“Sir, I beg to differ. The victory shall be that of this army of brave, gallant men, led by you, sir, and no other.”
Lafayette all but shouted out the translation, and wild cheering erupted. Washington dismounted and, in an uncharacteristic gesture, shook von Steuben’s hand and those of the other officers who had led their troops in the grand review.
Under the pavilion, tables had been set for the evening meal. With a flourish he pointed to them and Martha took over as hostess, a role she so superbly played, whether at Mount Vernon or in the roughest army camp.
Though not yet plentiful, at least there was more variety to the food, now that summer approached. All craved any kind of greens and fruit. Peaches planted on the south slopes of hills were not yet ripe—even down in Virginia it would still be several more weeks—but with some careful picking, and cooking, passable cobblers awaited. Several spring lambs from a nearby farm had been brought in. For some reason, the sight of lambs being killed had always bothered Washington, so he made it a point to ride off while Billy Lee and the officers’ mess cooks saw to the task. There was fresh cream, even real coffee smuggled in by a venturesome Dutch captain, fresh bread baked by their General Baker, and all settled down for the repast.
The seating was a bit awkward, for Martha refused to sit anywhere near General Lee, Washington’s second-in-command and senior officer, who by tradition should be near his right side.
Lee, after more than a year and a half of imprisonment, had finally been exchanged and returned to the army a month ago. His first night, actually the following morning, had proven to be an unmitigated disaster.
Washington had personally seen to the hosting of a special celebration to honor the return of the captured general. There had been rumors that his behavior while in the hands of the British had been less than honorable. Captured British officers joked that Lee had offered them advice and at one point his sword if he would be allowed to turn coat. Lee, when gently prodded on this by Lord Stirling, acting, of course, on Washington’s request for information, had protested vehemently, and even implied that if such a line of questioning continued, a duel might be the result.
The man had gotten too far into his cups. The embarrassed gathering finally let him withdraw for the night to a small bedroom, adjoining what had become Martha’s private sitting room. It was here that she entertained the wives of other officers and even of enlisted men that she had befriended in the camp.
All had awaited for Lee to awake in the morning, but the man did not appear until nearly noon, when Washington finally sent Hamilton to knock on his door and request his presence for breakfast. Hamilton had returned a minute later, obviously embarrassed, followed by Lee, who looked disheveled and still more than a little drunk. And from his small room came the loud, drunken laughter of a woman. General Lee had smuggled her into the camp. She was the wife of a British soldier who had trailed along with him when he rejoined the army.
Martha was outraged. Of course she had to turn a blind eye to some of the goings-on of soldiers, but she expected the most upright Christian propriety of her general, his staff, and those in service around him. There had been rumors about Lafayette and his fidelity to his wife, but he had always behaved in the most discreet manner so as not to offend. Lee’s actions were blatant, insulting, and, beyond that, had taken place in the room right next to where she entertained friends in private.
The bedtime discussion they shared that night was less than comfortable for General Washington. Martha demanded that the hussy be driven out of camp and that General Lee find separate quarters. She said that she would not sit next to him or across from him at any meal, and beyond that, she wondered why he was even being offered a return to second-in-command after not just this behavior but what she felt was nothing less than betrayal by his actions during the campaign in New York and New Jersey, where he had failed to follow orders.
“You can find a far better second,” she had insisted, “a man you can trust, such as Nathanael Greene or Anthony Wayne. There is something about Lee that shows him to be a man of shallow and deceitful character.”
She rarely ventured to offer advice about anything related to his position as commander of the armies, but her disdain of Lee was intense and had continued to trouble him.
He had, after that night, sent out more discreet inquiries as to Lee’s behavior during his imprisonment. He finally had to admit that the answer was an uncertain one. There was a fair chance that in fact the intelligence could be false information, planted by the enemy to discredit a man he felt could still be a trusted soldier. He had finally decided in Lee’s favor. What better way to take out a superior officer than to release him in exchange, then besmirch his name?
With prayers offered, the gathering sat down for dinner, Martha putting herself at the other end of the table next to von Steuben, who bore no love for Lee. The two men had nearly come to blows when Lee derisively dismissed the Russian soldiers with whom von Steuben had loyally served.
The thunderstorm from the west was fast approaching, the first cold gusts of wind a welcome relief, cooling after the long day of heat. All exclaimed over the fresh greens, the succulent lamb. Martha was beaming as some of those at the table immediately dug into the peach cobbler, saying it was delightful, even though the fruit was most definitely far from ripe.
The first heavy drops of rain rattled on the roof of the tent, several of the men getting up to lower the flaps on the side facing the storm. Washington motioned for the man lowering the flap near him to hold back. He loved watching an approaching storm. There was a wonderful majesty to it. As a boy he used to have fantasies that the peals of thunder were actually the roar of artillery, and he smiled at the memory of how he used to dash about leading imaginary charges until ordered into the house, the adults always so frightened and praying that a bolt from the divine power did not strike their house or barn as retribution for some sin.
