The Glorious Cause (16 page)

He folded the map, returned it to his coat, felt another piece of paper in his pocket, his fingers holding it for a moment. It was his orders from General Howe. He left it in his pocket, knew already what it said.

“You will advance on Fort Lee, and secure its capture.”

There was no room for discretion, the orders distinct and definite, and what was not written on the paper had been made clear at his last meeting with Howe. The capture of Fort Lee was the highest priority.

The aide was staring at him, had said all he could, and Cornwallis looked up the road, more scattered musket fire, thought, No, we are not in pursuit of the enemy. We are in pursuit of a
place
.

“You will return to Captain Ewald and order him to break contact with the rebels. I do not wish him to suffer casualties. The life of one
jager
is worth more than ten of the enemy. He will follow his original instructions and advance his men only to Fort Lee.”

They were close to the river, and the Hessians had spread into a line of battle, the response to more musket fire. But there was no force in their way, the fire coming only from scattered groups of rebels, who were quickly captured. They were stragglers from the main force, the sick and lame, or others, who for some reason of their own had stayed behind, had not marched with the rest of their army. Cornwallis ignored them, knew they were acting without orders. He focused instead on the fort itself, saw the Hessians moving past a group of small houses and huts, saw tents now, the smoke from a fire. The Hessians were quickly inside the fort, and he waited for the sounds of a fight, but there was only silence, and he knew what they had found. Nothing.

He reached the fort, his staff moving past him, but he knew there was no danger, ignored protocol, rode in with them. The Hessian officers had their men under control, the soldiers searching through rows of tents, opening wooden doors to tin huts, storerooms. There was a burst of wild laughter, and he looked out toward the river, saw a man sitting astride the barrel of a cannon, waving his hat, then falling forward, sliding to the ground. A soldier rushed toward the man, then stopped, his bayonet fixed on the man’s back, but the man was still laughing, rolled over now, looked at the Hessian with wide eyes, then laughed again. The soldiers began to gather around the man, their sergeant reaching down, hauling the man to his feet. The man made a ragged salute, said, “Would you gentlemen care for a wee dram?”

The sergeant looked up at Cornwallis, who said, “Yes, quite drunk. He is harmless.”

He climbed down from the horse, the fort now filling up with more soldiers, British as well. Cornwallis began to walk past a row of campfires, saw pots of boiling liquid, caught the smell of soup, roasted meat. The common area of the fort was crowded with piles of canvas, many of the tents struck but not packed. The soldiers were moving in and out of the shelters, opening all the doors to the storerooms and cellars, but the men were not looting, no one ripping through any abandoned debris. He could see that it was not debris at all. It was supplies, whole and useful, everything an army would have in their own fort, even their dinner.

The men were beginning to celebrate, the shock of what they had discovered turning into a party. He saw more rebels pulled by their shirts into the open, drunk as well, and he understood now. Of course, more stragglers, whose loyalty to their rum keg exceeded their loyalty to Mr. Washington.

He kept moving forward, closer to the sharp cliff that fell away to the river. In the rocks were the cannon, the big guns that had tormented the British ships. His men were examining them, and he could see that none had been spiked, none damaged. He thought of Howe, the order that would not let him pursue the rebels. Well, sir, you will be pleased. We have captured not only the fort, but every piece of equipment, every tent, every dinner plate, every gun. The rebels have simply left it all behind.

Cornwallis stayed true to Howe’s orders, and only when the fort and all its supplies had been secured did his troops begin the march in pursuit of the rebel garrison. They had crossed the Hackensack River in a blinding storm of sleet and rain, made worse by the destruction of the single bridge, repairs to which took several days. Cornwallis knew that Greene’s men had joined up with Washington’s, had stayed in one place for the several days that Cornwallis had been delayed. The rain-soaked roads could not disguise the misery of Washington’s army, supplies and stragglers dropped all along the way, an army that could not keep itself together. Along every mile, Cornwallis’ men scooped up prisoners, and he heard more tales of despair than he had ever heard from the deserters at Harlem Heights. Every farmhouse was filled with exhausted, barely clothed men, and when Cornwallis reached Brunswick, he knew that just across the Raritan River, Washington’s army was melting away.

