The Glorious Cause (69 page)

He had been stunned to learn of Benedict Arnold’s sudden rise to command, especially in a place as crucial as Virginia. Technically, Virginia was under Cornwallis’ command, but Arnold had been sent there by Clinton without ever seeking Cornwallis’ approval. Cornwallis had never corresponded with Arnold, and had no wish to do so now. A traitor is a traitor no matter his uniform, and Cornwallis could not think of Arnold without considering the fate of John André. André had always seemed a pitiable excuse for a British officer, but by circumstances Cornwallis did not yet understand, André had become trapped in a ridiculous and worthless web of intrigue, his execution strange and grotesque. If André’s execution was justified, there should be some kind of justice for the man who had put him in that position. If it was not to be Henry Clinton, it must surely be Benedict Arnold. As much as Cornwallis had disagreed with the strategies of Henry Clinton before, he could not stomach the thought of treating Arnold as some sort of trusted subordinate. Now he would not have to. Though the flow of letters from Clinton had been blessedly scarce, one letter had given Cornwallis enormous relief. Clinton had sent William Phillips to Virginia to take the command away from Arnold. Even better, Clinton had provided Phillips with better than two thousand reinforcements. Phillips was a capable, if not brilliant officer, a fat, affable man that Cornwallis had known well for twenty years. Phillips would serve well as Cornwallis’ junior, and if Arnold was to remain in Virginia at all, he could be Phillips’ problem and not his own.

The heat began to settle on Wilmington, lengthening days, steamy nights. He had heard almost nothing from Rawdon, and little from the scouts he sent into the countryside. The British intelligence system was nonexistent, and he could only assume Greene was still moving southward. The feeling was familiar to him, warmer weather fueling growing impatience, frustration that once again, a very good army was sitting idle, while its commander consumed his time pacing through someone’s luxurious home.

The plan began to form in his mind, the idea tempered by concerns for events that could still occur in South Carolina. He would ponder it in the dark hours, would wake in the middle of the night to sweating bedclothes, a warm breeze that filled the curtains like great winds billowing the sails of the stout ships. With the sleep erased he would stare up in darkness, his mind working over the maps, counting the regiments, imaginary discussions with the officers who were far away. In the daylight, he would go to his office, put pen to paper, the maps again, and then, letters, to Phillips first, seeking his agreement. The letters went as well to Clinton and Germain, but he expected no answer. By the time they could respond, it would make no difference anyway. Their letters would not find him quickly enough. There would be ample time for him to exercise the discretion Clinton had given him, to put into motion the one plan that he believed might still work. Clinton sat idly in New York with a great mass of power, while in the Carolinas and Georgia, the British held tightly to the important towns and crossroads. It was a plan Clinton would have to approve, even if Cornwallis did not need him to. The most important colony in America had become Virginia, the great yawning abyss that lay between north and south. The Chesapeake was always crucial, but never more so than now.

The more he tinkered with the plan, the more his old enthusiasm returned. He had erased all thoughts of South Carolina from his mind, had to trust that his commanders there could hold away any assault Greene would offer. Phillips would await him with the fire they had shared as young officers, two men who could depend on each other to stand tall against their enemy. It was nearly too simple a concept, and as he organized another long march, he tried to imagine the reception he would yet receive from the king, from Germain, even from Clinton. The campaign would be brilliant by its very simplicity, a weakly defended colony that held the key to the entire war. If Virginia fell, America must follow.

On April 25, Cornwallis led what remained of his army, fewer than fifteen hundred men, on a march through the lowlands of coastal North Carolina. As they forded the rivers, the Tar and the Neuse, his men marched again through relentlessly hostile country. But then they crossed the Roanoke, and the misery of all they had endured in the Carolinas was behind them. By early May, Cornwallis was in Virginia.

53. WASHINGTON

J
UNE 1781

The invasion of Virginia by Benedict Arnold had inspired Washington to counter the move by sending Lafayette southward with as many troops as could be spared. Von Steuben’s efforts at raising militia were encouraging, and with the young Frenchman’s arrival there, Arnold’s threat could be minimized. Washington had given Lafayette one more order as well. If at all possible, Arnold was to be captured.

For several weeks, Lafayette had prevented any effective British campaign, and Arnold’s men had done little more than pillage the countryside, terrorizing civilians whose farms and villages had already been stripped bare by the needs of their own army. Virginia seemed to have settled into the same kind of stalemate Washington had endured in New York. And then, he learned that Clinton had sent reinforcements and that, surprisingly, their commander was no longer Arnold, but Cornwallis himself.

The news was agonizing for Washington, for reasons both military and personal. If Cornwallis secured the conquest of Virginia, Mount Vernon and, indeed, Martha herself might fall into British hands. Though he could not take his eyes off Clinton and the continuing threat of a British surge out of New York, he could no longer assume Virginia had the troop strength to defend itself. Weakening his army once more, Washington reluctantly sent Anthony Wayne southward, with another thousand troops. If Cornwallis did indeed force an engagement with Lafayette, at least the young Frenchman would have the power to mount an effective defense.

