The Glorious Cause

by Jeff Shaara

  “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.

  MAY 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.

  MAY 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 endu
re 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.”

  Greene followed him, his curiosity growing now, and they reached the edge of the river, Lafayette now staring down into the water.

  “General Greene, it was not a comfortable evening in this house.”

  “No, I cannot say I enjoyed the dinner . . .”

  “I do not refer to the dinner. I share Colonel Tilghman’s embarrassment for the commanding general, and especially so for Mrs. Washington.”

  “I understand that. But there is nothing to be done about Charles Lee’s personal habits. General Washington believes that he is a valuable commander. We have no choice but to accept his role in this command.”

  “I am not so certain of that. Before I retired, I engaged in a brief conversation with General Lee. I was attempting to offer my congratulations on his freedom. His response caused me considerable . . . agitation.”

  “What did he say?”

  Lafayette looked at him now, shook his head.

  “General Lee has vigorous opinions of the commanders in this camp. I do not repeat gossip, sir. But his words were more than . . . unkind. I have not experienced such a man before.”

  “His ambitions have been made known to the commanding general before. General Lee feels that what is good for him is good for the country. He places great value in his own abilities and dismisses the abilities of everyone else.”

  “What are his abilities?”

  Greene sniffed, thought a moment.

  “Apparently, he makes a good prisoner. From all he tells us, the British fell over themselves to make him comfortable. One must wonder what he offered them in return.”

  “You do not suggest, surely . . .”

  “That he’s a traitor? I wouldn’t go that far. But I must be honest with you, General. I do not believe that man will perform any good service for this army. General Washington would not be pleased to hear me say that. And I am certain General Lee has a good deal to say about me as well.”

  Lafayette looked down now, said, “I cannot repeat anything, sir. But I cannot believe General Washington would have faith in such a man if he is what you describe.”

  Greene shrugged.

  “General Washington is not blessed with the luxury of opinion or of choice. He must make do with the material he has at hand. I hope to God I am mistaken in my feelings for General Lee. But if I am not, I pray General Washington is not made to suffer some disaster because of it.”

  The office was crowded, all the senior commanders present, except for one conspicuous absence. Lee had not yet emerged from his room. Greene could see the annoyance on Washington’s face, and Washington said, “We shall begin. Those not present can be advised later. We have been informed of the imminent arrival in Philadelphia of a new delegation from London. They have supposedly been accorded the power to grant concessions toward a cessation of hostilities between our countries. I have been advised that this power excludes one significant concession. They do not come with any offering of independence.”

  Washington looked around the room, and Greene felt a strange anger brewing in the man.

  “I am pleased that the congress is not regarding this commission in a positive light. I am advising you of this so that you do not allow yourselves, and the men in your command, to view this in any way other than as an act of desperation. I believe, and this view is shared by congress, that King George and his ministers have been . . . um . . . the only term I can use is . . . frightened. Word of our alliance with France has certainly burned its way through London. But rather than concede that a wider war, with greater loss of life is so abhorrent that peace should be sought, they have instead responded by an outrageous attempt to divide our country. This is a ruse, diabolical and base. It has one purpose, to distract us from our cause. Any man who might waver from support of this war might now be tempted to see this offer as a ray of hope. The English continue to perplex me with their misunderstanding of the American will. They come to us now, driven by the fear of a new and powerful enemy, and they offer those terms which we sought with such energy three years ago. They ignore that their armies have killed and maimed and distressed so many of us, and offer us a crooked and brittle branch from a poisoned olive tree.”

  The room was silent, the men glancing at each other. Greene was surprised by the show of rage from Washington, said, “Sir, can we be certain that the congress agrees with your assessment? Can we depend on their firmness?”

  “Without question, Mr. Greene. Without question.”

  “Then, sir, we should not despair the resolve of the American people. If this delegation offers no more than a fantasy of a return to some halcyon days, it is likely that their mission will be brief.”

  Washington seemed calmer, looked around at the faces.

  “I pray to the Almighty you are correct, Mr. Greene. This, however, is not my only purpose for calling you here. My scouts report from Philadelphia that a large quantity of British ships have raised sail and have departed the city. In fact, the suggestion is that a considerable majority of their craft have sailed. I have confirmed this from several good sources.”

  The room came to life, a hum of comments. Greene looked around, could see the sudden glow of enthusiasm. Greene saw Stirling raise his hand, the man’s words hinting of a Scottish burr. “Sir, do we know where they’re off to? Might be hightailing it back to New York, eh? Should we be preparing to ma
rch, then, sir?”

  Washington held up his hands.

  “My apologies, gentlemen. Perhaps I was not clear. I meant to say that the British ships have left Philadelphia, but not their army. There is no sign that troops are yet going anywhere. The ships are said to have carried sympathetic civilians, and likely, equipment.” He paused a moment. “And baggage.”

  Greene looked at Stirling, said, “If their baggage has sailed away, then a march cannot be far behind.”

  “Well, then, we had best make preparations for a fight!”

  The words came from behind them, and all heads turned toward the doorway. Greene saw Lee, adjusting his dusty uniform, his matted hair standing up stiffly on his bare head. Washington said, “General Lee, thank you for joining us. What do you make of the movement by the ships?”

  “Quite clear. They’re planning an attack. It will come at us here, or it will come at our cities to the south, Baltimore, Wilmington perhaps. General Howe is certain to strike a hard blow at our weakest point. That would narrow the decision to our position here. We cannot stand up to an attack, not with the command structure we have at present.”

  There was silence in the room, and Greene felt an explosion building in his chest. Washington pulled himself up out of his chair, said, “I am not clear on just what message the British navy is offering us. I am certain however of the following. Mr. Lee, you have been understandably without communication since your release, due to your necessity of travel. This is an opportune moment for me to inform you, as I intended to inform all of you. We have received word that within the past few days General William Howe has been relieved of command. His successor is Henry Clinton, which should surprise no one.”

  There were more comments, and Greene saw Washington lowering his head, staring down at the floor, the room growing quiet again.

  “I am certain as well that General Clinton would not send his ships away from a place where he intended to commence a campaign.” He paused, and Greene wanted to cheer, thought, Of course not. There will be no attack here, or anywhere around here. He fought the urge to look back at Lee’s smugness, and Washington seemed to avoid Lee as well, said, “I anticipate that we will learn the enemy’s intentions soon enough. To that end we shall prepare to leave Valley Forge.”