The Glorious Cause (20 page)

It was small consolation to Washington, and Glover seemed to understand that. Washington saw the man’s face reflecting his own sadness. Glover stood, said, “Sir, with your permission, we’ll be headin’ out.”

Washington stood as well.

“May God go with you and your men, Colonel. Your country is grateful to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Glover did not wait, would not drag out the moment, was out the door. Washington stood alone for a long moment, thought of the retreat from Long Island, the crossing of the Delaware. If he never returns, there will be no shame. He has saved this army more than once. He may yet do it again.

15. CORNWALLIS

J
ANUARY 2, 1777

The reaction in Howe’s headquarters to Rall’s disaster was loud and frantic, and Cornwallis’ journey to England was abruptly canceled. Again he assumed command of the army in New Jersey, crossed the Hudson, and made the journey from Amboy to Princeton in one long grueling day, a ride of over fifty miles. Cornwallis had left the headquarters escaping a firestorm of words from Howe, the man’s so carefully orchestrated schedule now a complete shambles. There would be no winter quarters for the army, not yet, the civilized tradition interrupted by the astounding spectacle of this barbaric band of rebels, who would so insult the rules of war by a surprise attack on a celebration of Christmas. De Heister had been the brunt of much of Howe’s tirade, and Cornwallis knew that the old Hessian would bear the shame for the whole debacle, that Colonel Rall had been his choice for the defense of Trenton. De Heister’s own account of the defeat was already on its way across the Atlantic, and as Cornwallis had ridden away from Howe’s headquarters, he didn’t know if he would ever see de Heister again. By the time Cornwallis returned to New York, the old man might be gone, recalled by a Hessian king who had no patience for defeat.

The reports had come to Howe’s headquarters one after another, every commander offering his own excuses, scrambling to paint the best picture of his role in the catastrophe at Trenton. Yet no one could put to paper the exact rebel strength or where they had placed their army.

Von Donop had responded to Rall’s collapse by withdrawing his men from Bordentown, knowing that with Trenton in the hands of the rebels, no other position along the Delaware River was likely to be safe. And worse, the Hessian colonel came to realize that the rebels were pursuing him not from Trenton, but from Bordentown itself, a new wave of troops who had crossed the river after Rall’s defeat. Von Donop made his way across unfamiliar farm roads, through icy streams, a frantic and miserable march to reach the safety of the British defenses at Princeton. Despite the discipline of his veterans, the utter defeat of their comrades infected the Hessian regiment with a simmering panic, and when bands of rebels began to harass their flanks, filling each night with the terror of sniper fire, the withdrawal boiled over into a chaotic retreat. To von Donop’s men, it seemed that every farmer had a musket, every family was seeking bloody revenge for Hessian plunder. Von Donop’s stragglers joined the few Hessians who had escaped Trenton, and as they scattered throughout the countryside, many of them simply deserted, helped by Cadwalader’s militia and local farmers to cross the Delaware and find their way toward Philadelphia. As much as von Donop intended to reach Princeton, to rejoin the British in a counterattack, many of his soldiers had other ideas, were in no mood for another surprise assault.

Those British units that could be mobilized in short order were now on the move westward. From Amboy to Brunswick to Princeton, the scene was frantic determination. The reinforcements marched with unaccustomed speed, inspired by the commander who quickly overtook them. Cornwallis had ridden past the columns of fresh British regiments refusing to believe that the defeat in Trenton was anything more than the sloppy arrogance of Colonel Rall, a soldier who built no defense because he had no fear of his enemy. It had been so very common in this army, a philosophy that came from Howe himself. So many of the commanders had accepted it as absolute. No rebel can stand up to a proper soldier. Since the fight at Brooklyn, there was constant congratulation at headquarters, victory after victory, driving the rabble away with the pomp and pageantry the empire expected. But there are lessons in victory as well as defeat, and Cornwallis believed that too many of the senior officers had learned nothing about their enemy. Even Howe’s lesson from Breed’s Hill seemed to be forgotten. As Cornwallis pushed the horse across the New Jersey farmlands, he was already seeing Washington in a different way.
He
is a man who learns. Yes, he understands that his men cannot stand up in a general engagement. Washington knows his own limitations, his army’s weaknesses. He is a soldier after all, and he will elude us because he
must
elude us. He can only succeed if we allow him to, if we are vulnerable, if we make a
mistake
. And Colonel Rall provided him one.

