by Jeff Shaara
The fight was beginning along Wayne’s front, more of the British units coming into line. He drove the horse furiously along the pathway, could see a rising cloud of smoke sweeping across the field, drifting toward the deep ravines.
Far to his right, a new line of British troops was advancing, bayonets forward, and he held up the horse, searched for Wayne, could see a swath of white in the field, a burst of smoke and flame, volley after volley finding targets Lafayette could not see. The fresh British troops began to shift position, seeking their avenue into the fight, and Lafayette was suddenly jolted by a sharp blast, grabbed the horse’s mane, pulled himself around. There were cannon now, guns firing across the ravine, more guns unlimbering, turning into position. They began to fire in regular rhythm, and he pushed the horse down into the low ground, then climbed up, the sulfur smoke choking him. He reached the level ground again, could see Knox moving among the guns, and he rode that way, Knox aiming the guns, the round man animated, cheering his men. The British began to answer, and he felt the air ripped above him, a sharp whine, solid shot punching the ground. Knox began to wave at him frantically, and he thought, Yes, this is not the place to be. He could see the British across the ravine, the perfect formation shattered, men drifting away up the rise, some already over the crest. Knox continued to fire his guns, and Lafayette searched through the smoke, tried to see Wayne, could see only swaths of white shirts, men with bayonets, still advancing, still driving forward. He turned to Knox, shouted through the cannon fire, “What are your orders? Has General Lee placed you here?”
Knox looked at him, smiled, pointed toward the British, said, “I am to place my guns to the greatest advantage. I do not require General Lee’s guidance on that account.”
Across the ravine, the firing was slowing, the smoke beginning to clear, and he searched again, could see men on horseback, thought, I must report to General Lee what has happened. Knox had ceased firing, the targets too few, and Lafayette spurred the horse back toward the ravine, crossed the narrow path again. He rode hard, moved toward the horsemen, saw Wayne watching him, and as he slowed, Wayne said, “Well? What of Varnum? Where is Scott? I have heard nothing from Lee, not a word!”
Lafayette had no answer for him, said, “I have not as well. I last observed Varnum countermarching . . . back there. Scott was to have advanced on your left flank.”
“Well, I don’t see him, do you? Countermarching? What in hell is Lee doing?”
“General Wayne, I do not believe General Lee is aware of your disposition.”
“Well, you may tell him that my men are very aware! Those were Cornwallis’ troops over there! And we ran ’em out of the field! They’ll be back before long, and will probably have half of Clinton’s army with ’em! You go back to General Lee and tell him we need troops on this ground now! Sir!”
Wayne was shaking in anger, and Lafayette said, “I will go. Try to hold here if you can.”
There was musket fire now, more smoke rising farther to the left, along the ravine. Wayne shouted something, moved back toward his men, and Lafayette spurred the horse. The air was cut by a sharp thunder again, and he could see Knox in motion, the guns shifting position.
He drove the horse hard again, one eye on the thick lather that coated the animal’s neck, slowed as he moved past Knox, tried to see out to the other flank, the men who should be advancing. But the brush was too dense, and clouds of smoke were still drifting through the ravines. He patted the wetness on the horse, but there was no time for gentleness, and he pushed back across the middle ravine. He expected to see Lee where he had left him, but the ground was empty. He pushed on, could see a narrow trail, thick with fresh troops, thought, Who? Varnum? Dickinson? He turned the horse, moved in behind them, but the men were not holding formation, were milling around. Lafayette saw Charles Scott, the Virginian, sitting high on a horse, staring out toward the sound of Knox’s guns, and he moved close, said, “General Scott, are you to advance? General Wayne has made a sharp fight, he requires protection on his flank.”
Scott looked at him, and Lafayette saw disgust, the man pointing back toward the main road.
“That man has given me no orders to advance. I have done nothing but march these men back and forth. I was instructed to take command of Varnum’s brigade, and someone else would take command here! It’s madness! The man’s back there spitting out instructions like he’s never been on a field of fire! If Wayne commences another fight, I will move these men out there on my own authority!”
