The Glorious Cause (47 page)

36. WASHINGTON

He had not ridden through Philadelphia, had not considered making some grand show of the British evacuation. The city was now under the command of Benedict Arnold, the man nursing a wound in his leg received during the last great fight with Burgoyne. Arnold commanded a sizable militia, but Washington had no fears for the city, knew that once the British had ferried across the Delaware River, Clinton’s intentions were plain. The move had surprised only one man, the one who still insisted that the British would strike southward: Charles Lee. Even as Clinton led his army deeper into New Jersey, Lee challenged every inclination Washington had to attack them, to take advantage of the drawn-out line of march, the slow progress of an army so encumbered by its excess of equipment. Lee held surprising influence over many of the junior officers, and some of the senior staff as well, including Stirling, and even Henry Knox. Washington could not just ignore Lee’s suggestions, nor would he simply impose his will on his officers, or on the army. Before any significant move, any major decision, he continued to rely on the councils of war. Washington believed the structure and authority of his command was still fragile, the effects of the intrigue of Conway, Mifflin, and Gates. Lee had already proven he was capable of dissension, but unlike Gates, he was still popular with the troops. If Lee’s unusual ideas about strategy exploded into outright disobedience, it could endanger the entire fabric of the army. Washington had no choice but to give Lee his due, to form a strategy that would accommodate the man’s ambitious temperament.

Washington’s troop strength had grown during the last few weeks of winter quarters, new recruits responding to the spreading word of the health and pride of the army. Von Steuben’s drills and lessons had imparted that pride not only to the men who marched under his sharp calls, but to the civilians far beyond the camps at Valley Forge. With their fields planted, a vast number of farmers had enlisted, and some of the unreliable militia were signing up for extended duty, to receive the training that would make them soldiers. By the time the British had made their crossing into New Jersey, Washington was able to mobilize a force of over thirteen thousand men, a number nearly equal to what Clinton had on the march toward New York. Though the British had a head start, their slow progress gave Washington precious time to assemble a march of his own. Despite Lee’s insistence that Clinton was simply offering bait to lure Washington into some deadly trap, the pursuit began. Six hundred men marched out under the command of William Maxwell, striking quickly across what Washington believed to be Clinton’s intended route of march. Maxwell’s troops were to disrupt the roadways, cutting trees, destroying bridges, an effort to slow the British even further. Six hundred skilled marksmen were sent out under Daniel Morgan, a harassing force to torment Clinton’s flanks, possibly to force the British to stop marching altogether.

Washington himself crossed the Delaware at Coryell’s Ferry, a few short miles from his triumphant assault on Trenton. With the smattering of intelligence that came from the scouts, he began to understand Clinton’s dilemma. Washington had marched his men on the more direct route, was now a few miles above Princeton. The alternatives for Clinton were clear: Attack Washington or avoid him. Unless the British intended to provoke a direct engagement, Clinton would have to turn away from the Brunswick–Amboy route, and march out across the sandy farmland to the east.

H
OPEWELL,
N
EW
J
ERSEY,
J
UNE 24, 1778

Each day had become an agony of delay, the uncertainty that comes from ignorance of the enemy’s intentions. The reports from Morgan had stopped completely, the marksmen now making their brief assaults along Clinton’s eastern flank, separated from Washington’s headquarters by the entire force of the British army. He knew that Maxwell’s men had done their work with admirable effectiveness, that the British were making incredibly slow progress. But the plodding march presented problems of its own. Until Clinton made a definite move to either the north or east, Washington could not know where to position his army or what strategy might be best employed. If the British were suddenly to increase their speed, Clinton might move his forces far enough away that Washington could not hope to catch them at all, and the extraordinary opportunity to strike the vulnerable British march would be lost. As he sat in his headquarters, suffering the silence of his scouts, his patience finally gave way. After the evening meal was consumed, he ordered the senior officers to gather in a council of war. There would be no decision made without the involvement of the men who would carry out the plan.

They filled the room, most standing, the few chairs occupied by the men who required them, Greene with his stiff leg, and Lafayette, still recovering from his leg wound at Brandywine. Washington waited for them to find their places, gentle maneuvering, and when the voices grew quiet, he said, “Gentlemen, the primary question before us is whether we should hazard an attack on the enemy. It is my intention not to allow a precious opportunity to escape us. General Clinton has obliged us by providing what could be a target of vast potential. Mr. Maxwell’s troops have done admirable work providing obstructions on all roadways in General Clinton’s path. It seems as well that the British are greatly encumbered by their train of supply. It is a mystery why General Clinton did not transport such a volume of baggage by sea. However, I am not so concerned with solving mysteries as I am confronting the result.”

