Valley Forge: George Washington and the Crucible of Victory (44 page)

He struggled to clear his throat.

“This—” He paused. “Keep this in your hearts. Cato’s death was not in vain, for it inspires us to this day. The death of our comrades must not be in vain. Let their sacrifice be our inspiration in the days to come.

“God be with you all, and may God forever bless this Republic, which we hold so dear.”

He had not prepared any speech, had not intended to speak at all. His delight in agreeing to the production of the play was the hope that it would serve as inspiration. He sensed it had done far more this night than he had ever hoped for, and his few words could not add to the experience but only detract from it if he continued.

“Good night, comrades.”

He extended his hand to Martha. She stood and together the two left the bakehouse, those gathered in the doorway drawing back respectfully as they left.

The full moon cast a light nearly as bright as day. They walked together in silence, her hand tightly clasping his. He looked down at her.

“Martha.”

“Yes.”

“If,” he hesitated, “if our cause should not win through, you know what I must do.”

She didn’t speak.

“In the end, we cannot, we will not, lose. Others will follow afterwards, a generation hence, maybe a hundred, two hundred years hence, but in the end it will triumph. Caesar and those after him did believe they had won for the moment, but in the end tyranny will always destroy itself as long as good men and women stand against it.”

He sighed.

“I am sorry for what I have put you through, Martha. I did not want this.”

“Do you think I would love you more if you had not chosen this path, George?” she replied, and there was the slightest touch of reproach in her voice.

“It is because you are who you are that I love you.”

He squeezed her hand tightly.

“Thank you, my dear.”

“I’ll invite the actors to sup with us tomorrow as a thank-you.”

He smiled at her suggestion. Leave it to her to find the proper thank-you he could not find a voice for tonight.

“I want them to perform this again and again, until every last man and woman with this army has seen it.”

“I think, George, they are eager to do so.”

“When this war is over, we will go home, Martha, there to live in peace.”

“Of course, George,” and she sighed. “Of course your duty will be done when this war ends. Like Cincinnatus.”

He looked down at her and laughed softly.

“Yes, like him.”

“Before or after he was called back to serve his country yet again?” she whispered, as she turned and buried her head against his chest, struggling to conceal her tears.

Philadelphia
April 10, 1778

“David?”

“I’m ready, missus.”

She looked down at her letter. Allen had left more than an hour ago. It already seemed like an eternity, and her hands trembled as she folded up the letter and handed it to David. He slipped the note into an open seam of his coat. He already had needle and thread ready and in little more than a minute she deftly sewed the seam shut.

David had already tucked into his vest pocket a second note, the cover letter for his journey: a plaintive appeal to an alleged lover, a Methodist minister living out beyond Darby whose child she was carrying. The letter demanded his acknowledgement of her and his responsibility to marry her. If he were to be stopped by pickets or roving patrols, they would find only this second letter.

He had indeed been stopped once, and the discovered false note had triggered a derisive response. The sergeant of the patrol had sent him on his way with ribald comments that his owner should choose someone other than a Methodist preacher to have a liaison with.

Of course, a thorough examination by someone who knew the tricks of the trade would soon uncover the resewn seam. If discovered it would mean death
for David and, most likely, imprisonment for her, and an inquiry would soon trace its way back to Allen, who had talked far too openly in the hours that had just passed.

Finished with the sewing, and biting off the end of the thread, she looked into David’s eyes.

“God be with you, my friend,” she whispered.

“With His protection I will be safe, missus.”

She hesitated.

“David.”

“Yes, missus?”

“David…” Her voice trailed off, tears filling her eyes.

With an almost fatherly touch he put his hands on her shoulder, and held her as she cried.

“I know, missus, I know. You truly do love him.”

“I do,” she whispered. “I feel so terrible. I feel like…”

“Hush now,” he whispered, but his voice was sharp, insistent. “When this war ends, the two of you will be together.”

“If he knew, he would spit on me.”

“Oh, missus. Believe me.” He chuckled. “If every man knew every secret within a woman’s heart. May I humbly suggest that this little secret is between us and I shall carry it to my grave?”

“Don’t talk like that,” she replied, looking up into his dark features.

“Sorry, a wrong choice of words. Now don’t you fret. Go to bed and sleep. I will be back by midday.”

“Please be safe.”

