Victory at Yorktown: A Novel (33 page)
All now rested on what would transpire in the next few minutes. He spared a sidelong glance at Barre, who was just staring off with indifference to the conversation as if it were no concern of his, but he sensed the man would be perfectly happy if de Grasse just suddenly announced orders contrary to Washington’s wishes and dreams.
It did not help that with the stern windows open, even out here in the middle of the bay, mosquitoes had found likely meals and annoyingly buzzed about.
“Sir,” Washington continued, “your welcoming letter, so joyful to receive, however, did give me momentary pause when you concluded with the statement that your orders, upon departing France in the spring, were to campaign in the Caribbean until the onset of the hurricane season. Only then were you at liberty to sail northward in search of enemy shipping for not more than six weeks at the ending of which you were to come about and carefully return back to the Caribbean for the winter.”
“Those were my orders when I left Brest. Yes, those were my orders from the admiralty and from my king. I was to venture this fleet northward for six weeks only, and then return to protect our possessions in the south.”
“Orders that of course are sound advice,” Rochambeau now interrupted, speaking in French so that Lafayette had to quickly shift to English so that Washington understood what was being said. “But surely, sir, if our good king knew of your glorious victory here a week ago in these very waters, that your presence here now blocks the British navy, which has scurried, with its tail between its legs back to New York like whipped dogs, and that by being here you block any thoughts they might have of harrying our rich possessions to the south. Surely His Majesty would be the first to congratulate you.”
De Grasse nodded his thanks for the compliment.
“Your presence here as well, now traps over seven thousand elite troops of England, that if freed from your blockade, could do much harm to our interests, let alone that of our noble allies. I am confident our king would now see things differently.”
De Grasse smiled.
“If only this war did not divert the genius of your Benjamin Franklin, I dare say he would have, by now, applied his mind to harnessing lightning itself, to find some means of employing it so our voices could leap with the lightning bolts back and forth across the ocean, so that my king could hear this conversation and offer his sage opinion and give proper orders.”
All chuckled goodnaturedly over the witticism and absurdity of the wish.
De Grasse extended his hands wide and shrugged his shoulders in a typical Gallic gesture of despair.
“But such is not so, and my orders were clear, sir.”
For a moment Washington feared that de Grasse would stand, indicating that the conversation was at an end. He had departed the Caribbean early in August, it was now the middle of September; if he followed his orders to the letter, he would leave these waters by the end of the month.
The army with its full strength had finally arrived only yesterday after nearly a month of hard marching in broiling heat and with short rations. They needed several days of rest, at least, before being set to the hard task of beginning to dig the siege lines forward. It would take weeks, nearly a month, for those lines to be completed, according to the estimates of the ever-accurate von Steuben and his master of artillery Knox, agreed upon by Rochambeau’s own engineers.
If moved to absolute desperation they could attempt a “forlorn hope” of a direct frontal attack against Cornwallis’s well-prepared works. It would be a forlorn hope, indeed, von Steuben said that chances were it would turn into the bloodiest attack of the war within minutes. To expect casualties as high as 50 percent or more, with but one chance in ten at most of carrying the enemy position and winning the day.
If de Grasse was now announcing he would stand by the rigid orders he had sailed with in the spring, he would have to launch that forlorn hope, with himself in the lead. He would rather die at the head of his troops, than face the defeat that would come if the attack failed. Or far worse, if he did not do a damn thing at all, and then stand impotent and watch as the French fleet sailed away, leaving the back door open for Cornwallis to either escape, or perhaps see, within a few weeks, transports bearing Clinton’s army, fresh and well supplied to shatter his ill-fed and exhausted troops.
“Sir,” Washington struggled to keep a sense of dignity to his voice even though he was bargaining here with no cards in his hand to play out other than a personal appeal, “you have achieved in these waters the greatest naval victory of the war.”
