The Glorious Cause (27 page)

Greene carried his breakfast with him, a hard biscuit stuffed with a small piece of dried meat. He worked the stiff leg in a careful rhythm, climbing the tall hill as he had done for days, his aide following with the field glasses. It was already hot, the air smothering him in dampness, his shirt cold with sweat. He reached the one tall rock, leaned against it for a moment, his breathing slower, tried to ignore the pain in his stiff leg. He grabbed a tuft of brush above him, pulled himself up through a crag on the rock, his good leg now holding him. He lifted himself to the top of the lookout, could finally see the harbor clearly, and the mouth of the Hudson. There was a reflection, motion, one small frigate coming down out of the river, a patrol perhaps, Howe’s futile effort at keeping the river free of the nighttime traffic. The aide was beside him now, handed him the glasses, and Greene scanned across to the city, patches of black still evident.

“They have not yet cleaned up the remnants of the fire, Mr. Hovey. They will not make the effort until they believe it is truly their city.”

The man beside him stood at silent attention, something Greene was used to now, the young lieutenant always formal, few words. He knew Hovey was always watching him closely, there to help if Greene stumbled, if the leg suddenly gave way. He appreciated the young man’s attentiveness, appreciated more that Hovey would never speak of it.

Greene lowered the glasses, thought of the Tories, so many loyalists from the countryside scampering into New York for sanctuary. It is so much like Boston, stuffed full like herring in a barrel with British sympathizers who have nowhere else to go. Is there not something to be learned from that? If this was still
their
country, why would the Tories have such a need to flee? If we are but a rabble, the dregs of your empire, why have you not subdued us?

There was a voice behind him, from below the rock, “Sir! General Washington approaches.”

He moved to the edge of the rock, saw Washington dismount his horse, the big man now climbing the slope of the hill, trailed by the ever-present Tilghman. There was another aide as well, and Greene was pleased to see the young Hamilton, the artillery captain so impressing Washington that the commander had named him to his staff. It was more than just a reward for good service. Despite Joseph Reed’s valuable assistance at Princeton, Reed could not avoid the stain of his betrayal, the indiscreet correspondences with Charles Lee. Washington had accepted Reed’s resignation, and the young lawyer was gone, had returned to his home in Philadelphia. His replacement had to be a man of letters, someone who could turn the proper phrase. That man was Alexander Hamilton.

Washington moved up close to the tall rock now, said, “I am not a young man, Mr. Greene. May I have a word with you without scaling these heights?”

Greene stepped down to the crag in the rock.

“Certainly, sir. Allow me a moment.”

Hovey was quickly in front, moved down the rock before him. Greene slid down, guiding the stiff leg through the gap in the rock, and he landed with both feet on the solid ground, hid the pain, pulled himself upright. He saluted Washington.

“There has been little change, sir. The ships are spread out in several areas of the harbor. If General Howe has some plan, he is not revealing it today.”

Washington was frowning, staring away, and Greene knew not to interrupt his thoughts. Washington glanced around him, seemed to appraise the staffs, the company of riflemen spread out down below, the skirmish line who kept their muskets toward the river.

“General Greene, will you accompany me?”

Washington moved back down the hill toward the horses, and Greene followed, could feel the man’s mood, thought, Something is wrong. He glanced back toward the harbor, No, the enemy has shown us nothing. Something of congress, perhaps? Another French peacock? The exercise was familiar, trying to cut through Washington’s deliberate routine. It was not a sport he enjoyed, a product of his impatience, but he knew that Washington was assembling his words, and Greene would just have to wait. They moved past the horses, stepped down into tall grass, away from the morning sun, the air cooler. Washington stopped, looked around them, and Greene thought, The men. He’s looking for those who might hear too much. Washington seemed satisfied they were alone, said in a low voice, “Mr. Greene, this is not a day I hoped I would ever see. I received a dispatch this morning from General St. Clair. He has abandoned Fort Ticonderoga. Burgoyne has taken possession of the fort.”

The word punched through him like a spear.

“Abandoned?”

Washington nodded slowly.

“I have not yet received a full report, but I have faith in Arthur St. Clair, and I have no reason to believe he would not perform his duty.” He paused, and Greene digested the word still in his mind. Washington said, “I had hoped the fort would be a major obstacle to the plans of General Burgoyne. Its loss is unaccountable, a most unfortunate event. Now we must make preparations. General Howe may already know of his victory. He will certainly take advantage, make every effort to combine a considerable force with Burgoyne’s army. I do not see how we can entirely prevent that.”

“Can St. Clair still fight? Is there anything to slow Burgoyne’s advance? Perhaps Burgoyne will do for us what Howe has always done. He may decide to stop at Ticonderoga and celebrate his victory. It could give us time to move troops to that front.”

Greene was running the names through his mind, the numbers, the strength they could muster toward Albany. Washington was staring down, said, “I do not know where Mr. St. Clair has gone, or his men. He only had a force of three thousand around the fort, and many of those were new recruits. Still, I believed that was adequate. The fort was a strong position. But now, whatever force St. Clair can still employ is barely a skirmish line should Burgoyne continue his march. We will send support immediately. General Gates is in active command there.”

Greene sniffed, the sound more audible than he had intended.

“Mr. Greene, we cannot afford to debate the merits of anyone’s command. The congress has deemed it proper that Horatio Gates lead that department. There is no time for argument.”

Greene looked down.

“Of course not, sir.”

It was more of the meddling, but this time a product of Gates’ own efforts, the man taking every opportunity to campaign directly to the congress for what Gates insisted was his proper place, an independent command, out from the direct control of Washington. The congress had agreed, few in Philadelphia showing any grasp of the legacy of Charles Lee, those commanders who believed their own cause outshone that of the army. But Washington had moved beyond Greene’s indiscretion.

