The Glorious Cause

by Jeff Shaara

  Cornwallis climbed down from the horse, felt he was in some very foreign place, a place where a man in a British uniform was completely insignificant. He looked back at his aides.

  “Perhaps we should have sent word. I should have considered that the Hessians might expect an appointment.”

  He stepped across the stone carriageway, and the door opened abruptly, a blue-coated officer emerging, stopping suddenly, saying something in German, some word of surprise. There was another man behind him, and Cornwallis heard more German, and the second man moved up, said, “General Cornwallis, welcome, sir. Please, our apologies. We were not aware you were coming. I am Captain Heisel.”

  Cornwallis was surprised at the man’s skill with English, could see that Heisel was genuinely concerned.

  “The apology is mine, Captain. I was performing my routine, and realized that I had not offered my respects to General Knyphausen. I can certainly return at a later time.”

  The man stiffened, said, “Certainly not, sir. General Knyphausen is in the library. I will inform him you are here. It will only be a moment, sir. Please come inside, your men as well.”

  Both officers stepped back inside, and Cornwallis climbed the short steps, moved past the two guards who were still facing out, their eyes following him closely. His staff followed him into the house, and he saw a small parlor to one side, said, “My men can remain here, if that is acceptable.”

  Heisel moved that way, stood beside the door, said, “Certainly, sir. Gentlemen, please be comfortable. I will arrange refreshment.”

  He looked at his aides, a silent order, Stay here, and there was no protest. They filed into the small room, and Cornwallis waited for Heisel, who moved quickly, said, “Please, General, if you will allow me . . .”

  There was a long hall that led through the center of the house, and Cornwallis saw another man emerging from one side, recognized von Donop, who saw him, said, “Ah, General! A pleasant surprise!”

  Von Donop came forward, smiling broadly, something Cornwallis had never seen. He managed a smile of his own, and von Donop was suddenly serious, said, “Is there a problem, General? Are we in some difficulty?”

  “Oh, no, quite the opposite, Colonel. I would prefer that this be a social visit.”

  The smile returned, and von Donop said, “We are honored, General. General Knyphausen is right this way. He will be delighted to see you, sir!”

  He followed von Donop into the hall, felt thick carpet under his boots, thought, I have never known General Knyphausen to be delighted about anything. At least they’re making a good show. This should be interesting.

  Von Donop motioned toward an open door, and Cornwallis saw the old man now, sitting in one corner, dwarfed by a wall of books. The room was musty, the familiar smell of old paper, and Cornwallis could not help but marvel at the amazing collection of books. Knyphausen stood up slowly, and Cornwallis saw that the old man was out of uniform, was suddenly embarrassed, realized he had never seen any Hessian officer without his full dress coat.

  “Forgive me, General Knyphausen. I should have made an appointment.” He was very self-conscious now, thought, I am, after all, the junior officer here. He looked at von Donop, expected the man to translate his apology, but the colonel held out one hand, said, “Please, sir. You are an honored guest. The general has remarked many times that he wished to make your better acquaintance.”

  Cornwallis looked at the old man, was surprised that Knyphausen was even aware of his name. Knyphausen was looking at him, pointed silently to a chair, and Cornwallis still felt awkward, said, “A wonderful library. Surprising. Few like it in the colonies, I’m sure.” He moved to the chair, waited for Knyphausen to return to his seat, the old man moving slowly, settling back into his chair. Cornwallis sat as well, felt the soft leather under him, looked again at von Donop.

  “If it is not too much of a bother, Colonel, your service at translation is much appreciated.” Von Donop said something to Knyphausen, and the old man made a small laugh, a brief wave of his hand. Von Donop said, “Thank you, General. That won’t be necessary. I hope to see you before you depart.”

  Cornwallis was surprised to see von Donop move to the door, and the man was gone, the door to the library pulled shut. Cornwallis felt the air in the room grow heavier, stared at the wall of books across from him, thought, Well, not quite what I had in mind. This might be a brief visit. Knyphausen pointed to a book, resting on a table beside him.

  “Gibbon.”

  Cornwallis saw now, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.

  “Ah, yes. A masterwork, sir. Certainly. I’m not aware if it is available in German. I should see about that, arrange a copy for you.” Knyphausen was looking at the book, and Cornwallis was feeling the self-conscious frustration, the chasm of language between them, the silent moment unnerving him. Knyphausen said, “Thank you, General. It won’t be necessary.”

  The man’s words stunned him, distinct, laced with the thick syrup of a German accent.

  “I was not aware, sir. Forgive me, I was always under the belief that you did not speak English.”

  The lines in the old man’s face showed a soft smile.

  “It is often more useful to spy on your friends than on your enemies.”

  Cornwallis absorbed the words, and Knyphausen said, “No, my apologies, General. I did not mean to use such a crude word. My English is poor. What I meant . . .”

  “What you meant, sir, is that a man can learn a great deal about those around him if they don’t know he is listening.”

  “Does that offend you, General? It might certainly offend General Howe.”

  Cornwallis thought a moment, Yes, it certainly might.

  “Why, sir, have you revealed this to me?”

  Knyphausen looked at him, seemed to study him for a long moment.