He paced the horse along the river, could see that the weather was turning foul again, a thick black sky moving toward him from the west. The chill cut through his uniform, and he reached for the heavy coat, an aide quickly beside him, pulling it over his shoulders. Upriver, he could see a group of rebels, a dozen perhaps, and he rode that way, ignored the faint objections from the staff, thought, It hardly matters, gentlemen. They have no muskets. He halted the horse, and the rebels began to wave, and he didn’t know if they were taunting or surrendering. He looked at the sky over their heads. Another night like the last few, and the rebels will likely beg for mercy. Mr. Washington cannot want a fight, not under these conditions. Surely he is outnumbered by two or three to one. And everything we have seen tells us that those men have very little fight in them. He looked down the river again, where the engineers were repairing the bridge. Gentlemen, I implore you. Do make haste.

The army was back in whatever cover they could find, mostly in patches of woods, and he had relaxed the usual discipline, allowing the men to gather branches and moss, any kind of protection against the weather. When the march out of Fort Lee had clearly become a pursuit, he had ordered the army to leave their tents behind, the men already encumbered by the weight of their packs and muskets. Once the weather changed for the worse, he had regretted the order. But their means of making a dry camp was well behind them now, and they would need their rest. They had endured the same march as Washington, and the toll was etched on their faces. Even as they gathered up the rebel stragglers, his own men were dropping in place, staggering through muddy roads in blind fatigue. There is some blessing in this delay after all. And still, right there, across this river, Washington’s army is waiting.

The wind howled past him, and he turned the horse, cursed the winter, knew it would only get worse in the weeks ahead. He shivered, pulled again at the coat, and his staff was up close to him now, knew without him saying anything that he had enough of this for today. He began to move the horse, saw another rider coming from the east, the man led by a
jager
. He recognized the man with dread, one of Howe’s aides.

The man was shivering, retrieved a packet from his saddle, said, “General Cornwallis, I am pleased to find you, sir.” Cornwallis said nothing, was in no mood for pleasant chat. “General Howe offers his congratulations on the extraordinary progress of your march, and advises you that the general himself will be joining you here at Brunswick.”

The dread had now turned ice-cold, and Cornwallis said, “Here? General Howe is coming here?”

“Oh, quite, sir. The general has ordered you to remain at post here until he arrives. He is quite eager to accompany you on the chase, sir.”

“When might the general arrive?”

“Oh, um, any day now, sir.”

Cornwallis could see a bland pleasantness on the man’s face, oblivious to the significance of his message. Cornwallis moved the horse again, felt another blast of wind, left the man sitting alone, moved toward a long row of small houses. So, we shall sit tight and wait for General Howe. And he will arrive
any day now
.

D
ECEMBER 7, 1776

It took Howe nearly a week to fight the elements and his own habit of making a comfortable camp at every stop along the way. When he had finally reached Brunswick, Cornwallis’ engineers had finished their work, and the army was ready to cross the Raritan. But Washington’s army was no longer anywhere to be seen.

With Howe now commanding the column, the pursuit began again. Every day brought more rebel prisoners, and once the weather dried out, and the roads hardened, Cornwallis had seen for himself the dark streaks and stains on the road, the blood from the bare feet of Washington’s men.

Cornwallis could make no excuses, could not avoid riding alongside his superior, that sort of decorum so very important to Howe. Around them, the army had made good time, Howe not holding them back, beyond the luxury of allowing the men to sleep until well after daylight. It was frustrating to Cornwallis, an annoying lapse of efficiency, but he would not make any objection to Howe, knew the morale of his men had to be kept high. They were moving farther and farther inland, away from the security of their supply base, and away from any significant help should they suddenly find themselves in a fight.

