The Glorious Cause (42 page)

He thought of the day’s drill, the formations. In Europe, men train for months to be called recruits. Here, we must train in weeks to be called soldiers. What army in Europe would endure what these men have suffered? He heard it still, the cries that met every officer, every tour by any man on horseback, from Washington to the occasional civilian. They call out from their dismal beds,
no meat, no soldier
. They make their protest, and then . . . they go about their duty. In Europe, this army would have simply dissolved, great bloody riots. He looked at the house again. They would come here as a mob, would have destroyed this place, taken every scrap of clothing and food, stolen every boot, and if the officers could not escape, they would be hanged. But the Americans . . . simply endure. If this army prevails in this war, it may be by the very suffering they have endured here, by their very survival. It is as if they understand that their cause is more important than their suffering. The British will never understand that. Even King Frederick would not understand. In Prussia, Austria, France, you instruct a soldier what to do, and he does it. Here, you tell them and they ask . . . why? Give us a good reason. If the reason is adequate, the deed is accomplished. It is a curious people.

He saw guards emerging from the house, the young Captain Gibbs now stepping down, the men moving away from the house, toward the creek. Gibbs saw him, seemed surprised, said, “General von Steuben, may I help you, sir?”

He could hear the distinct Virginia accent in the man’s voice, so different from the New England men.

“No, thank you, Captain. I’ll be to dinner now.”

“General Washington is in the dining cabin, sir. If there’s anything at all we can do, please inquire.”

The young man moved away, the guards falling into line behind him, a slow march toward their quarters. They hopped across the creek in turn, the mud splattering beneath them, and von Steuben watched them for a long moment, then made a wide step across the creek himself, moved to the door of the house.

The dinner was complete, brought to a close by a song, an unfamiliar melody, words von Steuben didn’t know. It had been Mrs. Washington’s idea, a frequent conclusion to the meals now, something prayerful, solemn. He had tried to follow the words, could understand that it was a call for mercy, for sparing the lives of the young. He had stayed quiet, absorbing their mood, had focused on Washington, could see the man staring downward, his eyes closing, the words filled with obvious meaning. But when the song was finished, the mood passed, the officers and their wives rose from the table, solemnity giving way to smiles and cordiality. It was another of those odd American habits, finding a moment to reflect solely on the sadness, the horror of the world beyond these pleasant walls. As he stepped out into the chilly night, he thought, It is another difference, something that separates them from Europe. So often the foreign officers are men of high breeding and titled family, so far removed from the rabble of their army. They command vast armies of men they rarely see, and certainly never speak to, soldiers whose lives are reduced to sketches on paper, to lines of a map. The generals learn it from their monarchs, those who are barricaded in their own grand palaces, removed farther still from the people whose lives they hold in their hands. It is no wonder these men love their commander. It is an emotion that flows in both directions.

The party was dispersing, Washington’s staff assisting the ladies to their waiting carriages. Washington was not there, and von Steuben thought, He is already into the main house. Duponceau had pointed it out to him his first few days in the camp, Washington’s private entryway, the escape route from the social scene that might otherwise capture him in the dining area. It was a narrow door, cut into the side of the main house, that led directly to Washington’s office. Von Steuben looked at the guard, ever-present, one of Gibbs’ Virginians, a gruff-looking man who stood squarely in front of the door. Von Steuben smiled, thought, Not everything about this army is so casual.

He moved around the outside of the house, climbed the steps, moved inside, found himself alone in the hall. To one side he could hear the clatter of pewter dishes in the kitchen, small talk from the maids. He lingered in the hall for a moment, saw the glow of light from the far end of the hall, Washington’s office, and now a voice behind him, “General, are you lost?”

He turned, was towering over the petite round woman, said, “Mrs. Washington . . . no, not lost. Waiting. A moment only.”

“Are you waiting to see my husband? I am certain he is alone. Most everyone has retired. I was preparing to do the same.”