  “Why did you come here, General? Surely you did not wish to speak of the weather. General Howe is gone to Germantown, so you cannot be here to discuss strategy.”

  “I felt the need to offer my appreciation, sir. Since I am in command of the garrison in the city, I am pleased that your command . . . um, I had hoped to express . . .” The words were choked away, and he stopped with a self-conscious lurch. Knyphausen held up a crooked hand, soothed him with another smile.

  “My men . . . we are behaving ourselves, eh, General? You are welcome. Tell me, are you comfortable speaking about General Howe?” Cornwallis saw a sharp glint of steel in the old man’s eye, no sign of the haze he had seen at the councils. Knyphausen seemed to sense the awkwardness of his question, said, “You may be assured, General, these doors are closed. It is simply that I have some concerns. I believe you share them.”

  “Forgive me, sir, I’m not certain I understand.”

  “That’s what you are supposed to say. But I believe you understand very well.” Knyphausen tapped the book beside him, said, “Gibbon. Englishman. Knows something of history. There is history right here, General, this city. We are history, you and me. And General Howe. There is a tragedy brewing here. For you. Not so much for me.”

  Cornwallis was hanging on the man’s words, could feel the wisdom, not just from the man’s years, but more, something unexpected.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Why not for you?”

  “I am a mercenary, General! Even now, Colonel von Donop is supervising the accounts, preparing the casualty lists from the battle along the Brandywine Creek. Once the lists are complete, they must be presented to your king. For every man in my command that was killed, King George must pay the archduke three times the normal price per soldier. General Washington and his rebel marksmen have done a fine job in bringing gold to my country’s treasury.” He laughed, shook his head. “You find it disturbing that a general is pleased with the death of his men? I admit, it is an arrangement that has its problems. For example, we may claim a man as killed, if he is only missing. This means, if one of my men deserts, the archduke is paid. You can imagine, General, that places me i
n a difficult situation. As a commander, I am supposed to punish deserters. But to please my monarch, I am to allow them, even encourage them, to run away.” Knyphausen seemed to lose focus, and Cornwallis waited for more, thought, What has this to do with General Howe? The old man rubbed his face, wiped his eyes. “This is not how I was trained to fight a war.” He looked at Cornwallis, the sharpness in his eye returning. “As your hireling, I am to obey every order and submit to the strategy of General Howe. It has sometimes been difficult.”

  Cornwallis said nothing, was not sure how far Knyphausen would go.

  “How will you end this war, General Cornwallis?”

  He thought a moment, said, “We must first defeat the rebel army.”

  Knyphausen seemed to jump at the words.

  “Yes! So then, why do we sit in this pleasant city? Winter is still far away, and I feel as though I am in winter quarters.”

  Cornwallis felt the discomfort returning, said, “Sir, General Howe is aware of our mission. We will attack the rebels when the time is right.”

  “Please, do not take offense, General. I do not mention this to insult you, or General Howe. This is a conversation between two good soldiers, nothing more.”

  Cornwallis heard the compliment, said, “Thank you, sir. But, you must understand, I am not comfortable criticizing my superior officer. It is not appropriate, sir.”

  “All right then, I will speak, and you just listen. You have your honor to protect, your duty to perform. I have been through all of that. An old man learns that time is short. If I do not speak my mind while I am able . . . well, death provides ample time for silence. It cannot be helped.” He laughed again, and Cornwallis could not help a smile. “You still have time to win this war, General. But your army has made two mistakes in this campaign. You have captured the rebel capital as a substitute for capturing its army. There is no value here. General Howe would disagree, and he may have convinced London of that. But even the rebels know that we have done nothing here to end this war.” He paused, looked at Cornwallis with a hard stare. “I was surprised that you supported General Howe’s decision to capture this city. You are certainly a good tactician. I had thought you were a better strategist.”

  “You said two mistakes, sir.”

  “All right, General, you do not have to justify your decisions to me. The second mistake. You have failed to assist General Burgoyne. General Clinton is in New York furious that he is unable to obey Lord Germain’s order, to support your army up north. I too receive letters. Baron von Riedesel commands the Brunswick troops with General Burgoyne. He is a good man, a very good soldier. He has communicated his displeasure, and the displeasure of General Burgoyne that so little cooperation has been provided by General Howe. I was told, as were you, that General Howe would capture Philadelphia and return in time to assist General Burgoyne’s campaign. And yet, here we sit, a very long way from New York, with a rebel army still opposing us. There is talk in your headquarters that General Howe has expressed his wish that General Burgoyne’s mission fail. Is that accurate?”

  Cornwallis felt the heat of embarrassment rolling up his face, looked down at the floor.

  “No need to answer. I said I would talk. General Howe believes that he will have favor with your king if he succeeds, and Burgoyne is defeated. That is a serious error in judgment. General Howe is the commander in chief. On this continent, he is responsible for every victory, and every defeat.”

  Cornwallis slowly raised his head, saw Knyphausen looking at him, a strange sadness on the man’s face. The old man tapped the book again.

