuit of Washington’s army with the same dedicated slowness that had marked his entire campaign. For two weeks the two tired armies parried in a tedious twisting dance through the Pennsylvania countryside, kept apart by Washington’s careful maneuvering and the deep waters of the Schuylkill River. If Washington’s army was indeed prepared for another hard fight, Howe seemed unwilling to expend the energy required to bring it to pass. Finally, with Washington unable to do anything to keep Howe from accomplishing his primary mission, on September 26, the British army made a joyful parade of marching unopposed into Philadelphia.

24. CORNWALLIS

P
HILADELPHIA,
O
CTOBER 1777

He had led the column that marched into the city, and while the enthusiasm from the citizens was exactly as he had expected, he was surprised that the crowds who lined the streets were mostly women and children. But it was a grand show nonetheless, an outpouring of grateful relief, a city offering its salute, as though the king himself had brought liberation to their city, and with one swift blow had destroyed the rebellion. What followed had been expected as well, parties, dinners, offerings of lavish gifts, the social matrons and their daughters fluttering about these gallant heroes with a generosity that Cornwallis found embarrassing.

While Howe and many of the British officers seemed to bask in the glow of the giddy attention from their new hosts, Cornwallis had focused on housing his men, and it had not escaped him that so many of the fine homes that were available to the army had simply been abandoned by their owners.

He knew better than to mention the matter to Howe, that from the first campaigns into New Jersey, both Howe and the ministry in London had been cavalier in their expectations that so many colonists were still loyal to the crown. For so many months, throughout every campaign the British had launched onto the soil of New Jersey, and now Pennsylvania, Howe and Germain had always believed that a vast army of loyalists would emerge from their tormented hiding places and flock to the army, would provide much-needed troop strength that Howe required to crush Washington’s rebels. Instead, the Tories had been strangely silent, and beyond the occasional show of a British flag, placed hastily in a shopwindow, or some farmer who might offer a wagonload of supplies, these same loyalists had shown very little inclination to actually fight for their cause. If Howe was dismayed by the indifference of the citizens, he hid it well, continued to issue the calls to arms, as though he still believed there were vast pockets of loyalist sympathy, that great throngs of men would still gather to take up the king’s muskets as well as his flag. Lord Germain had accepted Howe’s vision with certainty, had even used those expectations as the excuse to put off Howe’s unending pleas for reinforcements, the troops who Cornwallis knew would be needed if the British were to make a quick end to the war. While some smaller units of fresh soldiers had arrived from England, they had proven to be more of an inconvenience than a blessing.

It was typical for recruits to create problems of discipline, but over the past few months, the poor quality of the new troops seemed to point to an even greater problem. Howe paid little heed to the new units, was too focused on his own strategies to make introductions to unfamiliar junior officers. But Cornwallis recognized quickly that the men who marched from the ships now were a different breed of soldier. The ministry was obviously scouring the prisons, and entire companies of men carried criminal records. Others seemed to have no history at all, their officers admitting that the recruitment drives had been such a failure, that men were being swept up into the service straight from their wretched homes in the filthy streets of the British cities. Despite all of Howe’s optimism that an army might yet emerge from the colonial countryside, the message coming from England was that under the king’s very nose, the war was becoming more and more unpopular.

It was still a mystery to him where so many of the men of Philadelphia had gone. Even if the Tories were unwilling to offer more than words to His Majesty’s cause, Cornwallis could not fathom that so many capable men from the colonial capital would accept a role in the army of the rebellion. As he made his rounds through the camps of his men, visits to the officers under his command, he studied the abandoned homes, wondering if their leaving the city might have nothing to do with loyalty to one cause or another. Perhaps the men of Philadelphia were too accustomed to the soft and pleasant life of America’s largest community to serve any cause at all. Perhaps they had simply disappeared into the countryside, and once the war had concluded, they would return to their homes and their families, prepared to serve whichever government awaited them. Regardless, the women who remained weren’t revealing anything, beyond a not-so-subtle ability to charm the officers who were occupying their homes.