That was more than a bit of an exaggeration. Only one enemy ship of the line had actually been sunk, in reality scuttled by its own crew when the rest of the fleet retired, and one other ship captured, the vast bulk of the British fleet easily retiring northward. It was, after refitting in the naval yard at New York, still a potent threat. De Grasse’s fleet had no shipyards here for major repairs, the careening of ships to scrap bottoms, to replace spliced masts and shattered yardarms. Another encounter and though fewer in number the British would have the advantage and surely that was weighing upon de Grasse’s thinking.
“There is the absolute potential here for an even greater and far more glorious victory,” Washington hurriedly pressed ahead, Lafayette barely able to keep up with the translation.
“You, sir, have bottled up nearly half of all the main line infantry of the British empire in North America here, in this bay.”
He pointed out the window and he thanked God that the wind had shifted this ship around in its anchorage, so that as he pointed dramatically, off in the distance the peninsula of Yorktown and Williamsburg was in view.
“More than seven thousand of their elite infantry who have terrorized the Carolinas for two years and that my dear Generals Lafayette and Greene have forced from the Carolinas,” and as he spoke, he nodded to his beloved young French comrade, who had played such a crucial role in creating this moment.
“Think of it, sir,” and now he allowed enthusiasm to come to his voice. “A dozen of their finest regiments and all their standards, sixty pieces of artillery, carried with the greatest labor from England to here. Consider when you return to your dear king and our friend Louis, you, sir, personally could present those colors of humbled regiments to your king. What then? Sir, it would be the greatest triumph of this war,” he hesitated, “and fitting revenge for the last war.”
He was not sure if he had overstepped with mention of that last war. For after all, he had fought against France and gained his reputation doing so in that last conflict.
“I hear, sir,” de Grasse replied smoothly, “that you were quite the hero in that last conflict. That it was you personally who led Braddock’s men out of the trap laid by some of the very men you march alongside of now. That you gained quite a reputation then, and would boast that you would not rest until the last Frenchman was either dead or driven into the Great Lakes or the sea.”
Washington held his gaze but felt his color rising. There was no denying his role or his boast. Then he gave Lafayette a sidelong glance almost in appeal for the young man to come up with some comforting and diplomatic reply.
But de Grasse chuckled and patted Washington’s hand resting on the table, breaking the momentary tension.
“You were a noble foe in that last war, sir. We know your reputation: fierce in battle but magnanimous in victory, and the first to offer aid to a fallen foe even if he had been the enemy but moments before. That you spared my fellow countrymen who were prisoners and insisted they be properly exchanged. I heard a legend that years afterward a noble savage chieftain you met, who had faced you in battle, said that he ordered his men not to waste any more lead shooting at you, because their god, who obviously respected you, had put his hands about you and no bullet would ever strike you. That you and this chief then did that strange custom of theirs of smoking a pipe together in friendship.”
Embarrassed, he simply nodded in reply.
“Is it really true that in the battle against Braddock, your uniform had thirteen bullet holes in it, but you were not touched?”
Washington, now truly embarrassed, only shook his head.
“Four bullet holes in his uniform and two horses shot dead beneath him that day,” Lafayette proudly announced without waiting for him to speak, looking back at his friend with open admiration.
“Those days are long past,” Washington said awkwardly, “now we are friends united in a common cause.”
“Seven then,” de Grasse said with a smile.
There was a moment of silence, drinks poured for several and, of course, Washington put his hand over his glass politely indicating refusal.
“I will come to the point,” Washington now said, his voice gaining strength.
“I already know your point but do proceed,” de Grasse replied.
“I implore you, sir, to extend your time here until we have, as we Americans are fond of saying, ‘the enemy in the bag.’”
There were polite chuckles.
De Grasse did not respond. Attention now fixed on his goblet of brandy, swirling it about and taking a sip.
“Four additional weeks, sir, will see the job done,” he hesitated. “I will swear that to you as my solemn oath, sir. Extend for four weeks, until the end of October. If we cannot achieve our final victory by then, I promise you upon my oath, sir, I will not ask for a single day more.”
De Grasse looked up at him over the rim of the brandy sniffer.