  “Remember Gibbon, General, the lessons of history. Your king rules an empire as did the Caesars. You and I, we serve, we share the same duty, to defeat the king’s enemies. If we fail, this old man will return to Hesse-Cassel with stories for his grandchildren. What will you do?”

  Cornwallis shared the man’s sadness now, said, “I will continue to serve. Surely, an old soldier knows that.”

  “Yes, of course. But good soldiers should have good commanders. It does not always happen, of course. That’s why men like Edward Gibbon have so much to write about.”

  There was a soft knock on the door, and von Donop appeared, said, “General Cornwallis! Forgive me, sir. There is an urgent message from General Howe. His troops are engaging the rebels at Germantown.”

  He led three regiments, men who had heard the sounds of the fight well before he did. They marched through the fog along the bank of the Schuylkill, and when the river made a sweeping turn to the left, he rode straight, the guides leading him toward the heart of Germantown, and the low roll of thunder. As they reached the first houses, the fog began to lift, and for the first time he could see the town itself, one main road leading away to the west. The sounds were drifting away on the far side, the battle slowing, scattered shots, the artillery silent. As he moved past the houses, there was a new sound, closer, the houses already filled with wounded, makeshift hospitals. It was a sound every soldier dreaded, and the men behind him seemed to quicken their step, the column pressing forward. He responded as well, spurred the horse, thought, The fight is moving well beyond the town. We are surely driving them back. He looked behind him, the officers waiting for his order, and he saw Leslie, said, “Prepare to advance. I will locate General Howe.”

  There were still low patches of fog, and he saw horses, flags, a cluster of color riding toward him. He stopped his horse, and Leslie moved up beside him, and he said in a low voice, “I seem to have found him.”

  The riders came slowly, a deliberate parade, Howe leading the pack. They were close now, and Howe raised his hand, punched the air with a fist.

  “General Cornwallis! Perfect, marvelous day! The matter has been concluded! Dare I say, this was a fine victory for His Majesty’s soldiers!”

  Cornwallis saluted him, said, “General, three regiments at your service, sir.”

  “No need! Did you not hear me? The matter has been settled! The rebels have been swept completely away! I must say, that rabble did a sprightly job of stumbling about the place. The fog was quite a disadvantage for them. There was a moment when I thought we were in a serious scrape, that Washington had sprung quite the surprise. But, hah! In short order, we found our mettle and drove them right back into their forest!”

  He had never heard Howe so animated, the man now turning to his aides.

  “Make careful count of the rebel casualties. This will play well with Lord Germain!” He looked at Cornwallis again, said, “They dared to come right at us, and we stood tall! London will find no fault with this command on this day!” Howe looked past him, seemed to see the column of reinforcements for the first time.

  “Too late, General! This one was mine! I’d say you should return your men to the city.”

  Howe moved away, his entourage keeping pace. Leslie was beside him now, and Cornwallis said, “It seems the commanding general did not require our services after all. Have the column rested, issue them some food. And then, Mr. Leslie, I suppose we should return to Philadelphia.”

  The order passed along the line behind him, the drummers taking up the call, and his men began to file out beyond the houses. He nudged the horse, moved forward, made his way past more of the houses, saw broken glass, one roof punched by an artillery shell. As he moved toward the far side of the small town, he could see troops dragging the bodies aside, lining up the dead, a long row of red uniforms. Beyond, he saw fences draped with color, blue and brown, more rebel bodies spread out in a small field. He rode forward, saw a patch of open ground to the left, one large stout house, the yard a vast carpet of bodies, nearly all rebels, several British soldiers picking through them. He saw an officer, moving slowly around the house, and Cornwallis stopped the horse. The man noticed him, stood upright, but no salute. Cornwallis could see he was very young, short red hair, saw a smear of blood on the man’s face, and he said, “Well fought, Lieutenant.”

  The man seemed unsure, looked around at the rebel bodies, some movin
g slightly, badly wounded.

  “It was very close, sir. There was good fortune here today. If not for the bloody fog, they might have run straight over us. I’m ashamed to say it, sir, but so many of my men wouldn’t fight. They just ran away. It was a bloody awful surprise, sir.”

  The young man seemed dazed, and Cornwallis said, “Are you wounded, Lieutenant?”

  The young man put a hand inside his coat, felt, probed.

  “A small one, sir.”

  Cornwallis saw the man’s bloody fingers now, said to Leslie, “Get him some assistance. Now.”

  The staff was down, moving toward the man, helping him toward a horse. Cornwallis moved past the large house, the road opening up beyond the town, larger farms, more rebel bodies spread along the fences, some in the road. He saw a blue coat, dirty white pants, the body of a rebel officer, the man lying facedown in thick grass. He looked at the man’s uniform, gold braid on the collar, a short sword still in his hand, thought, He died moving forward, leading his men. He felt a strange anger, thought of Howe. Enjoy your bloody damned parade, General. But there was more to this day than your perfect little victory. We soundly defeated these rebels at Brandywine, and yet, here they are again. He looked out across the open ground, a hundred bodies, more, thought, This was no skirmish, no raiding party. It was a well-planned, large-scale attack. That lieutenant may be correct. Fortune, indeed. General Howe can tell London anything he damned well pleases. But these rebels are far from defeated.