The headquarters at Princeton was under the command of Cornwallis’ friend Alexander Leslie, but the overall commander of the lengthy line of New Jersey posts was General James Grant. Grant was an accomplished veteran of English wars dating back over thirty years, and brought to his command a thorough disregard for the rebels, and especially for the leadership of George Washington. Grant had once made the boisterous claim to a session of Parliament that with an army of five thousand men, he could conquer all of America himself. It was a speech designed to please the newspapers, but there were no rebel marksmen in the halls of Parliament. Cornwallis would not embarrass Grant, was not riding to the front to find fault. Grant was still an exceptional field commander, and though his boastful disdain for the rebels had become a sad irony, Cornwallis knew there was an opportunity still, that if Washington was to hold on to his victory in Trenton, he might attempt to hold Trenton itself. Despite Rall’s defeat, one thing had not changed. If there was a major confrontation, the rebels were still no match for the British army. Though Howe might believe fighting in winter to be uncivilized, there might yet be an opportunity to end this war.

He rode into Princeton wondering how Grant would respond to his arrival, knew that the older man would certainly not expect him so soon. Nothing had ever been done in this army with speed, but delays now could give Washington a dangerous power. The longer the British took to respond, the greater the chance that public opinion would swing toward the rebel cause. The result could be a sudden influx of militia to Washington’s army, an enormous increase in morale. Whether or not that would matter on the battlefield, it would certainly matter to congress, and to Parliament.

He rode past the college again, saw a few lanterns, guard posts placed at the intersections. He led a company of dragoons, and the guards welcomed the horsemen with raised arms and cheers, few realizing that Cornwallis himself was among them. They turned down a side street, moved toward headquarters, and Cornwallis began to dread seeing Grant, thought, He should not have been in command of such an important position, especially with its most vulnerable outpost manned by Hessians. It was a problem for most of the British commanders, the awkward relationship between British and Hessian officers that might now be worse than ever. But the chain of command should always prevail, and Cornwallis knew that if you made a decent effort at diplomacy, you could give an order to anyone in the Hessian command. Tradition or not, pride or not, the Hessians were subordinate to their British counterparts. Even Grant would understand that the Hessians had been humbled now. One of their senior officers had lost his life in their worst defeat of the war.

It was very late, and he climbed down from the horse with a stiffening pain in every joint in his body. Just outside the town, he had overtaken a column of Highlanders, and he could hear their bagpipes. He stretched his back, thought, They’ve marched as far as I have ridden, and there will no complaining from their lot. There shall not be a word out of me either.

The dragoons had dispersed, one of Grant’s staff guiding them to a camp. Cornwallis’ staff had been strung out on the road, the last pair of aides now arriving. He showed patience, waited for them to dismount their exhausted horses. He scanned their faces, saw the twists and frowns, younger men all.

“Rest your bones, gentlemen. This journey is not yet over. We will be moving out in the morning. I suggest you find something to eat.”

He could hear small moans, had no patience for complaining, stepped gingerly toward the headquarters, sharp pains in both hips. The doorway was alive with firelight, and he thought of food, but there were no smells, the evening meal long past. He straightened himself, waited for the stoic guards to open the door. The bagpipes behind him were drowned out by music of a different kind now, from inside the headquarters. He could hear a violin and bad singing, and not all of it from men. He stepped inside, was surprised at the festive mood, men around a table, several bottles emptied, a group of brightly dressed women gathered around a pair of musicians. The music stopped, and the voices grew quiet, and he brushed at the dust on his disheveled uniform, was in no mood for pleasantries. He saw Grant, the older man sitting tall in a chair, looking at him with a strained smile. Grant suddenly rose, said, “Ah, General Cornwallis, welcome. Forgive me, sir, but you appear to be in need of a rather stiff beverage.”

Cornwallis felt his weariness giving way to annoyance.

