The Glorious Cause (45 page)

M
AY 6, 1778

It was a grand celebration, a festive display for the entire army. From all over the surrounding countryside, from the towns that had finally risen up to support their troops, the people came, long lines of civilian carriages, entire families, rolling through the outposts of their army to participate in this joyous day. The salutes were boisterous and loud, punctuated by artillery fire, a vast fireworks show for both soldiers and civilians. The parade and festivities would extend throughout the entire day, the army turned out in review, the day concluding with a huge outdoor picnic. It was a marvelous show, and when the civilians finally made their way home, they carried a new appreciation for their army, were surprised by the crisp formations, the precise marching. They had heard all manner of rumor of what was occurring at Valley Forge, the starvation and disease, the army that had virtually ceased to be. But as deep as their surprise, the civilians could not be as profoundly surprised as their commander in chief. Washington had sat tall on the white horse as the men had gone through their drill, had watched in amazement as they performed a stunning feat of musketry, long lines of troops, each man firing his musket in turn, one by one, all along the line, a display of perfect synchronization. It was a show worthy of any professional army in Europe, and Washington had absorbed the spectacle with a brief look to the one man who had brought it into being. Von Steuben had watched the drill with stern-faced pride, the regiments and brigades moving in crisp rhythm, performing the marches with flawless perfection. The Prussian’s stiff countenance had broken only once, and he had returned Washington’s look with a sly smile, acknowledging his commander’s silent salute. He knew, as Washington knew, as every man in formation knew, that this was a different army than what had first come to this place, than the men who had struggled to build their small log city. With the new spring had come a renewed spirit and a new pride. They had, after all, survived the most dire hardships of their lives. And the reward, besides the discipline and camaraderie the Prussian had taught them, was an alliance with France.

For the first time since the war had begun, Washington faced the start of a new campaign with a strange and unexpected eagerness. For the first time, it might not be necessary to wait for the enemy to show his intentions. For the first time, Washington’s army was prepared to make a fight on its own terms.

34. GREENE

M
AY 19, 1778

His visits to the camp were more frequent now. The quartermaster staff in York and in the outposts all through the adjoining states were operating with the same renewed spirit as the army they provided for, and Greene had confidence that they no longer required his heavy hand and his temper to perform their jobs. Though he still held the office, and the responsibility, with the coming of spring came the renewed threat of a campaign by the British, and Washington had made good his promise, that Greene would still hold his command in the field.

He needed very little incentive to return to Valley Forge. When Martha Washington came to headquarters, it had opened the way for other wives as well. Leaving the children in safe hands, Kitty had come down from Rhode Island, she and the infant both now recovered from the difficult ordeal of childbirth. The year before, at Morristown, she had arrived so close to the time the army would return to the field, that their brief time together had been more painful than comforting. But now there was time, and she had made them a home, close to the other commanders’ wives. Even if her husband could not always be a part of the dinners and festivities, Kitty Greene had quickly become popular, especially with the foreign officers. She had a moderate skill with French, and opened their quarters to gatherings for those officers whose poor English had often kept them isolated. Her willingness to offer a softer side to conversation was appreciated by the men who had kept so much to themselves, so accustomed only to the companionship of soldiers. She had also become a favorite of Martha Washington, the two women sharing the modest sense of hospitality, both making known their quiet disapproval of card games or excessive drinking. Kitty shared Martha’s love for singing, and even if neither woman had a particular talent for the art, together they were formidable partners, could encourage even the most unwilling officer to participate in the after-dinner entertainment.

It would likely be a typical evening at the headquarters, the officers now escorting their wives out of the carriages. He held her arm in his, walked out away from the house, careful to avoid any patches of mud. The roads were hard, broken only by small puddles from a brisk rain shower, a slight chill to the soft morning. But the day had warmed bright and clear, all signs of the dismal winter completely gone. They crossed the road, moved past the blacksmith compound, stepped close to the creek that fed into the Schuylkill. The land was open, gentle hills falling away, another long rise out to the west. There were still flowers on some of the trees, some completely draped in soft white, others flecked with bits of pink and red. But mostly the land beyond was bathed in soft green, the rebirth of woods and open fields. She held tight to his arm, said, “This is a beautiful place. How did you choose it?”

“I had little to do with it. This is close to Anthony Wayne’s home. He and General Washington scouted this ground back in December. The French engineer, DuPortail, designed most of the defensive works.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Louis.”

“
Louis?
You know his name?”