Lee stepped forward, and Washington had expected it.

“Sir, there is nothing of mystery here. General Clinton is a man of considerable ability. The only possible explanation for his dallying march is the very result we see here tonight. With all respect, sir, you have fallen into his trap.”

Lee glanced around the room, seemed to appraise the response to his impertinence. Washington saw nods, many in agreement with Lee’s assessment, and Lee looked at him now with a confident smile.

“General Clinton is, at this very moment, sitting in his camp planning for our demise. He is hopeful that our bravado will carry us straight toward the points of his bayonets.”

Washington was becoming annoyed, fought to hide it, said, “May I assume then, Mr. Lee, that you believe the best strategy is to remain passive, allow the British to march unmolested to their destination?”

Lee laughed.

“Of course, sir! Was I not clear? A direct confrontation with the enemy at this time could prove to be a disaster, far worse than any we have previously suffered. To dare to confront such a well-disciplined army with the meager forces we have at hand is not only an invitation to destruction, but the height of arrogance!”

Washington felt a cold weight in his chest, his strength drained by Lee’s maddening certainty. He looked at the faces, saw a few frowns, even Lee’s supporters uncomfortable with the man’s bombast.

“Excuse me! I protest!” The voice was von Steuben’s, and Washington could see the man’s face reddened by anger. “We are . . . prepared! No one can suggest that this army is not capable!” The Prussian seemed to run out of words, his English failing him, swept away by his temper. Lafayette pulled himself up from his chair, said, “I agree with General von Steuben, sir. It would be a disgraceful display if we allowed the British to march unopposed across New Jer

37. LAFAYETTE

E
NGLISHTOWN,
N
EW
J
ERSEY,
J
UNE 27, 1778

They had marched all through the night, and were now within five miles of the enemy camp, the crossroads at Monmouth Court House. The night march had been a blessing for the men, most not realizing that it was urgency rather than concern for their well-being. The days had been insufferably hot, the sand and dust of the roads smothering the British soldiers in a blanket of heat many could not escape. Even before Lafayette had begun his march, his men had been allowed to shed their coats and shirts, any baggage that would encumber them in the heat. But the British soldiers had no such luxury. Their uniforms had not changed since the stark days of winter, thick wool, layers of heavy garments that grew heavier on the march. Worse, each red-coated soldier carried arms and equipment that weighed nearly a hundred pounds. The result was an unexpected horror for Washington’s scouts, the men who trailed the British column. Instead of stragglers they were finding corpses, men who had simply fallen away from their column, some drifting off the road only to die in the sand and scrub woods. Washington knew that Clinton was driving them relentlessly toward the ships. If the British were not attacked very soon, they would reach the protection of the hill country nearer the coast.

Lafayette had kept his enthusiasm in check, would not reveal to anyone in the headquarters what this command had meant. His first major experience in the field had come during the retreat at Brandywine, where he had received the wound. He had been teased by Nathanael Greene, the Rhode Islander cautioning Washington that this young man was determined to place himself in danger. While the army was making their first preparations to leave Valley Forge, Washington had given him charge of large-scale scouting parties near Philadelphia, one which had resulted in a sharp fight with a regiment of Hessians, another which had nearly cost Lafayette his entire force of three hundred men. It was a daring, and some had said foolish, confrontation with a large body of British regulars under Charles Grey. But the intelligence gained had been crucial, and Lafayette had escaped the danger with a slippery tactic that had left the British baffled. More importantly, the maneuver had demonstrated to Washington that the young man could handle himself well on dangerous ground.

He had his critics still, mainly those French officers who felt some insult at his closeness with Washington. He knew that many of them had come to America for the wrong reason, to return home as heroes, bearing the trophy of grateful appreciation of this new nation. It was all about prestige, a demonstration for King Louis as a sign of their worthiness for a similar role in the French army. Yet most had shown very little in their service to the Americans that would bring any prestige at all, so many of them more concerned with their rank and authority than in doing any kind of good service to a cause. The worst had been Phillippe du Coudray, the ridiculous martinet who demanded a lofty position second only to Washington. Du Coudray had then begun his service by suggesting that perhaps Washington should step aside as well. But the problems brought by du Coudray had solved themselves. The man seemed to think himself worthy of a veritable walk on water, the result that he carelessly tumbled himself and his horse into the Schuylkill River. The horse survived. Du Coudray did not.