He knew many of his officers were taking full advantage of the hospitality, and he would not object to it as long as the army kept its overall discipline. There had not yet been any serious problems of looting, or abuse of the citizens, which surprised Cornwallis. All around the camps, notices had been posted, warnings of strictest discipline for those who would violate the civilians or their property. On the march from the Head of Elk, there had been the usual problems, houses burned, pantries and barns ransacked, debate in the ranks if the Hessians had been more responsible than some of the new British recruits. There was punishment, of course, and several soldiers had been hanged, dozens were flogged. But Cornwallis had long ago issued his own order to his division. There would always be hanging for the most serious offenders, but the use of the whip was stopped. He had long believed that flogging was simply a man’s ticket to misbehave, that any man could endure a bloody back if his crime was to his liking. To some of the old veterans, scars from the whip were a badge of honor, a sign of their virility, and he had heard of men who goaded their comrades into some criminal act just to test their mettle. He knew that you could not change a man’s character by punishing him, that if a man was inclined to abuse or steal from a citizen, the whip was merely his cost. He focused instead on the officers, inspiring his junior commanders to exercise discipline over their men under the threat of censure from the high command. The threat of demotion in rank or dismissal from the service was a severe embarrassment to a British officer, and Cornwallis knew that threat would be more effective than any damage that could come from a whip.

O
CTOBER 4, 1777

While Cornwallis occupied Philadelphia, Howe had established his main headquarters at Germantown, five miles north of the city. Washington’s army was still close, and with Cornwallis protecting the city from direct assault, Howe felt that dividing his army, and placing a large force in a more rural area would allow them better mobility to respond to any sudden moves that the rebels might make.

Cornwallis was relieved that the Hessians seemed content to stay in their camps, had caused no problems in the city. Under the command of Wilhelm Knyphausen, the Hessians seemed more subdued, more accepting of order. Cornwallis had wondered if there was more to the man than he had seen of de Heister. Both were aged men, veterans of many wars and several monarchs. With Knyphausen in command the change in the Hessian camps was clear, and Cornwallis could not let that pass without some attempt at understanding their commander.

Knyphausen still spoke no English, and at the councils, Howe had lost patience with the translators, had begun to avoid speaking toward the old man at all, addressing his remarks directly to von Donop, or whoever else might be by Knyphausen’s side. It was a serious show of disrespect, and Cornwallis had wondered if Knyphausen was as unaware as he seemed, or in fact, if the old man’s dazed expression hid a greater understanding than anyone realized.

He turned out of the main street and rode through the front entrance trailed by his surprised staff, stopped the horse on a wide platform of flat stones. He looked toward the front yard, the river, saw no one moving, and he knew he was hesitating, his eye following the splendor of the house, the ornate woodwork along the roof. He looked toward the back door, realized there were guards standing stiffly to each side, green-coated
jagers
, their helmets polished to a silver sheen, each man’s hair braided in a tight black queue that reached nearly halfway down his back. He expected them to acknowledge him, but they stared ahead, ignoring him and his staff. He studied them for a moment, thought, I suppose it’s a bit late to just turn around and leave. Surely they will tell someone.

Cornwallis climbed down from the horse, felt he was in some very foreign place, a place where a man in a British uniform was completely insignificant. He looked back at his aides.

“Perhaps we should have sent word. I should have considered that the Hessians might expect an appointment.”

He stepped across the stone carriageway, and the door opened abruptly, a blue-coated officer emerging, stopping suddenly, saying something in German, some word of surprise. There was another man behind him, and Cornwallis heard more German, and the second man moved up, said, “General Cornwallis, welcome, sir. Please, our apologies. We were not aware you were coming. I am Captain Heisel.”

Cornwallis was surprised at the man’s skill with English, could see that Heisel was genuinely concerned.

“The apology is mine, Captain. I was performing my routine, and realized that I had not offered my respects to General Knyphausen. I can certainly return at a later time.”