She laughed, said, “You would too if you weren’t so formal around those men. Anyone who didn’t know the army would walk through here and think every one of you is named
General
.”

Greene thought a moment, said, “Do you know General . . . um, Lafayette’s name?”

“I believe it is . . . Marie. And General von Steuben is Frederick. His young Mr. Duponceau is . . . Peter.”

“Hmph. I never thought of asking.”

“Does anyone ever address you as . . . Nat?”

He laughed now.

“Only Daniel Morgan. Calls everyone by their first names, even General Washington. Does break through the stiffness sometimes. Not sure it’s good for the army.”

They stepped closer to the creek, and he leaned out, looked down into the clear rush of water. He could see a small cluster of minnows, the dark flicker of a tadpole, and he backed away from the edge, knowing she did not enjoy small creatures of any kind.

“We should go to dinner. They’re likely being seated now.”

He led her back across the road, saw Knox emerging from the mess cabin, the round man coming toward them, quick short steps.

“General! It is confirmed! He will be here tomorrow!”

Greene felt himself sagging, looked past Knox, saw another round form appearing, and Kitty said, “Lucy! Here!”

Lucy Knox moved with the same heavy sway as her husband, joined him, a clasping of thick arms. Greene could not help but share her smile, the one woman who always had something to say, who had added more energy to the camp than anyone had expected. Knox said, “He will arrive tomorrow, General!”

Kitty tugged at him, and Greene knew her question, said, “You are referring to Charles Lee?”

Lucy spoke up.

“Oh, quite! The word is already passing to the entire camp. Quite exciting!”

Knox said, “Yes, indeed! General Washington is organizing a reception, all the senior officers are to ride out on parade, to greet the general when he arrives. It should be an interesting affair, certainly! Well, come along to dinner. General Washington will certainly provide the details.”

They moved heavily back toward the dining cabin, and Kitty pulled at him, seemed surprised he did not follow.

“What’s wrong, Nat?”

“Wrong? General Charles Lee is coming home. How truly, utterly marvelous.”

He did not disguise the sarcasm, and she released him now, faced him.

“Is that not a good thing? I heard they were talking about some sort of an exchange.”

“Yes, it was discussed for some time. We released the British general Richard Prescott. He had been captured last summer in Newport. It was considered an equitable trade.” He could feel his mood growing darker by the minute. “Damn. I do not understand everyone’s enthusiasm. The congress is positively dancing with joy. Most of this army believes his presence is all we require to crush the British.”

“You don’t? Nat, I have never seen you so . . . agitated.”

He looked across to the dining cabin, no one left outside.

“My opinion is of no importance. General Washington requires capable field commanders. It is possibly this army’s greatest deficiency. He believes General Lee will make a contribution to our cause. There is nothing more for me to say.”

He held out his arm, and she slid beside him. They moved slowly across the road. The wonderful smells were reaching them, and she said something, words that drifted past him. He stared at the ground as they walked, thought only of the scrawny, dirty little man with the yapping dogs. Is it fair of me to hold such a low opinion? He has been away from this army for a long time. Surely he will bring something positive. There is one certainty. The mood of this headquarters is about to change.

M
AY 20, 1778

The reception was as Knox described it, officers and guards lining the road in a grand reception line. Greene had watched carefully as Lee approached, looked for some hint of the man’s response to this extraordinary show of respect. Washington made the first salute, and Greene saw Lee’s curt unsmiling bow to the commander. In his turn, Greene had offered his polite greeting, Lee responding by barely looking at him, moving on quickly to Sullivan, who was next in line. Greene stared straight ahead, the polite show of decorum, could do nothing now but wait for the ceremony to conclude. He was suddenly curious, looked down the line as Lee was introduced to Lafayette. The young Frenchman held out a hand, met Lee with a wide pleasant smile, and Greene winced as Lee ignored the man’s hand, responded with silence, a frowning tilt of his head. Lafayette seemed not to notice, discreetly dropped his hand to his side, the smile still in place. Greene felt a hard knot growing in his gut, thought, You cannot even make a show of it? You cannot even offer some small bit of manners?

The introductions and greetings were finally complete, and Greene was relieved when Washington gave the order, the procession falling into line in the road. As they began to move, he took his place in line, saw that he was close behind Lee. He could not avoid looking at the man’s uniform, saw that the coat was somewhat cleaner than he had ever seen it before. Probably the British, he thought. Dress him up for a fine appearance. They can’t have us think they were mistreating him. I wonder if they removed the coat before they cleaned it, or just threw him entirely into New York Harbor.