“Oh, thank you, yes. I will see him. Only a moment.”

She was smiling at him, the contagious softness that brought out a smile of his own.

“Are you not married, General? Your wife would certainly be welcome in this camp.”

“Oh, no, there is no wife. Difficult for me . . . my duties.”

“Forgive me, General. I do not mean to be impolite. I must say, your English is improving rather nicely.”

“Thank you,
ma’am.
” He exaggerated the word, the touch of Virginia, and she laughed, her hand covering her mouth.

“I am proud to say, ma’am, I have entirely read
Robinson Crusoe
.”

“Marvelous, General. You should be proud. I shall be pleased to send for more books, if you would like. I believe everyone in this army would be honored by your efforts at our language. Many of the European officers have done very well with their English. My husband tells me that General Lafayette is nearly flawless.”

“Ah, yes. I do not meet General Lafayette yet, ma’am.”

“I have not either, General. He is to return here soon, I believe. My husband has a great affection for the young man. I am looking forward to making his acquaintance. I have never known my husband to make such a fuss over one of his officers. He regards General Lafayette very much as he would his own son.”

Von Steuben smiled again, had run out of words. He began to feel awkward, and she looked away, said, “Dear me, General, I truly must retire. I’m certain my husband will be pleased by your visit. I do not know any reason why you must continue to wait in the hall.”

He made a deep bow, realized she had sensed the uncomfortable moment, had removed it with the skill of a perfect hostess.

“Mrs. Washington, it has been my pleasure to speak for you.”

She laughed, her hand again on her mouth.

“Not quite correct, General. You’re learning though. Good evening, sir.”

She began to climb the stairs, and he waited for a moment, could hear her steps above him. He looked again down the hall, heard nothing from Washington’s office. He eased closer, made a sharp rap on the wall, peeked around the edge of the door, said, “General? Permit me, sir?”

Washington was at the tall desk, sat back, said, “Mr. von Steuben, by all means. Please, come in. Sit there.”

Von Steuben obeyed, kept his back straight, his hands at his sides. Washington said, “I did not see Mr. Duponceau this evening. Is he feeling all right?”

“Oh, quite, yes, sir. I excused him. I wished to . . . speak without him tonight.”

“Very well. Excellent. I admire the young man. Difficult duty, being an interpreter. I cannot imagine seeing my words pass through another man. Something is surely lost.” Washington seemed concerned, said, “If I am speaking too rapidly . . . please tell me.”

“Oh, no, sir. Not at all. It is good for my lessons. I can understand . . . mostly.” Von Steuben tried to relax, always felt tense around Washington, realized now it was the first time they had ever been alone.

“Did you wish to speak to me?”

“Oh, General, I apologize. I should not take your time.”

“Speak to me, General.”

“Sir, I observe your Captain Gibbs.”

“Caleb Gibbs? Yes, I selected him myself, captain of the guard. I know his family well. Is there some problem?”

“Oh, no, sir. Well, yes. Problem is that your guard is . . . all from Virginia, correct?”

“Yes. I required loyalty, General. In the beginning of this campaign, there was discussion in this army about hostility between the states. I regret some of that still prevails. It was thought that a guard from New Hampshire or New Jersey might not be so . . . efficient as one from my home. Virginians would tend to be more protective of Virginians.”

Von Steuben was frowning now.

“You don’t agree, General?”

“I agree with the . . . principle. But I disagree that it is necessary today. In fact, sir, I am feeling it is wrong. It could be a problem.”

Washington seemed surprised, said, “Please continue.”

“Sir, you have soldiers here from all over America. From what I see, they all follow you as their commander. This entire army is example of loyalty for the world. It is amazement. I have a suggestion, sir. I believe it is better for this army if you return their loyalty.”

“How do you mean?”

“They show you their loyalty. Show yours . . . to them. Your guard should be from each state. You select a few men from each state, you send message to all states. You respect
them
, you believe they will serve you as well as Virginians. Captain Gibbs, if he is a good officer, he can command more than just Virginians.”