Moving away, Scott began to gather his officers, giving his own instructions. Lafayette felt helpless, looked back toward the main road, thought, How can this be happening? I must find him!
He crossed the last ravine, moved toward the road. He could hear a swelling tide of musket fire behind him, looked out across the open ground again, his view blocked by distant clouds of smoke. There was more musket fire far to the left, another confrontation with troops led by someone . . . who? He felt himself losing control. I must know. Does anyone know? Far down the road he saw Lee, a cluster of officers, and he spurred the horse, passed by another regiment still in the road, a formation doing nothing. He reached Lee, saw the man sitting on his horse, watching calmly as the small eruptions of fire opened beyond the rugged ground.
“Sir! On the right flank, General Wayne has driven the enemy back. But they are forming for a counterattack. General Wayne requests reinforcements.”
Lee seemed calm, looked past him, shouted, “Where is General Scott? Did he not receive my order to march to the left?”
The aides were scrambling, men arriving from all directions, a cascade of questions, and Lee said, “Enough! Gentlemen, there is no cause for confusion! We must determine where our greatest strength lies.” He seemed to see Lafayette for the first time.
“Did you say Wayne? What in the devil is Wayne doing out there? Did I not order him to pull back? He is certainly too far in advance.”
“Sir, General Wayne’s brigade has driven the enemy! If we provide reinforcements, he is certain to carry that part of the field. General Knox has placed his cannon in a most advantageous position. They must be protected!”
The sounds of musket fire were increasing, rolling toward them, and Lafayette turned toward the fight, could see nothing for the wave of smoke. The cannon began to punch the air again, and Lafayette turned to Lee, said, “Sir! We must move closer! The enemy is sure to counterattack! We must coordinate the brigades! I would suggest, sir, a general advance, all along the line! The enemy is not yet formed! The advantage is ours, sir!”
Lee stared past him toward the smoke, seemed to focus for a moment, raised his field glasses, said, “We cannot stand against them. We have no choice. We must retreat.”
The units on the far left had received the order first, confused and furious men withdrawing in good order across the ravines. Lafayette pushed the horse as hard as he dared, rode again toward the right flank, the animal stumbling as it moved past the dense brush. The sounds of fighting were scattered throughout the field, Lee’s order pulling men away from a startled enemy. Lafayette knew that Wayne would still be stubborn, that if his men had held their ground, he would not simply back away. He reached the final ravine, could see the wide field littered with bodies, heaps of red, bloody patches of white. The horse seemed to stagger, and he reined up, said, “Not now . . . please. A moment more.” There was no one around him now, Knox already in some new position, or withdrawing, as many of the others were doing. Far out along the edges of the ravine he saw horsemen, couriers, and one man was moving toward him, a hard, fast ride. The man slowed the horse as he moved to the causeway, and Lafayette saw the man’s face, young, wide-eyed with fear.
“Sir! Sir! I must find General Wayne!”
Lafayette pointed toward the wide hill, said, “Across there.”
“Uh, sir, I’m supposed to give General Wayne the message. General Lee has ordered the army to retreat. We’re pulling back, sir.”
He nodded,
said, “Yes, Sergeant, I have been informed.” He had thought Lee might yet change his mind, might see that the ground across these deep cuts was there for the taking. But the young man in front of him was the final confirmation, one of many who finally carried some definite instruction to the army Lee was supposed to command. He looked down at the exhausted horse, patted its neck, his own frustrations and weariness giving way to tears. He wiped his eyes, looked up at the man through a thick blur. The courier seemed to sense his anguish, said, “I’m sorry, sir. But can you tell me where General Wayne is?”
He blinked hard, leaned forward, his arms resting across the horse’s mane.
“Sergeant, I will give the order to General Wayne. I have a much more important mission for you.”
“Whatever you say, sir. I’d just as soon not go out . . . there.”
“On my responsibility, you are to go to General Washington. He is advancing on the main road, should not be more than two or three miles back. Tell him, Sergeant, in the most urgent terms, his presence is required on this field.”