Though Greene was technically in command of the Southern Department, he still deferred to Washington’s authority. The difficulties lay with communication. Letters took a month or more to travel from the Carolinas to Washington’s base along the Hudson. But Greene had done nothing to shake Washington’s confidence, and the news of Cornwallis’ departure from Wilmington had to be accepted as stunning evidence of Greene’s success. With Cornwallis gone, Greene would confront an enemy in South Carolina who seemed resigned to its fate. Though the British would certainly fight to maintain their outposts, their positions were isolated and unlikely to be reinforced. While Greene still had a great deal of work to do, his return to South Carolina would bring the partisans to his side, and, certainly, the people themselves.

For long agonizing months Washington had planned and plotted for some means of assaulting New York. But the reality was pure frustration, Clinton’s strength actually increasing with a sudden arrival of reinforcements. Washington’s spies confirmed that New York was now bristling with nearly fifteen thousand British and Hessian troops. If there was to be any assault at all against Manhattan Island, Washington could do nothing without the support of the French.

Washington had gone north again for another conference with Rochambeau. The French were maddeningly gracious, politely receptive to his maps and strategies, Rochambeau quick to repeat his assurances that he was there only to serve Washington’s needs. Washington endured the grand dinners and lavish parades, all the European pageantry that was designed to impress on him their respect for his command. But through each formal ceremony, and each toast to his name and his health, Washington was acutely aware that the French troops were still idle, the inadequate force of warships in the harbor at Newport were continuing to lie at anchor, while in New York, the British grew stronger still. The question burned inside of him, shielded by his smiling politeness to Rochambeau. Why were the French on American soil if they did not intend to fight?

As Washington fumed about his headquarters, he was still convinced that the ridiculous stalemate could be broken. He had formed a plan for a quick strike into New York from the north, directed toward the King’s Bridge. But the plan required the added power of the French infantry. Rochambeau had finally agreed, and on July 4, while Washington endured more long weeks of French preparation and delay, the first French infantry forces finally arrived at Peekskill. But the intended assault was not to be. The plans were too complex, and the British outposts and sentries were simply too alert. By the time an assault could be launched Clinton was fully prepared. For Washington, it was one more piece of churning disappointment. The entire operation was called off.

Rochambeau’s interpreter now was major general François-Jean de Beauvoir, Chevalier de Chastellux. He was also one of Rochambeau’s senior commanders, and the most educated and literate man Washington had ever met. While Chastellux was perfectly pleased to be interpreter, it was clear he was taking advantage of his position to gather information for a revealing book about life in America. It was a source of intense curiosity to Washington, if not somewhat intimidating. Washington realized that Chastellux might well record on paper every word Washington spoke.

Rochambeau had made himself at home at Dobbs Ferry, a pleasant village perched in the Hudson highlands. The graciousness had continued, dinners in Washington’s honor, invitations to inspect the French troops. He had become accustomed to the arrival of parcels of all size, gifts from Rochambeau and the senior officers in his command, an amazing array of trinkets and artifacts that Washington accepted with polite appreciation.

He accepted yet another invitation to visit Rochambeau, to witness some display of drill and small arms that the Frenchman seemed especially proud to demonstrate. But Washington had seen enough of the perfect white uniforms, had come to know by heart the particular regiments, signified by the color of their finely stitched trim. The display had been predictable, more about show than combat, the perfect precision of men on parade. Washington smiled with his host, applauded at what seemed to be the appropriate moments. It was not so different than what von Steuben had brought to Valley Forge, but to Rochambeau, and his entire command, it seemed a particular point of pride.

The event had concluded, and Washington was already tired, was nagged by a dull pain in his jaw. His teeth had been giving him considerable difficulty, adding to his sour mood. But his hosts were all smiles, and Washington forced his own politeness. As the senior staff retired into Rochambeau’s lavish quarters, Chastellux moved close to him, said, “General, if you are so disposed, General Rochambeau wishes to speak with you privately.”

“Certainly.” It was somewhat unusual, Rochambeau not often particular about the number of staff or officers who attended their meetings. Chastellux led him into Rochambeau’s office, stood to one side, and Rochambeau was there now, pulled the door closed behind him. Rochambeau did not sit, looked at Chastellux, who began to translate, “I must inform you, General, of a somewhat troublesome situation.”

Washington felt the throb in his jaw, a hard burning pain.
What now?

“If we are to commence a new campaign against the British, the fleet at Newport is inadequate to serve our needs, as you are aware. Admiral Barras has been most insistent that since the infantry has removed itself from his protection, Newport is a dangerous place for him to stay. I admit to you, General, with some embarrassment, that this is a disagreement that is annoying to me. The admiral wishes to remove his fleet to Boston, and has even suggested he begin a naval operation with the intent of assaulting British interests at Newfoundland.”

Washington could not hold back.

“Newfoundland?”

Rochambeau smiled. “It is not of concern, General.”

Washington moved to a chair, his weariness betraying him, sat down, said, “General Rochambeau, it is entirely my concern. If Admiral Barras does not intend to provide his warships for our assistance, we cannot accomplish a great deal anywhere in this theater of the war.”