He had never feared lightning, and was amused by the reports of Franklin’s experiments, which some claimed were tempting the wrath of God Almighty. Always progressive in his thinking about the sciences, he was one of the first planters in Virginia to install the doctor’s invention of lightning rods on his home and outbuildings.
The storm swept in, and finally he stood up himself to drop the awning and tie it in place, and returned to his meal.
“I will admit,” Lee offered, as Washington returned to a conversation he had only been half listening to while watching the storm, “the men do look smart on parade. But to expect them to behave that well in battle?”
“I think we have a good start,” Washington replied. “Lafayette’s Guards in particular. They took to it with a passion, even offered to practice drill on the Sabbath, which I, of course, forbade.”
“Yes, at this moment, the spirits of the men are indeed high. Of course, I could see that in those in the review. It is just that I know how morale of troops who think too highly of themselves can be shattered to the darkest depths by too hard a blow. You saw it after the defeat of Braddock. I saw it with the Forty-Fourth at Ticonderoga in the last war. After such defeats men jumped in fright at the sight of their own shadows. I just fear that this German, with his—how shall I say it without offense—his enthusiasm and high-sounding praise for our troops, is not tempering what he is teaching with an understanding of reality.”
Washington said nothing.
“Our opponents can and will continue to deliver three volleys to our two, their Grenadier Guards and Hessians, four to our two.” As he spoke, he waved his fork around and punched the air as if delivering the volleys. “And two ranks to their three? Sir, that is not orthodox at all. It lacks depth.”
“Von Steuben explained, and I accepted, that training the men to volley fire three files deep to just two is cumbersome and would take too long. This new formation also makes it easier for the men to shift from column of fours to files of two for line of battle. I saw his point and agree. Besides, in a fight of even numbers w
e will always overlap their flanks if they should try for our center.”
Their debate was interrupted by a yelp of pain and then angry growls and snarls. All looked over to where von Steuben’s dog, Azor, was debating ownership of a bone, tossed from the table by the baron for his dog. Several of Lee’s spaniels, which followed him everywhere, had attempted a quick snatch and run of the prize.
The huge mastiff easily won the debate. The gathering laughed and von Steuben, obviously cursing in German, shouted for his dog to come back. Lee gazed down the length of the table angrily at the baron.
“I pray, sir, can you keep your dog in check?” Lee cried.
“I shall, if you keep your pack in check,” Lafayette translated, but Washington sensed, hiding his smile, that the retort had been a little more heated. The crowd clearly favored the big dog over the noisy spaniels. Azor had become something of a favorite around the camp, while Lee’s dogs tended to be a yapping nuisance.
Lee, obviously made uncomfortable by the altercation and the tone of conversation with his superior, fell into a glum silence and this way finished his meal.
“Sir?”
Washington looked up. It was Hamilton by his side.
“Colonel Morgan has just ridden in.”
The general stood up and went to the east side of the tent, which was still open, the rain from the storm coming down in sheets. Morgan seemed oblivious to the blow, taking his time tying off his mount to a tether line next to Washington’s the other officers’ horses. Only then did he come in under the tent, heading straight for Washington and saluting.
“Sir, we need to talk.”
All were silent, watching the two men. For Dan Morgan to have ridden from his outpost on the lower Schuylkill meant something was definitely afoot.
Washington hesitated, about to tell the colonel to just report his news, but he looked around at the gathering. It was not his custom to receive dispatches, especially reports from his vast network of agents and spies, in front of others.
The storm was still at its height. Regardless, he motioned for Morgan to follow and walked the few dozen yards to a cabin that served as a dwelling for some of Greene’s staff. A junior officer was inside, dozing, but as the general and Morgan stepped in, the young man, startled, jumped from his bunk.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Washington offered, smiling at the confusion his entry had caused, “but may Colonel Morgan and I have a moment of privacy?”
The boy could only salute. Without bothering to put on his hat or boots, he hastily departed out into the rain, looked up at the sky, and then just darted off.
“It must be important if you feel you should deliver it yourself,” Washington announced, looking back at Dan, whose features were aglow with delight.
He reached under his hunting frock and pulled out a leather dispatch pouch and handed it over.
“Half a dozen notes within, all from our reliable sources—our rope maker down at the docks, the servant in what is now Clinton’s headquarters, the minister, and the girl keeping company with the Tory officer.
“All our sources say Clinton is leaving Philadelphia.”
Washington tucked the dispatch pouch into the breast pocket of his jacket. He would examine the notes later.
“Attacking here?” he asked.
There was not as much anxiety as there would have been three months ago. If anything, he would welcome the fight now. His fortifications, thanks to sufficient tools at last, the digging of a thousand men, and the eye of von Steuben and the young French engineer L’Enfant, had given him a fortified line in depth, where only three months ago there was barely a ditch.
“No, he’s evacuating!”
“What?” Washington exclaimed in genuine surprise.
Dan broke into a grin.
“It’s in the dispatches. He’s losing five thousand of his men. They are being sent all the way to Jamaica.”