They reached the outskirts of Princeton, and Cornwallis could see the
jagers
swarming through the college, helmeted soldiers appearing in the windows of the large building, Nassau Hall. There had been no trouble, no snipers, nothing at all to cause alarm. The college was nearly empty, ghostlike. Cornwallis knew that the college president, John Witherspoon, was an outspoken rebel, would respond to the British advance by closing the college, sending the young men scurrying through the countryside, ridiculous threats of grave consequences should they stay in the town.

Most of the townspeople had left as well, but in the streets he could see the curious emerging. There were more stragglers, of course, those who would collapse into the small comforts of the town. Already his advance patrols were rounding them up.

The
jagers
were out in front again, and the reports kept coming to him in a steady stream. Washington’s army could not be far ahead. The sound of axes was echoing through the woods, the rebels cutting trees, dropping them across the road just in front of the army’s progress, a feeble attempt to hold Howe back.

They rode past a small tavern, and Cornwallis saw a British flag in the window, thought, How long has that been there? Likely not while Mr. Washington was in the area. I wonder if that fellow is a true loyalist, or just someone with an instinct for the pragmatic.

Howe had issued a proclamation, calling for loyal subjects to the king to step forward, a reassuring statement that those citizens out here, who had been so far from the protection of British forces, were now safe, and could state their loyalty without fear. In return, they would receive a certificate signed by Howe, guaranteeing them protection from any harassment from the British troops. The response had been encouraging, though not overwhelming, but reports had already begun to come into camp from irate Tories, protesting that their farms, and occasionally their daughters, were being abused by the Hessians, who showed no understanding at all of Howe’s reassuring words. But Howe continued to believe it was a major step in bringing the countryside back into the fold. Cornwallis understood now: To Howe, this was the most important part of the entire mission.

As they moved farther into the town, more of the citizens came out into the road. He glanced at Howe, saw a silent pride on the man’s soft face. He could see that Howe shared none of his own frustration, seemed unconcerned that Washington was staying just far enough in front of them to avoid a fight. Howe was waving now, and Cornwallis saw a group of women emerging from a small house, flowers in their hands. An old man appeared, bent and gray, held a British flag, and Cornwallis had the sudden sense of being in a parade. It brought back memories of Europe, the celebration of war, as though some kind of grand spectacle justified any of the horror.

Howe was reacting to the attention with a broad smile, and Cornwallis focused ahead, listened for the sounds of the army, any sign that the
jagers
had actually caught up to Washington’s main body. Howe was waving again, responding to a small group of cheering boys, said, “Marvelous. It’s like coming home. This truly is England, all of it. Every house, every farm, every town.”

Cornwallis didn’t know if Howe expected him to respond, thought, Of course, in the end, it’s not about armies, or this chase of a beaten enemy. Howe was enjoying the countryside, appraising it in ways Cornwallis had never understood until now. It was the European way, conquer your enemy by conquering his land, measure your victory by acreage. We are occupying their property, their towns are falling under our command. This is not about catching Washington, or defeating his army. Howe’s proclamation to the loyalists was all about pacification, reassuring the people that we will protect them from the rabble, reassuring them that their king has returned to take control. There is logic to it, I suppose. The rebels claim their power comes from the people, that it is the people who give legitimacy to their congress. Take that away, and there is no revolution at all.

Up ahead, he heard more muskets, could hear a musket ball whistle by overhead. Howe was waving still, a flirtation with a young girl, and Cornwallis thought, He didn’t hear it. He didn’t hear any of it.

D
ECEMBER 8, 1776

There had been musket fire for most of the day, scattered and brief, and very few stragglers had appeared. He knew that Trenton was very close, the
jagers
pushing and probing forward, testing the resistance that Washington might have placed in their path. There had not been any kind of real engagement, mostly marksmen, rebels who hid themselves close to the wrecks of small bridges, more of the annoying obstacles to slow the column. The
jagers
would pursue, a brief fruitless chase, but the rebels knew the land. Each time the game was played out, the main column would be forced to halt, and after a time, Cornwallis would begin the cumbersome task of putting the army in motion again.