“Remember, missus, I have a wife and children to return to. And someday…”

Her father had not purchased his family, who were still slaves in New York, though he promised often enough he would…someday.

“When this war is over, David.”

“No promises, missus. But, bless you, I know you will honor them if you can.”

“It is the least this country can do for you.”

He did not reply.

She stepped back, taking his hand. “May God protect you on your way,” she whispered, lowering her head in prayer, “guiding your footsteps along the way, to safely return to this home and family.”

He drew back and was out the door and gone.

She blew out the candle in the kitchen and went back to the parlor, where she and Allen had been little more than an hour ago. She stood silent, gazing about, making sure no evidence of his stay was present.

It was hard to hold back the tears. When she had approached Dr. Rush, months ago, asking how she could serve her country when it was evident that the British would take this city, he had smiled and then innocently suggested that all she need do was keep her ears open, act charming, and nothing more.

Her friend Peggy had pointed the way, openly flinging herself at one of the most eligible bachelors with the army, Captain André, but she was so flighty, and now so in love with him, that to enlist her in this conspiracy was foolish, if not outright dangerous. Besides, she was more than eager to spill every secret she learned to prove her powers over the captain.

But never had she contemplated doing what she had just done. Peggy was source enough of information, but to so use the innocent love of Allen as she had tonight left her feeling cold—soiled, even. David had not hesitated when she had nervously queried him about the prospect of Allen and her having a rendezvous in the house. He had covered for her before: A young officer from New York who had died last summer of the fever had slipped in more than once while garrisoned in the city, so it was no shock to this loyal family servant.

And yet what of Allen?

If he had not been an officer on Grey’s staff and a friend of André’s, would she have lured him here tonight?

There was at least that reassurance. She would have because she loved him regardless. The rumors and news aside, in a few short months at most he would be gone. Win or lose, if this war did not end soon, chances of his living were slim at best. At least that logic helped to calm her soul a bit. If by using what he had said, she could help to insure a swift ending to this war, she might thereby spare his life. Then indeed she would marry him, and only David and she would know the full truth: that she had betrayed him even as she loved him in the hope of somehow saving him.

Philadelphia
June 10, 1778

“Gentlemen, we shall evacuate this city and return our base of operations to New York City.”

A murmur of voices greeted this bold, straightforward statement.

Sir Henry Clinton, the new commander of His Majesty’s forces in the Americas, let his officers speak among themselves for a moment. Of course they knew it was coming; all of Philadelphia had been seething with rumors. What he was calling a movement of his base of operations was in fact a retreat, and he had been saddled with doing it.

He held no real animosity toward the Howe brothers; they had treated him well enough, had given to him the lion’s share of honor and glory for the battle of Long Island, the battle that had won him a knighthood. Nevertheless, it was they who had created this situation, and now they were gone. General Howe had been ordered to return to England to receive proper recognition, as was said in the official dispatches, but in reality it might very well turn into a court of inquiry for his utter failure, after two years, to crush this rebellion once and for all.

For heaven’s sake, Clinton thought sourly, as he looked around the room at his brigade commanders and staff. The men he was losing to garrison islands in the Caribbean because of France entering the war were some of his elite troops, seasoned to the climate of this place after two long years. Half the poor buggers would most likely die of malaria and yellow jack before the summer was out in Jamaica.

If they were doomed to die, the real enemy was here, only twenty-two miles
away. With those five thousand veteran troops, he would be more than a match for Washington and could finish this war as it should have been finished six months ago. There at Valley Forge was the true heart of this war. Something that London did not see. It was, at this moment, Washington and his ever-growing army alone that mattered. The American ranks were swelling every day, and there were disturbing reports of a German drillmaster who was changing the main corps of that ragtag force into something different, a trained army.

“Why don’t we attack now instead and be done with it?” General Grey snarled, and there was a chorus of agreements.

“I have to follow orders from London,” Clinton replied, and there was a touch of sarcasm in his voice. “You only have local knowledge of the real situation. You do not appreciate the subtleties of our masters looking at a world stage.”

It was obviously not how he felt; each word was spoken with bitterness.

“Hang the damn orders!” Grey retorted, and now there were even louder assertions of agreement. “Win the victory, then write back and ask them if you should let the prisoner Washington go with apologies even though we’ve already hanged him.”