Lafayette knew that tongues were probably wagging behind him. And as he rode with the lead units of his column, he could not avoid thinking of Louis, what the king might have said when he learned that Washington had given this twenty-year-old such responsibility. He was not sure if Louis was angry at him even now, Lafayette slipping out of France in such blatant disobedience of His Majesty’s wishes. But there had been no official summons, no letter of reprimand. He knew that Louis would have his momentary tantrum, spout some heated epithets that would quickly be forgotten. Ultimately, Louis would accept that this young officer would either disappear into this strange American wilderness, a casualty of war perhaps, or would rise as a genuine hero. But as much as he sought a command of his own, he rarely imagined himself in some kind of heroic role. Lafayette had been driven by a quest that would seem unusually humble to his king, and to many of the other Frenchmen around him. Though the most unkind talk assumed the foreign officers to be of one cloth, the rabid ambitious quest for notoriety, Lafayette had only sought the opportunity that Washington had now given him.

As the daylight brought another stifling wave of heat over Englishtown, more troops had appeared, Washington sending reinforcements to Lafayette’s command. He had expected to receive new orders, some update from Washington, word of Clinton’s response to this pursuit. But the only word had come from the scouts, and from von Steuben, who was only two miles from the British position. Clinton had halted his column around Monmouth, was shifting the marching order of his troops, putting the more elite units toward the rear, the Hessians more to the front. It was a logical move with the approach of Lafayette’s forces, moving the stronger regiments, the Grenadiers, Queen’s Rangers, the Highlanders, closer to the vast line of British wagons. It was clear evidence that Clinton believed the wagons would be the target of such a large force. But Lafayette’s orders said nothing about capturing supplies. He knew that Clinton’s halt was simply a mistake, another critical delay that might cost the British a safe escape.

As the sun climbed higher, the men had rested, and the day had passed with the army continuing to gather strength, men now storing up water and preparing food, making ready for the last march toward the enemy. He watched as another small column appeared from the west, men in white shirts, their faces shielded from the sun by wide round hats. They moved past him, and officers appeared, led them into the camp, where the rest of his men were tending to their muskets. They would gather quietly in the shady places, waiting for the order that would send them back into the sandy road. The column was past him, and he still expected to see a rider, some new word from Washington, was confident that the main army was no more than five or six miles behind him. He could feel the heat from the horse beneath him, looked toward a small stand of trees, thought, No need for you to suffer this. He began to move toward the shade, saw Anthony Wayne, one aide trailing behind him, their horses coated with a slick wetness.

“General, we are prepared to advance.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. We are awaiting final instructions from General Washington. I have sent him the reports of the enemy’s position.”

“We should not wait too long. I’m certain Clinton won’t.”

He knew of Wayne’s brash impatience, something so very rare in this army. It had led Wayne to some difficulties on the battlefield, and his straightforward tactics had won him both critics and admirers. Wayne’s dogged style might not always have been the right strategy, but to many, including Washington, it was a tonic that had often been sorely missed.

Wayne followed him toward the trees, and now both men turned at the fresh sound of hoofbeats in the road. He expected to see Washington’s courier, was surprised at the small thin figure leading a pair of hounds. It was Charles Lee.

I must admit, General Lafayette, that i did not believe this mission would actually come to pass. Once I was aware that General Washington had increased the number of troops in this command to near six thousand, I felt it was unwise for a junior officer such as yourself to maintain such important authority. This is a position best suited for the second in command of the army. I trust you agree?”

Lafayette read the letter in his hand, Washington’s order. It was wisely written, giving Lafayette continued authority if an attack was already in progress. But, with the troops still at Englishtown, Lee could assume overall command with no disruption. He handed the letter to Wayne beside him, said, “Yes, General Lee. You are correct. It is entirely appropriate for this command to be under your authority.”

“Ah, yes. Good, then. I shall make my headquarters in this house. You shall report to me here with any information you receive as to the enemy’s disposition and activity.”

“Yes, sir. Do you have any specific instructions for me, sir? Do you wish to place me in command of any troops?”

Lee seemed surprised by the question, thought a moment, said, “Do whatever you have been doing, General. You’re supposed to know your duty. General Wayne, if he’s not certain, you may instruct him. Now, good day.”