He tried to control the horse, the animal stepping carefully, nervously, as Lee’s dogs bounded back and forth in the road. Greene knew nothing of dogs, saw only barking masses of fur, thought, Are these the same ones he’s always had? How did the British regard
them
? His horse lurched suddenly to one side, and Greene saw one of the dogs nipping at the horse’s leg.

“Be gone! Away!”

The shout broke the quiet solemnity of the parade, and Lee turned, stared sharply at him. Greene returned the look, then forced a smile, said, “My apologies, General. My horse is not accustomed to being bitten.”

Lee said nothing, turned away, and Greene felt a hard gloom coming over him. He glanced up ahead, could see the guard posts flanking the road, Washington leading the officers back into the camp, the parade coming to a blessed end.

The dinner had been a subdued affair, and when the plates were cleared Martha had not called them to the hearth for her usual round of songs. The talk had come mostly from Lee, stories of his captivity, of the fairness and generosity of his hosts, far too many details of the glorious British dinner tables. Greene had kept to his manners, inspired by the pleasant smile from Martha Washington. It was not a time for debate or disagreement, and though Lee’s anecdotes were not always in the best taste, Martha had endured without comment. By the end of the evening, Greene’s patience was a thin taut wire, nearly broken when Lee summoned his dogs to take their places beside him, both animals eating their dinner directly from the table, making short work of the food Lee had provided from his plate. Even Martha had been bothered by that and, surprisingly, Lee had noticed, but there was no apology, the man offering only an abrupt comment about his preference for dogs over human company. It was a concluding note to an uncomfortable gathering, and Greene had whisked Kitty away to their quarters without uttering a word.

M
AY 21, 1778

As he had driven Kitty home, he had seen the rider, had realized it was John Laurens. The young man brought his horse down the long hill in a hard gallop, surprising for so late an arrival. Greene only knew that Laurens had been in York, had no idea if the visit was official or familial, but his curiosity had been resolved soon after. He had not yet gone to bed when the aide had come from headquarters. It was an invitation from Washington for a meeting the next morning with the senior officers.

Greene had left his quarters well before dawn, could endure no more of a fitful miserable night. He would not wake Kitty, slipped out of the house before even Major Hovey was awake.

The only movement was that of the ever-present guards, two men at each door of the house. They had taken his horse with quiet efficiency, and he stayed outside, would not disturb anyone’s sleep. He passed the time by walking along the creek, then the river, then retracing his steps. He had not noticed the time, realized finally that it was nearly full daylight, his thoughts broken by sounds from the door of the house. He watched as Tilghman appeared, followed by Lafayette, the two men stepping down, moving slowly across the yard, a quiet conversation. They did not yet see him, and he walked back across the road, caught a glance from Tilghman, who said, “Oh! Good morning, sir.”

“Colonel. Did we enjoy a pleasant night’s rest?”

Lafayette said nothing, was staring away, unusual response from the affable Frenchman. Tilghman seemed nervous, said, “It was not a good night, General. Forgive me, I should not speak of it further.”

Greene was concerned now, said, “What happened, Colonel?”

Tilghman glanced at Lafayette, who nodded slowly, and Tilghman said, “Sir, I discovered . . . it was most regrettable, sir. General Lee was provided quarters upstairs, near General Washington, the room that the staff has often used. It was no matter, we have use of another room. We have been accustomed to close quarters when a guest was present. It is my duty to wake very early . . .” He paused, and Greene saw a hard frown on the young man’s face. “General, I must trust . . . you are a man of discretion?”

“Of course, Colonel. What happened?”

“I do not know if General Washington was aware, sir, but General Lee was not alone last evening. I was in the hall, and was suddenly confronted by a sight . . . I should rather forget. General Lee has imported a . . . mistress . . . a miserable filthy hussy. She shares the general’s room even now.”

Greene could see that Tilghman was shaken. He fought the urge to laugh, said, “Well, who can be surprised by that?” He looked at Lafayette now, was surprised the young man was as serious as Tilghman.

Tilghman said, “Please, General. I ask you, do not speak of this.”

“Have no concern, Colonel. I will not betray your trust. Thank you for confiding in me.”

Tilghman began to move away, said, “I should return . . . the general has been awakened. He will require his coffee.”

The young man scampered up the short steps, disappeared into the house, and Greene expected Lafayette to share his humor, but the young man was still distracted, glanced back toward the house, said, “General, we should move . . . this way.”