“We did have rumors of that. Hard to believe London is that foolish.”
“Well, the rope maker confirmed it, and he has always been good with his information. Ship chandlers at times know even more than their captains, since they have to stock supplies and provisions for the voyage. The money we have spent making sure the man always had a good selection of rum and port on hand loosened more tongues yet again. The first of the ships might already be leaving port. That cuts Clinton’s strength by a good third.”
Washington nodded, taking it in and thinking hard about the implications and, just maybe, the opportunities inherent in this news.
“If anything,” Washington whispered, “such news might lead me to venture an attack. By the end of the month five thousand more militia are coming in. That would give us nearly two to one odds in our favor.”
“It’s why Clinton is pulling out. Word is he has been ordered to do so from London.”
Washington gave a dismissive sniff.
“Trying to run a war from four thousand miles away. They didn’t understand that was impossible in the last war and they still don’t understand it.”
Morgan nodded.
“New York?” Washington asked.
“That’s what the girl and the servant report. According to them, Clinton said that if he now stays in Philadelphia, under strength as he is, you might decamp, and strike across Jersey ahead of him. They fear that the French might land to the east or what is left of our northern army will come down.”
He took out the notes Morgan had handed him.
“This girl and her servant—I don’t want to know her name—are you certain she is reliable?”
Morgan grinned.
“Her paramour is a Loyalist, and close friends with a Captain André. André is close to Grey and was present at the staff meeting Clinton held with his commanders. I am certain she is reliable. She wanted to leave Philadelphia when we abandoned the city, even though her parents are for the Crown. Dr. Rush convinced her to stay and listen carefully. She has cultivated an exceptional contact.”
“Is there a chance she could be receiving false information—that they have figured her out? If so, the lass is running a grave risk. They will arrest her before they leave.”
Morgan shook his head.
“Checks have been made on that as well. André is quartered in Dr. Franklin’s house, as is the Loyalist, and the two are reported to be close friends.”
He nodded and then scanned the other reports.
“So it is back to New York by land.”
Washington looked at him and grinned, slapping an open palm with a balled-up fist.
“His supply train, too?”
Morgan nodded enthusiastically.
“Oh, how we harassed their supply trains last summer. Two or three riflemen and a couple of men with axes to drop trees could tie them up for half a day. It will be grand, just grand!
“Along with Tory refugees, who will be allowed one wagon per family. They will be going so slow, and will be strung out in such a long column, that there may be many opportunities for us.”
The storm outside was passing and Washington stepped out into it, enjoying the cooling brush of light rain drifting down. He looked back to the pavilion tent. All had stopped eating and were looking his way, sensing that something important was transpiring. All of them were eager to know what it was.
He calculated the moves, standing silent for several minutes, and then nodded, looking back at Morgan.
“You have a good line of couriers set up to bring news of any change.”
“Made sure of it before I left. Anything happens in the city, we’ll know within eight hours.”
“It’ll take them a day at least to ferry everything across the Delaware. If we cut straight overland, cross at Trenton and Bordentown the moment we get the word, we will be ahead of them.”
He looked back at the gathering.
“Officers’ meeting for a council of war?” Morgan asked.
He thought again for a long moment. Just as he had spies in Clinton’s very hea
dquarters and patriots within the city, he always assumed that at least to some degree the enemy had done the same. Several times watch posts had been discovered on the east bank of the Schuylkill just two miles away. Reports had come in after the agents were gone that at least one herder bringing in half a dozen starved cows for sale had in fact been with Grey’s light infantry.
I must not let Clinton know that I suspect anything until he starts his move and is committed.
“Not a word to anyone,” Washington finally said. “Go to my headquarters, there should be some food there, and then find a bunk and get some sleep.”
“Looks and smells like good food up there, sir,” Dan replied, nodding toward the party.
“And forty inquisitive souls who will pester you to death for news,” he replied with a smile. “I promise Martha will set aside some roasted lamb and cobbler for you if there is no food down at headquarters.”
He paused.
“And, yes, some of Lafayette’s brandy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Good work, Colonel. Your country is in your debt.”
Morgan went back to his horse, mounted, and trotted off for headquarters while Washington returned to his guests, smiling, saying nothing and settling back to what was left of his meal, attempting to eat calmly and, as always, show no rash emotions.
“It must be something important?” Lee finally asked, unable to contain himself.
“Later, sir,” Washington whispered. “I’ll tell you later.”
Lee looked at him, trying to hide his disappointment, and returned to nursing his drink and his injured pride, and, while keeping a wary eye on Azor, he tossed a few bones to his spaniels.
Chapter Sixteen
Philadelphia
June 23, 1778
“Did you really knock him cold?” Elizabeth asked.
He was still shaken by what had happened. Outside the window of their rendezvous hiding place, the city was in turmoil. It was still an hour before dawn but all were awake, for today the British army would evacuate Philadelphia.
Valley Forge: George Washington and the Crucible of Victory Page 41