The Glorious Cause (51 page)

PART THREE

NATHANAEL GREENE

39. GREENE

J
ULY 11, 1778

Washington’s lookouts on the Jersey coast had been given word to anticipate them, and by the first light of dawn, the topsails were in plain view. They had seen warships before, a constant parade of British frigates and larger ships of the line, the comings and goings of Lord Howe’s fleet, or the arrival of new British vessels, merchantmen and transports from across the ocean. As the lookouts watched the sails grow closer, the details of this new fleet began to emerge. It was a stark clear morning, and it was not long before they could count twenty-three ships, many of them much larger than anything the British had in the harbor. By midday the troops in the observation posts were reinforced by a gathering of curious citizens from the farms and villages, a crowd of onlookers massing all along the Jersey shore. To most, the fleet was no different from any they had seen before, but it was the lookouts with the long spyglasses who observed one difference indeed. The flags were French.

They were commanded by Admiral Charles, Count d’Estaing, a man of surly temperament and a long history of service in the French navy. He had received a colonel’s commission before he was seventeen, a very young man with what seemed a very bright future. But after thirty years the fire in the young officer had withered, and d’Estaing had become a stodgy and merely competent senior officer. Though he had rarely demonstrated any particular flair for command, his longevity in the service to his monarchs had earned him moderate prestige. From the coasts of India to the English Channel, he had spent his career in combat with one enemy, had built an intense hatred for the British. It was enough reason for King Louis to believe him perfectly capable of commanding the French expedition to America that would bring a swift end to such a risky war.

The British warships at anchor in New York Harbor numbered half the French fleet, and in the city, the British command understood that they were suddenly in a precarious, and possibly fatal position. But d’Estaing could not simply burst into the harbor without knowing the waters, would rely on the skill of harbor pilots supplied by Washington. It was the pilots who turned American hopes into utter frustration. The French warships were larger indeed, so much so that they required a depth of twenty-seven feet. The mouth of New York Harbor was crossed by a sandbar whose depth at low tide was a good deal more shallow. If the French ships attempted to enter the harbor, there was a very good chance they would run aground.

Washington had sent Hamilton and John Laurens to confer with d’Estaing, but there would be no convincing the French to pursue such a dangerous course. Alternatives were considered, and the most obvious choice was made. The French would set sail for Newport, Rhode Island, to assault the only remaining British stronghold.

The British force in Newport was close to six thousand men, commanded by General Robert Pigott. If Pigott’s force could be captured, it would be as serious a blow to the British effort as the loss of Burgoyne. To d’Estaing, it would be an extraordinary prize.

While the British had a firm command of Newport, the mainland around them was occupied by barely a thousand continental troops now commanded by John Sullivan. It was not a force strong enough to make any threat to the British, and Washington issued a call to militia in the area, hoping to attract several thousand more. He dispatched Lafayette with another two brigades, fifteen hundred experienced veterans, and sent them by foot toward Rhode Island. Though d’Estaing’s fleet was a formidable threat to the British from the sea, Sullivan’s command on land would be strengthened even more by the human cargo the French ships had brought with them: four thousand French marines. As the allied forces converged on Newport, there was feverish anticipation in Washington’s headquarters. For the first time, a large British outpost would be confronted by a combined assault from both land and sea.

With Clinton’s army now contained in New York, and Washington securing his outposts all along the Hudson River, it seemed clear that the rest of the summer would pass in a quiet stalemate. Washington’s spies were active in New York again, and the reports from Clinton’s headquarters showed that as a result of the brutal march from Philadelphia, the British strength had been reduced by nearly two thousand men. Half that number were casualties of either the fight or the heat around Monmouth Court House, but far worse for the British, the Hessians had deserted in astounding numbers, many slipping back toward the various German communities in Pennsylvania. Washington’s army was in comparably better condition, and the men welcomed the return to garrison life along the Hudson. With the British now completely off the mainland, the farmers had begun to supply the army again, Greene’s quartermaster staff finding a much warmer reception from farmers whose best customers were long gone.

Greene still held the official title of quartermaster, and had no direct command of his former division. The certainty of a quiet summer, and the renewed efficiency of the supply officers meant that Greene could feel comfortable asking Washington for some time with his family. With the march by Lafayette already under way, Greene had offered to serve in Rhode Island in whatever capacity the commanding general thought appropriate. Greene did not hide his desire to make a brief stop at his home along the way, and Washington would not object. Though Greene technically outranked Sullivan, he had readily accepted Sullivan’s command for this mission, would serve under Sullivan at the same level of authority as Lafayette. All three men understood that Greene’s presence was an asset. The Rhode Islander would certainly add spark to the willingness of his local militia to serve.

C
OVENTRY,
R
HODE
I
SLAND,
J
ULY 30, 1778

Greene sent Major Hovey on his way, to report their arrival to Sullivan, with word that Greene would join him tomorrow. He had arrived at his home knowing that the stay would be brief, one night in his own bed. He had hoped to surprise her, but the sound of horses was unmistakable, and before he could climb down from the saddle, she was standing in the doorway.

