by Jeff Shaara
“Perhaps. If he was, how would you respond to that news, General?”
Washington’s mind raced, all the talk, all the planning and the meetings, Rochambeau’s stubbornness against assaulting New York. For all the man’s claims of subservience, he thought, they have their own plans, their own strategy for fighting this war. They will allow me to know those plans when I solve their riddle. He was angry now, the toothache putting him close to an explosion. Chastellux said, in English, “I am sorry, General. I knew nothing of this.”
Rochambeau waited patiently for Chastellux to finish his words, seemed to know what his subordinate had said.
“General Washington, we all fight for the same cause here. You must understand that my king must keep his eyes on all the world, not just America. You are not experienced in the consequences of war. I respect you because you have endured against a much more powerful enemy. But I must support my government’s caution. A direct assault against a powerful foe in New York could have disastrous consequence. Indeed, your war could end at the very moment our forces were defeated. It would prove an embarrassment to my king.”
Washington felt the heat in his brain slipping away from his careful grasp.
“General Rochambeau, if our forces are defeated, I have lost my home, my country, and my life. I have never championed any strategy that proved to be unwise. I am not certain that New York should be our priority, only that General Clinton’s defeat there would hasten the end of this war.”
“Thank you for your honesty, General. I will be honest with you as well. Admiral de Grasse has agreed to sail from the West Indies to the mouth of the Chesapeake because he believes there is an opportunity to destroy a British fleet that is forming there. From all we can gather, General Clinton is establishing a formidable naval base at Portsmouth, on the Virginia coast. If the British fortify that position, it could put our naval operations in America in some jeopardy. The British would have a base more central to operations either north or south.”
Washington’s anger was easing, and he said, “It is a sound plan. Might I suggest that if Admiral de Grasse is successful, he could then weigh the consequences of an assault on New York?”
“That is possible, General. I must mention, however, that Admiral de Grasse believes our forces should unite. His fleet and . . . your troops.”
Washington absorbed the words, realized that Rochambeau was offering him the decision, a symbolic show of Washington’s seniority.
He had received Lafayette’s estimates, that Cornwallis had nearly eight thousand regular British troops on the Virginia peninsula. Even if de Grasse confronted the British fleet for dominance of the Chesapeake, Cornwallis would hold tightly to the state itself. If the British supply lines over water were cut, Cornwallis would simply extend them inland, another campaign of plunder and destruction that Lafayette was not powerful enough to stop. If the British were to be defeated in Virginia, it would have to come by both land and sea.
“General Rochambeau, should Admiral de Grasse choose to appear at Virginia, he could be of immeasurable service to our cause. I would suggest that we prepare to join him there.”
AUGUST 1781
The danger was enormous, Clinton perched in New York with a force large enough to crush both Washington and Rochambeau, if they allowed themselves to be caught on a vulnerable march. Washington’s plan was to offer a perfect deceit. The columns paraded close to the Hudson clearly visibile to Clinton’s lookouts. Clinton’s spies could not help but observe rebel militia along the Jersey shore assembling vast fleets of small boats. Rochambeau ordered his troops to build huge ovens, in clear sight of the harbor. It was a convincing show that the armies would form their camps and their main supply base not far from what Clinton would believe to be their primary target: Staten Island. For days, the drums sounded, and troops filed into place near Newark and Amboy, the troops themselves believing that they were preparing to invade New York. Throughout the entire operation, Washington and Rochambeau were the only two men who knew the true plan. The lookouts kept him advised, but Washington would see for himself, would climb the observation posts to study the British warships at anchor in the harbor. There was no change, no flatboats, no troops in motion. Clinton was sitting tight, convinced, as was every man along the Jersey shore, that a massive engagement was imminent, that very soon, New York could be under siege.
When the orders came to march yet again, Washington’s troops still believed they were preparing to cross the narrow waterway. But their march took them through Brunswick, and then Princeton, and by the time they reached the Delaware River, the troops realized it was a different mission altogether.
The march would take them through Philadelphia, to the delight of a citizenry who cheered their disheveled army, shoeless men in ragged shirts. But then the real show began, and the crowds stared in utter amazement at this new army who followed them, the perfect, beautiful uniforms and fat healthy horses. The combined force totaled six thousand men, and few but their commander understood the extraordinary risk. Washington had left behind barely five thousand men, an uncertain combination of regulars and militia, manning the outposts along the Hudson. They shared the desperate hope, with their commander, that Clinton had truly been deceived, that the enormous British force would remain in New York. Once past Philadelphia, Washington could not look back, could only think of the vast ocean to the south, whether or not the French admiral de Grasse was good to his word, whether the French navy would actually appear. But for his soldiers, there could only be one goal now, completing a journey of four hundred miles to the shores of the Chesapeake Bay.
54. CORNWALLIS
WILLIAMSBURG, VIRGINIA, AUGUST 1781
There had been no jovial and sentimental reunion with his friend William Phillips. As Cornwallis had brought his army close to their Virginia base, he had received word that Phillips had been stricken by a fever, and only three days before Cornwallis arrived, Phillips had died. It was not the welcome into Virginia he had expected.
There was one blessing to be found. Benedict Arnold was gone, summoned by Clinton to take part in some vaguely detailed campaign to the north, possibly another assault against Newport. The news had lightened Cornwallis’ spirits considerably.