There were snickers of laughter around the room.

“I want Washington as much as you do,” Clinton snapped, slapping his fist on the table.

“Then let us take him. I beg you, sir, we could do this within the week and the war will be over.”

Grey looked around the room to the other brigade commanders for support. Most were nodding yes.

“Their Lordships are attempting to manage a war from a distance of four thousand miles. We are here, twenty-two miles away. Seize the moment, seize the moment, sir. How often did Caesar ignore the orders of the Senate when in Spain and Gaul?”

“To his everlasting infamy,” Clinton replied softly.

“Or one could say his greater glory,” Grey replied.

He could not admit it to this audience, but in his heart he agreed with Grey. The Howe brothers had made a bungling mess of it all and now London was going to compound their mistakes. Why can’t they see that you can’t run a war from such a distance?

Yet he had weighed the odds. Five thousand men were, this day, beginning to take ship for the Caribbean. They would have to make a long and arduous
voyage to the south, running contrary to winds and currents. It could take six weeks, perhaps two months, before they arrived at Jamaica. And only three months hence, when the hurricane season began, no admiral would dare to venture his fleet on open waters to stage an attack in that region. Across two hundred years, countless fleets had just simply disappeared or limped back to port, shattered by the late summer and autumn storms that raked the tropics.

If only I had those five thousand at my disposal today, rather than going down to the docks to see them off.

He inwardly sighed.

Or am I using that as an excuse? he wondered.

It was one thing to be second or third in command and to then second-guess your superior, who was bearing the kind of weighty responsibility now entrusted to him.

If I venture battle, perhaps against superior odds, and lose, I will be forever cursed, another Admiral Byng.

He thought of the words of a French philosopher contemplating the tragic fate of Byng:
Dans ce pays-ci, il est bon de tuer de temps en temps un amiral pour encourager les autres.

Disobey, but I do not win a full and total victory? Hanged, then, for the encouragement of others not to take risks?

Besides, New York is exposed. The garrison there is less than five thousand strong, most of them second-rate troops left behind last summer. There is little clear intelligence as to how much of the Americans’ northern army, victorious at Saratoga, was still in the field in the Hudson Valley.

Though he had gone through the mental exercise repeatedly since word had arrived of the transfer of command, his calculations always came out the same. A daring thrust to Valley Forge could just possibly win the day. Yet the victory might not be a Blenheim or a Quebec, a blow effectively assuring victory. It could be a standoff, or, as he advanced on Valley Forge, Washington could decamp, strike across New Jersey, and attempt to grab New York City by a quick, daring assault. There was even the fear, expressed by Their Lordships, that rather than strike in the Caribbean, the French might venture to land a force on Long Island, in conjunction with a strike by Washington from New Jersey, and seize New York while he dallied here.

And yet with all of these dangers, they take five thousand of my best from me.

He had been silent for a long moment, Grey gazing at him with anticipation.

“We retire to New York as ordered,” he said softly.

Grey exhaled noisily, sitting back in his chair, making a dramatic show of picking up his glass, filling it with brandy, downing the drink in a single gulp and then with a muffled curse throwing the empty glass into the fireplace.

“I understand your frustration, sir,” Clinton replied calmly. “And yet, think of my chagrin if I ordered you to do something and you failed to do so.”

“You are here, sir, not four thousand miles away.”

Grey looked around the room.

“At least please release my light brigade for a raid in strength—at least that, sir.”

Again Clinton shook his head.

“The army is to be reconstituted to its original order of battle. Light infantry companies are needed with their original battalions. The brigade of light infantry will be disbanded and you will reassume your original command.”

Grey blustered, but now the other brigade commanders did not support him. They had complained bitterly of being stripped of their light infantry companies. It was not their ox being gored; on this Grey would have no support.

“Our regiments will need their light companies since we shall move overland through New Jersey.”

“Why not by ship?” O’Hara, commander of his Guards Brigade, queried.

“Not enough transports, for one, what with the ships being used to carry the men we are losing to the Caribbean. Second, we have an additional concern. Numerous good people of this city have openly demonstrated their support. We must offer them protection in return. There will not be enough shipping for them and their goods, nor could we expect them to try and venture across Jersey to New York on their own.”