They moved outside, and Wayne stepped out in front of him, passed by the horses, walked out into the dusty roadway. He spun around, faced him, said, “Instruct you? You are my senior officer. How could you stand before that man and maintain such . . . calm? He is only here because he suddenly realized he might miss out on a chance for some glory!”

“The orders from General Washington are clear. General Lee is in command here. We are not privy to the reasons for his change of mind.”

“It does not require intellect to see that Lee could not just sit back there while you . . . well, he could hardly allow himself to sit idly by while a
Frenchman
leads this attack. I mean no offense, sir.”

He had held tightly to his disappointment, but did not feel the kind of anger Wayne was showing toward Lee. The responsibility for a command this size had surprised him. Lafayette looked to the west, the sun moving lower.

“We are very close to the enemy, a march of two hours. This night will better be spent in planning the attack. General Lee must make the dispositions.”

“So, dawn, then?”

Lafayette looked at Wayne, saw the deep scowl, the man’s disgust clearly evident.

“It is sound strategy, General. There can be no assault now, it is too late in the day.”

Wayne turned in the road again, paced a few steps, turned.

“All right. Dawn. I hope you’re correct. If we wait any longer, Clinton will be gone. I wish I had your faith in General Lee.”

Lafayette said nothing, fought through his disappointment still. It is not about faith. He is in command. We have no alternative.

As the sun went down, the order came from Washington. it was assumed that by morning Clinton would again begin his march, would spread his forces in a long vulnerable line. Lee was instructed to attack wherever opportunity presented itself, to send his troops in a hard wave against Clinton’s flank or rear, holding the British in place while Washington brought the rest of the army up to expand the attack into a full-scale engagement. Late in the evening, Lee had sent out word of a meeting of his senior commanders, and the men expected a detailed briefing on their places in the line, a map of the tactics they would bring to the field. As the men gathered at Lee’s headquarters, they found no one waiting for them but an embarrassed aide. There were no plans prepared, no maps sketched. Lee himself was nowhere to be found, had ridden out into the night, leaving his aide with no instructions at all. The meeting erupted into angry turmoil, Wayne leading the officers back to their camps. They had no choice now but to wait for some further instructions. No one but Lee was authorized to put the brigades and regiments into some order of march, no one but Lee could organize this attack.

Since Lee’s arrival at Englishtown, Lafayette had been given no troops to command, no real responsibility at all. As the other commanders stewed furiously in their camps, Lafayette rode out to find General Lee.

The aide could only offer some hint, that if Lee did not stay within the boundaries of the small village, he would certainly keep to the road that led north. It was a reasonable guess, the one safe direction.

Lafayette moved the horse in slow steps, then stopped, stared out through total darkness, listened. He had repeated the routine now for several hundred yards, the only sound the low hum and chirp of the insects. He began to move again, but a new sound broke through, and he waited, could hear the slow rhythm of a horse.

“Sir! General Lafayette! We have found him, sir.”

The aides had ridden ahead with a trio of guards, Wayne’s men, had explored each road and path, knew to find Lafayette here on the main road.

He pulled the match from his pocket, made a short hard stroke against the metal of his short scabbard. The small flame made a soft glow on the road, and Lafayette held the match close to his own face, said, “Thank you, Sergeant. Is he far ahead?”

“No, sir. We came across his aide up the road a ways. The man was scared out of his wits, settin’ alone in the dark. Said General Lee’s right up the hill there, this open field.”

“Very well. I will go alone now. You may remain here. Make yourself heard if there is any sign of trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

He followed the man’s directions, the trees thinning, the ground rising to a starry sky. He saw Lee now, framed against the horizon. The man seemed aware of the voices in the road, sat upright on his horse. Lafayette moved up the hill, said aloud, “General Lee. It is Lafayette, sir.”

The response came from the dogs, a sudden cascade of barking. They were around him now, the horse dancing slightly, avoiding them. Lafayette rode close now, said, “Forgive the intrusion, sir. We were concerned about you.”

“Unnecessary. I required solitude. Only way for a man to think properly.”

“Yes, sir. You had summoned us . . . the commanders. There is concern about our plan for tomorrow.”

“You’re damned right there is concern. By morning, the entire British army will be sweeping down on us like a pack of wolves on a chicken coop. I have sent word to General Washington to expect an attack on this front. If we are not vigilant, they may catch us still in our beds!”