“No, General Grant, I do not require any
beverage
.” The word came out of him with a spitting hiss. “I did not expect to find a party. It is certainly not in
my
honor. Whose honor might it be? A memorial for Colonel Rall perhaps? General de Heister? Or perhaps you would have us salute the man who brought so many of us back out here? Would that be
General
Washington?” There was complete silence, and he saw Grant’s expression change, regretted his outburst, No, there is no need to shame the man.

Grant motioned to the women.

“Ladies, you will excuse us. The musicians may leave.”

There were disappointed protests from the women, but they obeyed, and the dresses swirled past Cornwallis, a cloud of perfume engulfing him. Grant waited for the room to clear.

“General, if you feel it is appropriate, then I offer my apologies. This may seem to be a party, only because there has been a considerable brightening of spirit in this camp. Over the past two days, the arrival of the reinforcements has brought a new vigor to these proceedings. Not a man here fails to see that there will be a considerable and inevitable turnabout, a glorious reversal in the affairs of this past week.”

It was the speech of a man accustomed to giving speeches. Cornwallis looked around the room, familiar faces all, Leslie giving him a small self-conscious nod. He moved to a chair, sat slowly, a stab of pain in his back, blinked hard, fought the dust in his eyes, said, “I have had an exceptionally tiresome day. It would not be prudent of any one of you to ask my particular view toward the affairs of this past week.”

He could see Grant deflate now, and the man seemed to slump as he sat. Cornwallis thought, No, do not worry, General, I did not come here to censure you. “Do we know the disposition and strength of the rebel forces? Where exactly is Mr. Washington?”

No one spoke, and he could see faces turning toward Grant. Cornwallis wiped at his face with dirty gloves, said, “Do you have a report for me, General Grant?”

“I can only relate to you what our scouts have determined, sir. The rebels have occupied Trenton and seem content to remain there. They have made forays toward our position, capturing a miniscule amount of supplies, wagons and whatnot, but of no consequence. I do not know, precisely, where Mr. Washington may be found.”

Cornwallis heard the familiar tone in Grant’s voice, the arrogant dismissal of Washington, thought, Hardly the time, General. He felt a cavernous hole in his stomach, the exhaustion of the day blossoming into an overwhelming desire for a simple plate of bread and meat.

“I require some rest, gentlemen, thus I will be brief. Tomorrow morning, this army will advance in column toward Trenton. We will confront whatever defensive position the rebels have constructed. If Mr. Washington chooses to remain on this side of the river, his army will be annihilated. Good evening, gentlemen.”

Cornwallis stood slowly, and around the room, the others stood as well. He turned toward the door, was suddenly frozen in place by Grant’s booming voice.

“Quite so, sir! Let us sweep up this rabble once and for all! They are certainly no match for us! I shall enjoy seeing Mr. Washington wearing a rope!”

Cornwallis looked at Grant’s purposeful grin, fought the words in his mind, wanted to wipe away the man’s arrogance, thought, That rabble has just given us a thorough thrashing, and you have already forgotten? He sorted out his words, said, “Let us not dwell on what
should
be, General. Let us use the means we have at hand, and make it so. Whether or not Mr. Washington is a match for this army is still to be determined. I intend to find out.”

The march began early, and immediately they were confronted by musket fire from carefully hidden defenses. Across every creek bed the ground had been littered with cut trees, and in every narrow pass the woods held marksmen. As the army inched its way closer to Trenton, the resistance became more organized, stronger, rebel earthworks concealing well-placed cannon, entire companies of riflemen chasing the British skirmishers back to their main column. Over each hill, past each patch of woods, the constant pressure from the rebels had to be met, and Cornwallis was forced to spread the army into a line of battle. Each time they would push forward with bayonets ready, only to find the rebels vanishing in front of them. The regiments would assemble again into the column of march, only to hear another burst of musket fire. By the time they reached Trenton, it was after dark. The ten-mile march had taken over ten hours.

The dragoons had spread out through the streets of Trenton, harassed only by the occasional sniper. His staff was nervous, but Cornwallis pushed ahead, saw to the placing of the army, the wider streets giving them room to make camp. He would not be as careless as Rall, would not scatter his cannon in useless display, but kept the guns together, their crews ready to move on short notice, anywhere they were needed.