38. WASHINGTON
The march had begun quickly, shirtless men energized by the enthusiasm of their commander. But as the sun moved overhead, the heat had drained much of the energy away. He had seen men collapsing in the road, helped off by their comrades, knew that others were simply slipping away, seeking some brief comfort in patches of blessed shade. He had tried to gather them in, ordering the provosts to bring the stragglers back to the line. Any delay in the march could mean greater danger for the men already facing the enemy. But the sheer brutality of the heat could not be erased by threats of punishment. The provosts were called off, and he hoped that the men who fell away might regain some strength, might rejoin the army in time to give their support.
As he reached Englishtown, he could hear the steady rumble of cannon, knew that around him, the troops were responding to the sounds as he was. The march became energized again, the men focusing on what lay ahead of them. He wanted to push them harder, fought to hold himself in line with the troops. But the sounds were a message that, finally, the enemy was where Washington needed them to be; that finally, there was a fight erupting in the manner of his plans; that finally, if there was any surprise to be suffered, it was suffered by the British.
And then the sounds began to fade. He spurred the horse, leading the staff forward, moved out toward the advance regiments. The sounds of the horses, of the calls from his men obscured any sounds of a fight, and he crested a small hill, stopped, strained to hear. He felt a twist in his stomach, said in a low voice, “Begin . . . now. Surely. Renew the charge.”
He stared ahead, wide fields rolling to the horizon, patches of low trees, deep narrow creeks. And silence.
The column was moving by him still, and he nudged the horse, could only resume the march. His mind was a swirling torrent of questions, and he looked back, saw the faces of the staff, the expectation of what he would say.
“One of you . . . Mr. Hamilton. Go to General Lee. I must know what is happening. Repeat my order, if necessary, that they press the attack.”
Hamilton began to move, slowed his horse again, said, “Sir, there.”
A man was stumbling toward them, a ragged mess of a uniform, no weapon, and Washington could see now he was only a boy. The guards were there now, the boy held by two men, and Washington stopped the horse, said, “Who are you, young man? Are you a soldier?”
The boy stared at him with wide ghostly eyes, his red face a smear of sweat and dirt. One of the guards lifted him upright, said, “You will respond to the general.”
The boy nodded slowly, tried to speak, and Washington saw the shredded insignia on the man’s sleeve, said, “You are a musician? I do not have time for riddles. Who are you, why are you on this road?”
The boy seemed to gather himself, said, “A fifer, sir. I was with General Varnum’s brigade. I have lost my fife.”
He looked at the wild stare from the boy’s eyes, thought, Madness from the heat, certainly. He said to the guards, “See to his care. Send him toward one of the creeks.”
The boy seemed not to hear him, said, “Sir, the army is retreating.”
The words stabbed at him, and he said, “You will use caution. That kind of talk is dangerous.” He looked at the guards now, said, “Hold him under guard. His madness could affect others. We cannot have him spreading such rumors.”
He took a last look at the boy, felt annoyance at the weakness of such a child, turned the horse away. He moved back into the road, tried to calm himself, thought, He is a boy, after all. He cannot be blamed for suffering this heat. But if he is correct . . . I must know. He slapped at the horse with the leather straps, began to ride hard out past the front of the column. In front of him, the guards responded, moving quickly. One man stopped, called back to him, pointing, and he saw now, men in the road, a small group coming toward him, dragging muskets behind them. He stopped, waited for the staff, and Tilghman was there now, said, “Sir. Those are soldiers.”
“I am aware of the obvious, Colonel. Find out who they are.”
Tilghman began to move forward and the guards shouted again, and now the road was coming alive with men, most shuffling slowly, some emerging from the brush. They began to flow by him, most not seeing, some stumbling, one man now falling close to him, the man’s musket clattering to the hard ground. Behind them, a larger group of men appeared, were more organized, two columns, a small flag of a regiment. They came on slowly, the men holding themselves in the road with deliberate steps. He saw officers, men on horses, and Tilghman said, “Sir . . . Colonel Shreve.”