It will be like Boston all over again, he thought, remembering the wretched state of the refugees, begging to go with him when he was forced to abandon that city and retreat to Canada.

“Damn all rebels,” Grey whispered. “My God, if we leave those people behind they will be shot or hanged.”

“I would prefer not to think so lowly of General Washington,” Clinton offered, “but at the hands of their neighbors they might suffer, and the king himself has expressed concern that all those loyal to him must be protected.”

“We should fire the city as we leave,” Grey replied, and now again he had the support of the others. “After all, it was their capital.”

Clinton looked at him in surprise.

“We are not barbarians, sir. This city is still the realm of the king, even if we must temporarily leave it.”

“They burned New York when they evacuated.”

“That is not proven, sir. Sometimes cities do burn by accident, even in war.”

It was obvious his words were not accepted by all, and he looked around the room coldly.

“These orders must be made clear to every man, down to the lowest private and camp hanger-on. There will be no looting. We will come back to this city some day, to stay permanently. If we burn Philadelphia now it will only serve the rebels as a great propaganda victory and give them yet more foul accusations against us. Any who violate my order shall face the full weight of military justice.”

Even Grey had to nod in final agreement.

“I plan for us to leave this place within a fortnight. Prepare your troops for marching with all accoutrements and supplies. We will put out rumors that we are planning to take the campaign into the hinterland in pursuit of their Congress.”

“That should cause their politicians to wet their britches,” O’Hara interjected, and there was general laughter.

“We will cross the Delaware and, within three days’ march, gain either Amboy or to a point just south of Long Island at the Monmouth Heights. There our army will be transported by ship back to Staten Island and New York City.”

“And after that?” Grey asked.

“We await further orders from London,” Clinton said dryly.

No one responded.

“You are dismissed.”

The officers stood to leave, all but Grey and, standing behind him, one of his staff, the popular young André.

“Come now, Henry,” Grey offered informally, now that they were alone. “Surely you will not go along with this. Tell me, you have a card hidden up your sleeve. I never knew you to back away from a fight.”

Clinton shook his head.

“Charles, I wish I could say differently. You know as well as I do that our forces are now split into three components, the garrison here, the garrison in New York, and the third part being sent on this wild goose chase down to the tropics. At least back in New York I will have a unified command of two-thirds of the forces and can act accordingly at that time.”

“I still believe Washington might yet be vulnerable,” Grey continued. “I
begged Howe for months to exploit Washington’s weakness. I know you supported me all along on those requests. We’ve scouted him nearly every day. I have even had men, disguised as herders, bringing in cattle inside their camp.”

“That was three months ago; this is now,” Clinton replied forcefully. “I fear there is something different stirring up at Valley Forge, and you know as well as I do that if I were to try to venture up and did not win a complete victory…”

He forced a smile.

“Their Lordships would break every bone in my body.”

“Damn all of this,” Grey replied with a weary shake of his head. “I hate when politics gets in the way of good simple soldiering.”

Clinton patted him on the shoulder.

“You still have your old command back, my friend. At least it isn’t you heading down to those damn islands.”

Grey nodded in agreement.

“I hear Anthony Wayne swears he will personally turn me into a eunuch if ever we shall meet in battle. Can’t disappoint giving him the chance,” he laughed, “though it will be he going to Italy to sing opera instead.”

André, standing behind Grey, laughed.

“I shall write him a piece for a castrato beforehand, sir.”

The two generals grinned.

“See to your men,” Clinton ordered.

Grey saluted and turned to leave.

“Remember, only commanders of regiments are to know the truth of it. The men are to think we are just preparing for a spring campaign in Pennsylvania. I’ll string up the man who breathes a word, that”—he paused—“that we are pulling back.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?”

“Next time, if you are in the mood for throwing fine crystal into the fireplace, use your own, Charles. My wife sent me that set from England, along with the brandy.”

Valley Forge
June 11, 1778

Washington’s heart swelled with pride at the sight of them. The head of the column was still a hundred yards off, but already he and those gathered
around him could hear the rolling of the drums, the shrieking call of the fifers.

A pavilion tent had been set up for the invited ladies of the camp, to ward off the heat of the afternoon sun, and what now was the threat of an approaching thunderstorm. He alone remained mounted to receive the salutes. His officers and staff and the wives, including Martha, stood under the canvas.