Washington stared at him for a long moment, seemed to ponder the thought. Von Steuben felt uneasy, the tenseness returning, and Washington began to nod slowly, pointed his finger at him, said, “An unprejudiced eye. I am not accustomed to that in this command. I believe you are correct. Very well, if I am to have personal guards from every state, you will select them for me.”

Von Steuben was flattered.

“Yes, sir. I am happy to, sir.”

He was already thinking of the men from his drill classes, several who had stood out, who had shown a quick grasp of the lessons.

“I will begin tomorrow, sir. I should retire, now, sir. I have used your time too much.”

Washington looked at his desk, held up a piece of paper.

“
This
is how my time is spent, General. I was writing another letter to congress. I write perhaps ten per week. It is the most tedious duty of this command. This particular letter . . . I am attempting to inspire some of those gentlemen down there to compel their home states to release new recruits to this army. The states continue to raise regiments, and are then determined to keep them within their borders as local defense forces. I have tried to communicate the obvious, that neither Delaware nor Connecticut nor New Hampshire is presently under siege.”

Von Steuben could hear the weariness in his voice, said, “Forgive me, sir. I do not understand so much of this . . . congress. In Europe, that word has become exalted. All that we know from Philadelphia, your Declaration of Independence. Inspires great respect, your congress is such men of character. When I visited through York, I saw . . . please, I am apologizing, sir.”

“Speak your mind, General. We are alone here.”

“There were but few. I hoped to see great hall of men, debating issues. I saw instead . . . parties. Food and wine. I was invited to stay, very kind hospitality. But I could not see that anyone there was fighting a war.”

Washington smiled, but von Steuben could see it was not good humor.

“Very astute observation, General. I cannot compel them to do anything they do not wish to do. And yet, my authority rests solely in their hands.”

“But . . . the states. The congress has no authority to the states?”

“That’s the most serious difficulty facing this army, General. Congress represents the American people, but it has no real authority. Congress can make requests of the state assemblies, but it cannot compel anything. My army is a continental army, composed of men from all thirteen states. This war is a war of independence for all thirteen states. But no state is obliged to offer support to the men who cross beyond their borders.”

“Sir, you are saying that this army fights for a government that is not . . . real. It has no power. How do you fight a war?”

“This is a war about an ideal, General. The American people are united in a cause. If we lose this war, if I am captured, I will likely be hanged. Every one of my officers here faces the same fate. Even . . . you. But what the British, what King George does not understand is that what happens to this army is not important. The
cause
cannot be defeated. No king, no army can capture a man’s mind, or the minds of an entire country. There is inspiration in that, General. In some ways, the American people have already won this war, because they have experienced what it is like to cast off an oppressive ruler. They have come to accept that they have rights, that no supreme power can command any of us to bow before him, except the Almighty God.”

“But, sir, what if you
win
this war? You have no government?”

Washington looked down at his desk, thought a moment.

“General, in a hall in Philadelphia, I was a witness to an extraordinary gathering of genius. Those men helped create this war by creating the foundation on which we fight. If we triumph in battle, those men, or men just like them must undertake a new responsibility. We are saying to England, your system does not work here. We will build our own system, and we
will
make it work. Despite all that I have experienced with this new congress, General, I must believe that we
can
make it work. I must hold to the faith that driving the British from this land is not the conclusion of our efforts, but the beginning. None of us can say what will follow. But the American people have come too far simply to turn back, to return to the domination of a king who regards this nation as his own property, to abuse and exploit as he will. It is my job to fight, General. If we are victorious, the job of creating a government, of creating a nation . . . that will fall to someone else, a congress perhaps, some gathering of the same genius that has brought us this far. If that does not occur, if it is not within us to create something permanent here, to give meaning to
America
. . . then there is no reason for us to fight this war.”