She met him with the same teary smile that he had kissed at Valley Forge. He held her for a long moment, could tell from the softness that she had gained weight, the obvious sign of her pregnancy. Her letters had said very little of any difficulties, her attempt to put aside his concerns. But he was skeptical, could not remove the fear for her health until he could see for himself.

He held her out away from him, searching her face, some telltale glint in her eye of some ailment she would not disclose. She still smiled, and he felt the fears slipping away, her soft warmth filling the dark places in his mind. She began to pull at him, moving both of them inside the house. He closed the door, and she said, “Come. There is someone you must meet. The general must do his duty.”

He could see the humor in her face, and he gently wiped at the tears, said, “The general has remained outside. It is the father who has returned.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and they eased slowly down the narrow hall. She stepped softly, and so he did the same, could not help the nervousness, his heart pounding. She led him to the small bedroom, stood aside.

“Go on in. She’s sleeping.”

He could not take his eyes from hers, saw the tears coming again, felt his own. He turned slowly into the room, saw a small wooden bed, moved closer, silent steps, sweat on his hands, the pounding in his chest driving an icy chill all through him. He leaned close, could hear the soft rhythm of the child’s quiet breathing. He felt suddenly huge, overpowering, a clumsy giant standing so close to such frail perfection. The floor beneath him creaked, and he backed away, would not disturb her, but it was too late. The sound jarred the toddler’s sleep, and she turned her head, made a long stretching yawn. She looked at him with wide blue eyes, seemed to study him, curious. Then she raised one hand, pointed at him with tiny fingers.

“Papa.”

Kitty was beside him, and he felt her hand slide around his waist, and she said, “That’s right, Martha.”

He had no words, put his hands out as well, slow, careful, and for the first time, he held his daughter.

T
IVERTON,
R
HODE
I
SLAND,
A
UGUST 5, 1778

“We shall be pleased to participate in this plan at your command, General Sullivan. However, we are concerned that your forces here are, forgive me, inadequate to the task.”

Greene waited for the explosion, could say nothing. The command was Sullivan’s, and no one but Sullivan would respond. Sullivan rose from his chair, and Greene watched the short stout man run a hand through his thinning hair, turn away from the table, pacing slowly. He seemed to be holding tight to his words, and Greene thought, Careful, John. It is time for diplomacy. Sullivan spun around now, hands on his hips, and Greene saw defiance in the man’s face, the words slow and precise.

“Admiral d’Estaing, the militia are arriving daily. I had hoped to have more in camp by now, but it cannot be helped. Their commander, General Hancock has assured me that General Washington’s plea has reached every village in the area. They
are
coming.”

“That would be . . . John Hancock?” D’Estaing seemed impressed now. “We have heard much of this man. He is a great leader. Certainly he will assume command here?”

Sullivan seemed to deflate, and Lafayette said, “Excuse me, General Sullivan, if I may.”

Sullivan said nothing, made a quick wave of his hand, and Lafayette said in French, “Admiral, John Hancock commands militia only. He is not an officer in the regular Continental Army. General Sullivan is the commander here.”

“Marquis de Lafayette, I have seen nothing here except militia. Even the men you brought here seem unlikely to wage a serious fight.”

Lafayette lowered his head for a moment, said, “Admiral, with all respect, the two brigades who accompanied me here are veteran units. They are some of the finest soldiers in General Washington’s army.” He looked at Sullivan. “My apologies, General. I did not wish to be rude. We should converse only in English.”

D’Estaing shrugged his shoulders, said to Sullivan, “The marquis explains to me that this is your command. I am pleased to cooperate. Your plan is sound. Your troops will cross over to the island from here. My ships will approach from the western side. I will land the marines as you make your crossing.”

Sullivan stopped his pacing, seemed surprised by the sudden agreement.

“That is fine, Admiral. Thank you. I propose August 10. That will allow us time to complete assembly of the militia.”

D’Estaing stood now, his aides behind him rising as well.

“I will return to my ship now.”

The men around the table all stood, and d’Estaing made a short bow to Sullivan, marched out of the room. Sullivan waited for them to move outside the house, stepped toward the window, watched as the men were led to carriages, the short ride to the shore boats. He looked back at the men around the table, focused on Lafayette, said, “I trust he will comply with our wishes.”

Lafayette nodded.

“General Sullivan, the admiral knows his duty. We should have every confidence in this mission.”

Sullivan reached for his hat, moved toward the door.

“I appreciate your hopefulness, General. I assure you, we will complete our part of this.” He motioned to the guard beside the door, the door opened for him, and Sullivan said, “I must see to the militia. Hancock promised another thousand by this afternoon. Anyone to accompany me?”

He was out the door now, and the others followed. Greene waited for a moment, then he was alone with Lafayette, said, “It was a fortunate insult.”

“In what way, sir?”

“Fortunate that John Sullivan does not speak French.”

“Should I not feel the insult as well, sir? Those brigades are my command. I am well aware of their abilities.”

Greene sat now.

“I would imagine to a French admiral, we are all militia. We had best become accustomed to it.”

Lafayette shook his head.

“It is not necessary for Admiral d’Estaing to insult this army. I fear his attitude may cause some injury.”

Greene laughed.

“Not as long as he keeps his insults in French.”