Rochambeau glanced at Chastellux, said, “General, I am in sympathy with you. Let us consider another possibility. Another theater, perhaps. If it was suggested that another fleet of warships was to arrive on this coast, a much larger fleet, would you agree that this could be put to valuable service?”

Washington saw a puzzled look on Chastellux’s face, Rochambeau’s words obviously unexpected.

“Certainly, General. Valuable indeed.”

“If I was to tell you that a powerful fleet, commanded by Admiral de Grasse, might arrive, perhaps, at the Chesapeake Bay, would you consider that to be of value?”

Washington said nothing, looked again at Chastellux, who seemed visibly uncomfortable. Washington was beginning to understand now, thought, there is nothing
perhaps
about this. Washington knew of de Grasse, a reputation as one of the French navy’s finest commanders. De Grasse had been sent from France to the West Indies with a sizable armada, was one of the primary reasons the French were faring so well against the British navy in their confrontations there.

“General Rochambeau, is Admiral de Grasse en route to the Chesapeake Bay?”

Rochambeau shrugged.

“Perhaps. If he was, how would you respond to that news, General?”

Washington’s mind raced, all the talk, all the planning and the meetings, Rochambeau’s stubbornness against assaulting New York. For all the man’s claims of subservience, he thought, they have their own plans, their own strategy for fighting this war. They will allow me to know those plans when I solve their riddle. He was angry now, the toothache putting him close to an explosion. Chastellux said, in English, “I am sorry, General. I knew nothing of this.”

Rochambeau waited patiently for Chastellux to finish his words, seemed to know what his subordinate had said.

“General Washington, we all fight for the same cause here. You must understand that my king must keep his eyes on all the world, not just America. You are not experienced in the consequences of war. I respect you because you have endured against a much more powerful enemy. But I must support my government’s caution. A direct assault against a powerful foe in New York could have disastrous consequence. Indeed, your war could end at the very moment our forces were defeated. It would prove an embarrassment to my king.”

Washington felt the heat in his brain slipping away from his careful grasp.

“General Rochambeau, if our forces are defeated, I have lost my home, my country, and my life. I have never championed any strategy that proved to be unwise. I am not certain that New York should be our priority, only that General Clinton’s defeat there would hasten the end of this war.”

“Thank you for your honesty, General. I will be honest with you as well. Admiral de Grasse has agreed to sail from the West Indies to the mouth of the Chesapeake because he believes there is an opportunity to destroy a British fleet that is forming there. From all we can gather, General Clinton is establishing a formidable naval base at Portsmouth, on the Virginia coast. If the British fortify that position, it could put our naval operations in America in some jeopardy. The British would have a base more central to operations either north or south.”

Washington’s anger was easing, and he said, “It is a sound plan. Might I suggest that if Admiral de Grasse is successful, he could
then
weigh the consequences of an assault on New York?”

“That is possible, General. I must mention, however, that Admiral de Grasse believes our forces should unite. His fleet and . . . your troops.”

Washington absorbed the words, realized that Rochambeau was offering him the decision, a symbolic show of Washington’s seniority.

He had received Lafayette’s estimates, that Cornwallis had nearly eight thousand regular British troops on the Virginia peninsula. Even if de Grasse confronted the British fleet for dominance of the Chesapeake, Cornwallis would hold tightly to the state itself. If the British supply lines over water were cut, Cornwallis would simply extend them inland, another campaign of plunder and destruction that Lafayette was not powerful enough to stop. If the British were to be defeated in Virginia, it would have to come by both land and sea.

“General Rochambeau, should Admiral de Grasse choose to appear at Virginia, he could be of immeasurable service to our cause. I would suggest that we prepare to join him there.”

A
UGUST 1781

The danger was enormous, Clinton perched in New York with a force large enough to crush both Washington and Rochambeau, if they allowed themselves to be caught on a vulnerable march. Washington’s plan was to offer a perfect deceit. The columns paraded close to the Hudson clearly visibile to Clinton’s lookouts. Clinton’s spies could not help but observe rebel militia along the Jersey shore assembling vast fleets of small boats. Rochambeau ordered his troops to build huge ovens, in clear sight of the harbor. It was a convincing show that the armies would form their camps and their main supply base not far from what Clinton would believe to be their primary target: Staten Island. For days, the drums sounded, and troops filed into place near Newark and Amboy, the troops themselves believing that they were preparing to invade New York. Throughout the entire operation, Washington and Rochambeau were the only two men who knew the true plan. The lookouts kept him advised, but Washington would see for himself, would climb the observation posts to study the British warships at anchor in the harbor. There was no change, no flatboats, no troops in motion. Clinton was sitting tight, convinced, as was every man along the Jersey shore, that a massive engagement was imminent, that very soon, New York could be under siege.

When the orders came to march yet again, Washington’s troops still believed they were preparing to cross the narrow waterway. But their march took them through Brunswick, and then Princeton, and by the time they reached the Delaware River, the troops realized it was a different mission altogether.