“I wish you to send the Eleventh Virginia, Morgan’s riflemen, to accompany two regiments being detached from General Putnam’s command at Peekskill.”

“Sir, my entire division can be prepared in short order. They are ready for a fight. I will march them with all speed, sir.”

Washington held up a hand.

“No, Mr. Greene. What I require is that you remain close at hand. General Howe is still in New York. Until he makes his intentions known to us, we cannot commit any large force. I have summoned General Arnold from Philadelphia. He has already demonstrated considerable skill in that theater. I am hoping he will agree to organize what resistance can be assembled north of Albany.”

The name brought more thoughts of the congress to Greene’s mind, a bungling of promotions that had nearly cost the army one of its most able field commanders.

Benedict Arnold had distinguished himself from the earliest days of the war, stood side by side with Ethan Allen the day Ticonderoga was first taken from the British, an astounding accomplishment that provided the Continental Army nearly all of its artillery pieces. Arnold had continued his good work, defending Ticonderoga against a major British assault the year before. But when the congress granted promotions to a new group of major generals, they were hesitant to commission too many men from any one state. Some in the congress believed that Connecticut had already provided a disproportionate share of senior commanders, and thus Arnold, the Connecticut native, was passed over in favor of men from other states. Congress never seemed to consider ability to be as important as appeasing the tender feelings of various state assemblies. Washington had been given no say in the matter, but he recognized the ridiculous injustice and campaigned angrily on Arnold’s behalf. Finally, Arnold had received his promotion. Despite the insult from congress, Arnold continued to exert himself with considerable skill in the field. For the past several weeks, he had been in command of the militia that guarded Philadelphia.

Greene knew that if Washington required a capable commander to take the field against Burgoyne’s advance, there were few in the army who could take charge of a dangerous situation with as much skill as Benedict Arnold.

Washington began to walk slowly back up the hill, said, “Are you certain the ships are still at anchor?”

Greene followed, knew Washington would see for himself, and he waited until they reached the crest of the hill, pointed, said, “One group of frigates, a dozen, perhaps, near the mouth of the river. Several more, and at least six ships of the line out in the middle of the harbor. There’s another group of smaller gunboats and a good many transports still at Staten Island. They do not appear to be making ready.”

Washington had raised his field glasses, lowered them again, said, “General Howe is a mystery. He may not yet know of their capture of Ticonderoga, but still . . . I would be moving my strength upriver. I would not wait.”

“General, he has done a great deal of waiting.” Greene smiled, but Washington was grim, focused, and Greene said, “Perhaps, sir, he knows we are expecting him, that we are reinforcing the Highlands.”

Washington made a small grunt, said, “Mr. Greene, when have we ever prevented them from gaining a river? A year ago I heard nothing but confidence about our strong defense of New York. You were a witness to our arrogance there. We have no engineers in this army. We build our fortifications by consulting outdated textbooks, written by the very enemy we are trying to hold away. General Putnam is confident he can keep the British from passing his works at the Highlands.” Washington paused, raised the glasses again. Greene said, “With respects to General Putnam, sir, we have not prevented the British from passing anywhere. The Highlands may be no different.”

Washington looked at him, his expression softer, a small nod.

“It is essential for an effective commander to learn from mistakes, whether his own, or the mistakes of others. Thank you, Mr. Greene.”

Washington looked away again, and Greene sorted through the small puzzle, realized now that Washington had tested him. The stain of Fort Washington had been with him for a long while, but he saw past that, could see that Washington was telling him to learn from the error. He suddenly felt very good, wanted to say something to return the favor, somehow lift the burden he could feel in the man beside him.

“Sir, the loss of Ticonderoga could be a minor affair. Burgoyne is still a long distance from here. Even if Howe combines forces with him they cannot secure the entire length of the river. We can surely find the means to sever their hold.”

Washington said nothing for a long moment, stared at the harbor, then looked around, again careful of those who might hear.

“Mr. Greene, there are many people in this country who believe that by the size of this land alone, we cannot be defeated. It is natural to assume that no army on earth can subdue a nation as large as this one. But our victory will not be won because we control the most land. It is won by the defeat of the enemy’s army. We suffer the inefficiency of congress, but congress reflects the will of the people, and the people are our only means of maintaining this army. The loss of Ticonderoga is not so important to this army as it is to the people. If they lose faith in us, they will not support us. What we accomplished at Trenton transformed their mood, and you witnessed the result. New recruits, ample rations. But when faith is justified, it becomes expectation. I have endured a flood of letters from congress, questioning why we were so idle at Morristown. I am scolded, advised in the strongest terms to strike out again, produce more victories, as though it is simply a matter of will. The congress is aware that the optimism of the people can change easily into hopelessness, that the support for this army is as fragile as a flicker of candlelight. It may only take one great defeat, one powerful blow by the British to extinguish it.”

“Sir, clearly then, General Howe does not grasp that. He has had opportunity to deliver such a blow, and has failed to do so.”

“Yes, Mr. Greene, there is the mystery. I have heard rumors of grumbling in the British high command, that the Howe brothers may be our friends after all, that all their enthusiasm for peace is reflected by their poor strategy.”

“That would be . . . treason, of the highest sort.”

“Quite so, Mr. Greene, which is why I don’t believe it. General Howe is experienced in the European ways, that defeating your opponent is best accomplished, not by defeating his army, but by capturing his capital.”

Washington looked again at the harbor, slowly raised his hand in front of his chest, made a fist, his voice now loud, excited.

“That’s the answer, Mr. Greene! That is why those ships are still at anchor. No matter how sound the strategy, how important it may be to Burgoyne, Howe doesn’t
want
to go north. He wants to go south. He has his eye on Philadelphia, after all.”