“You realize, sir, you are asking me to go against the instructions given to me by my king and the board of the admiralty. I was granted six weeks discretion and no more.”
“They are in Paris, nearly four thousand miles away,” Rochambeau interjected. “My friend, we are here. We are entrusted with our ranks not just to blindly follow, but to judge as well when God grants us fair opportunity. I believe this moment is such a chance. Such a chance might not ever come again in our lifetimes.”
“If we live through this,” Barre interjected, his mood now clear. “The English fleet fully refitted could be back in a fortnight from New York while our ships still need a proper naval yard for repair.”
De Grasse looked over at him and nodded as if accepting his advice and for an instant Washington’s heart sank, but as he looked at Rochambeau he saw the flicker of a grin, the way a partner in a hand of whist or hearts might signal that an opponent had just made the wrong play.
De Grasse’s gaze shifted from Barre back to Washington.
“I agree with you, General Washington. Four additional weeks, sir, but not a day longer.”
Washington struggled to contain himself. After his display in front of Rochambeau, he could not afford another such outburst, ever again.
Rochambeau and Lafayette made up for it, both rising to their feet with loud exclamations of joy, each grabbing a hand of de Grasse, shaking it, then hugging him as he stood to return their enthusiasm with proper grace.
All Washington could do was just stand, head bowed, though not about to dance another jig, he feared his emotions might swing the other way to tears of relief. It had all hung in the balance yet again. He could see the dour look of disapproval by Barre. It was obvious the man wanted out of this campaign, if for no other reason than the fact that de Grasse was for it, but it was time for a noble gesture. He reached across the table and extended his hand to Barre, who looked up at him in surprise.
“Sir, without your gallant transporting of additional supplies and especially the siege guns all of this would be moot. Sir, your efforts will forever be remembered for enabling us to batter Cornwallis into submission or his grave. I shall never forget that.”
Lafayette hurriedly translated while still embracing de Grasse and to Washington’s inner delight he saw his words had worked the proper effect, at least here, and Barre rose and took Washington’s hand, nodding his thanks.
The group of commanders finally returned to the main deck, their enthusiasm evident, and at the sight of them, the crew, after word had come that the meeting had drawn to a successful conclusion, were now drawn up in formal ranks. Though nearly all were swaying or barely standing from the generous outflow of spirits, their cheers resounded, picked up by the crews of ships up and down the line, and again another thunderous broadside upon broadside in salute. Which made Washington wince as yet again he thought about how much powder they had just expended. But now? He stood listening to it with delight and hoped that Cornwallis could hear it as well.
Fourteen
IN FRONT OF YORKTOWN
SEPTEMBER 29, 1781
TWO HOURS BEFORE DAWN
General Washington clicked his pocket watch open, for the tenth time within the hour, a sure sign to all gathered with him that the anticipation was all but overwhelming. Hamilton was holding a hooded lantern, shielded from the sight of the enemy line by his cloak.
“Two minutes,” Washington whispered, struggling not to let his emotion, his raw excitement, show.
It had been over three years, three long years since Monmouth Court House that he had actually started an action and the anticipation of it all was nearly visceral, made even more tense by the nearmaddening stress of the previous six weeks. He usually felt a strange inner calm descend once action was joined; it was what he was noted for in all three armies on the field and behind fortifications this night. Even the British who had seen him in action later commented how he moved about in a near-placid state, as if oblivious to danger or the other extreme of being overcome with battle lust.
At this moment, he felt a deep inner frustration as well. In the shadows he could see Dan Morgan, actually leaning forward, like a greyhound ready to sprint into action, and how he longed to go with him, as he once had in his youth. He had even muttered such a suggestion but an hour ago, and the response was near-instant rebellion from Hamilton, his guards, Lafayette, and even “Ole Dan,” who grumbled, “Just you do that, sir. Just fine. Dressed up as you are. You stop a bullet and till my dying day everyone will curse Dan Morgan. So no thank you, sir, you go forward and I’ll stay here and command the army while you try and get killed.”