The man stiffened, said, “Certainly not, sir. General Knyphausen is in the library. I will inform him you are here. It will only be a moment, sir. Please come inside, your men as well.”

Both officers stepped back inside, and Cornwallis climbed the short steps, moved past the two guards who were still facing out, their eyes following him closely. His staff followed him into the house, and he saw a small parlor to one side, said, “My men can remain here, if that is acceptable.”

Heisel moved that way, stood beside the door, said, “Certainly, sir. Gentlemen, please be comfortable. I will arrange refreshment.”

He looked at his aides, a silent order,
Stay here,
and there was no protest. They filed into the small room, and Cornwallis waited for Heisel, who moved quickly, said, “Please, General, if you will allow me . . .”

There was a long hall that led through the center of the house, and Cornwallis saw another man emerging from one side, recognized von Donop, who saw him, said, “Ah, General! A pleasant surprise!”

Von Donop came forward, smiling broadly, something Cornwallis had never seen. He managed a smile of his own, and von Donop was suddenly serious, said, “Is there a problem, General? Are we in some difficulty?”

“Oh, no, quite the opposite, Colonel. I would prefer that this be a social visit.”

The smile returned, and von Donop said, “We are honored, General. General Knyphausen is right this way. He will be delighted to see you, sir!”

He followed von Donop into the hall, felt thick carpet under his boots, thought, I have never known General Knyphausen to be delighted about anything. At least they’re making a good show. This should be interesting.

Von Donop motioned toward an open door, and Cornwallis saw the old man now, sitting in one corner, dwarfed by a wall of books. The room was musty, the familiar smell of old paper, and Cornwallis could not help but marvel at the amazing collection of books. Knyphausen stood up slowly, and Cornwallis saw that the old man was out of uniform, was suddenly embarrassed, realized he had never seen any Hessian officer without his full dress coat.

“Forgive me, General Knyphausen. I should have made an appointment.” He was very self-conscious now, thought, I am, after all, the junior officer here. He looked at von Donop, expected the man to translate his apology, but the colonel held out one hand, said, “Please, sir. You are an honored guest. The general has remarked many times that he wished to make your better acquaintance.”

Cornwallis looked at the old man, was surprised that Knyphausen was even aware of his name. Knyphausen was looking at him, pointed silently to a chair, and Cornwallis still felt awkward, said, “A wonderful library. Surprising. Few like it in the colonies, I’m sure.” He moved to the chair, waited for Knyphausen to return to his seat, the old man moving slowly, settling back into his chair. Cornwallis sat as well, felt the soft leather under him, looked again at von Donop.

“If it is not too much of a bother, Colonel, your service at translation is much appreciated.” Von Donop said something to Knyphausen, and the old man made a small laugh, a brief wave of his hand. Von Donop said, “Thank you, General. That won’t be necessary. I hope to see you before you depart.”

Cornwallis was surprised to see von Donop move to the door, and the man was gone, the door to the library pulled shut. Cornwallis felt the air in the room grow heavier, stared at the wall of books across from him, thought, Well, not quite what I had in mind. This might be a brief visit. Knyphausen pointed to a book, resting on a table beside him.

“Gibbon.”

Cornwallis saw now,
The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
.

“Ah, yes. A masterwork, sir. Certainly. I’m not aware if it is available in German. I should see about that, arrange a copy for you.” Knyphausen was looking at the book, and Cornwallis was feeling the self-conscious frustration, the chasm of language between them, the silent moment unnerving him. Knyphausen said, “Thank you, General. It won’t be necessary.”

The man’s words stunned him, distinct, laced with the thick syrup of a German accent.

“I was not aware, sir. Forgive me, I was always under the belief that you did not speak English.”

The lines in the old man’s face showed a soft smile.

“It is often more useful to spy on your friends than on your enemies.”

Cornwallis absorbed the words, and Knyphausen said, “No, my apologies, General. I did not mean to use such a crude word. My English is poor. What I meant . . .”