The faces were familiar, and Washington moved the horse forward again. Shreve moved off the road, let his column move past him, saluted Washington now, said, “Sir. Thank Almighty God.”
“What is the meaning of this, Colonel? Why are these men retreating?”
“I do not rightly know, sir. I received the order an hour ago. We had not yet engaged the enemy.”
Behind the regiments, more columns appeared, some uneven, men barely able to move, some falling out of line. There were too many for the narrow roads, and the fields out to one side were filling with columns as well. He looked at Shreve, wanted to shout in the man’s face, clamped down on the words, said in a growl, “You were ordered to retreat? By whom?”
“I cannot say, sir. The orders came from . . . command.”
He stared at the man for a moment, looked now at the column of exhausted troops, said, “Gather these men into a place where they can rest. Refresh them as best you can. This day is not yet concluded.”
He moved past the officers, rode between lines of silent troops, thought, This is not a panicked retreat. These men are not beaten by anyone. They have their muskets, they . . . Shreve’s words came back to him . . . had not yet engaged the enemy. He pushed the horse to a gallop again, threaded his way past the troops. He searched the faces, more officers, some as drained as their men, some moving toward him. He was suddenly at a bridge, a small deep cut across the road, stepped the horse carefully, saw another column in the road ahead, a pair of dogs scampering across the road, saw now, Charles Lee.
He slapped the horse, Lee waiting for him, no expression on the man’s face, and Washington pulled up beside him, felt his grip loosening on his temper, the control gone from his voice. He shouted, “What is the meaning of this? Why are these men in retreat? Why is there such confusion?”
Lee stared blankly at him, seemed surprised by his volume, tried to speak, turned slightly in the saddle. Washington’s rage was complete, the words a flow of molten rock.
“What have you done, Mr. Lee?”
Lee seemed to stagger under the heat of Washington’s glare, a hint of wide-eyed fear. He formed the words, said in a low voice, “There is no confusion here.” He tried to gather energy, the smugness beginning to return. “There has been considerable difficulty this morning arising from disobedience of my orders, sir. I have received contradictory intelligence, the en
emy has confounded my every move. Officers under this command have failed me in every respect. The ground over which this fight was to be made is wholly unacceptable, a plain so large that no army can make a show for itself. The enemy grenadiers shall surely have destroyed us. As you know, sir, this entire operation was undertaken against my own opinion.”
Washington gripped the reins, his fingers curling into hard fists. He glared at the man’s smugness, all the perfect excuses, wanted to pull Lee up off his horse, wrap his hands around the man’s thin neck. He felt himself choking on the rage, forced his words through a tightly clenched jaw, “You ought not have accepted this plan . . . you ought not have accepted this command if you did not intend to carry it through!”
Lee shook his head, said, “Sir, this plan had little chance of success against such a formidable enemy. I tried to caution you . . .”
There was a shout from in front, and Washington saw one of his aides riding hard, the man halting now, “Sir! The enemy is advancing, pursuing our retreat! He is not more than fifteen minutes from our position!”
Washington looked past the man, saw a winding ravine, dense brush, narrow roadways cutting across. Beyond, the ground was a morass of swamps, patches of thick trees, framed by a ridge of high ground.
“As I suspected, sir. We are no match . . .”
Lee’s voice sliced through him, a hot sharp blade, and he felt something break inside, the fury and violence now rising, uncontrollable. Lee stopped his words, and Washington saw fear in the man’s face, Lee leaning away from him, a small shake of his head, his voice squeezing out one high-pitched word, “No . . .”
Washington felt his hands still wrapped around the leather reins, the violence in his mind now a roaring flame. He saw now that men had gathered around them, officers, troops, his staff, all watching him with breathless silence, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, would not look at Lee. The fury began to slip away just a bit, and he opened his eyes, said, “Mr. Lee, I am relieving you of your responsibility on this field. You will place yourself at the rear of this column.”