Throughout the summer, the Virginia campaign had been an ordeal of marches in all directions. Cornwallis was determined to engage Lafayette’s forces, but the young Frenchman seemed to know his own weaknesses. As Cornwallis would push his army up the Virginia peninsula, Lafayette would back away, maintaining a safe distance. Cornwallis suffered the same disadvantage of every British commander, an army that moved too slowly, encumbered by its own girth. Cornwallis realized that the young man had no desire to stand up to a general engagement with British regulars who were a far superior fighting force than the mix of continentals and inexperienced Virginia militia.
If Cornwallis could not compel Lafayette to a general engagement, it did not mean the rebels could be ignored. Lafayette had learned from the triumphs of Washington, that the most effective fight he could make against Cornwallis was the quick burst, targeting the mistake, or tormenting the rear guard. While Cornwallis still believed Virginia lay open to occupation, with Lafayette dogging him at every turn, it would not be a simple conquest. Since the British infantry was vulnerable to the rebel annoyances, Cornwallis had one good alternative. He sent his horsemen after the rebels, Tarleton’s Legion, and the Queen’s Rangers, under John Simcoe. Simcoe was only slightly older than Tarleton, and nearly as cocky. The two units operated separately, and Cornwallis encouraged the rivalry with discreet prodding for each young horseman to outdo the other. But the results were unspectacular. Simcoe managed one minor clash that embarrassed von Steuben and his Virginia militia, while Tarleton nearly captured Governor Thomas Jefferson right out of Jefferson’s own home at Monticello. Their raids made for boisterous conversation and would certainly go far to enhance each man’s opinion of himself, but Cornwallis recognized their accomplishments for what
they were: lost opportunities. Cornwallis had seen this all before, an ineffective campaign against rebels who were adept at biding their time, stretching out the campaign while the British exhausted their enthusiasm for the fight.
He still believed in the soundness of his strategy, that a large-scale offensive in Virginia could succeed at bringing the colony firmly under British control. Besides separating the Carolinas from contact with the northern colonies, Virginia was obviously an important source of food for rebels troops still gathering under Nathanael Greene. Cornwallis could not just sit quietly and allow a sound strategy to go wasting. In a forcefully worded letter, he suggested to Clinton that New York be abandoned, that Clinton move the main army to the Chesapeake. Against such a force, neither Lafayette nor Washington could save Virginia. The rebellion could be brought quite effectively to a close. Cornwallis believed resolutely in his plan. Henry Clinton had other ideas.
The letters had awaited him from his first days on the peninsula, arriving in small clusters. It was the disadvantage of distance, Clinton penning the letters days apart, Cornwallis received them in one mass all at the same time. He laid them out on the table, cocked his head toward O’Hara, said, “Would you suggest I read these in the order they were written, or would it be more prudent to relay them to you in the order of their insanity?”
He had lost his fear of speaking indiscreetly about his superior, emboldened by distance, of course, but more, by what seemed to be a collapse of Clinton’s ability to command. O’Hara was not as comfortable with Cornwallis’ whimsical attitude, said, “The most recent would be the most important, I would think. It would be a product of the latest information, would contain the orders that we would be expected to follow.”
Cornwallis ignored the minor admonition from O’Hara.
“All right then, General, but I should warn you. You will not appreciate the level of comedy under which I must function if all you hear is the latest order. No matter, here it is. June 28. We are to . . . embark that portion of the army which is available, and proceed with appropriate artillery and wagons, for the purpose of assaulting the rebel positions around Philadelphia. Once any resistance has been suitably dispatched and the rebel supply stores have been destroyed, the force will continue to New York, to reinforce the main body of the army.”
“Philadelphia?”
“Ah, see? I told you. As entertaining as we may find that order to be, it pales in comparison when taken out of its context. You see, here, June 8: ‘Dispatch with all speed those troops not required for your immediate defense, and hasten them to New York.’ And, here, June 14: ‘Recall any troops you may have embarked to New York, and make all effort to securing a secure naval base at Portsmouth or Old Point Comfort.’”
O’Hara seemed even more uncomfortable now.
“The most recent one, June 28 . . . must be obeyed, sir.”
“Oh, quite! And obey it we shall! That is, only until we receive the next one.”
His good humor was a mask for the complete fury that had boiled up inside him. He looked at the papers spread on his desk, closed his eyes for a brief moment, then said, “I have ordered General Leslie to make ready for boarding the transports now at anchor at Portsmouth. The commanding general has ordered us to sail for Philadelphia, and sail for Philadelphia is what we shall do. I have considered it a Divine blessing to have been in command so far from the reach of that man. Never was that so clear than right now. For better than a year I have engaged the enemy at every bloody opportunity. I have given my king everything a soldier must give. My reward is to endure haranguing buffoonery from my superior who sits in idleness in his mansion in New York and wrestles with demons of his own creation. The rebels are planning to attack New York. Or perhaps not. The French navy is a threat to us, so we must build a secure port. Or perhaps not. When I arrived here, I received word that General Clinton was displeased that I had sailed away from the Carolinas. I am wondering if I should return there, transport this command back to Charleston. Not only would General Clinton find that pleasing, but it might be the only means I have of escaping him.”
“Sir, surely there is good work for us to do here.”
“Where? Virginia? New York? Philadelphia? I am to maneuver this army by whim. We are without strategy, without the guiding hand of a commander who sees beyond his own convenience.”
O’Hara shifted in his chair again.
“Sir, we must still obey our orders.”
“Without fail, General. Without fail.”
Simcoe’s rangers had already boarded one transport ship, while onshore, Leslie was supervising the loading of the horses. Along the crude wharf, men were moving into line, troops who stared at the ships with utter despair. It had not been so long ago that they endured the journey southward, had marched and fought and marched again, and now, would embark on the misery of yet another sea voyage. Rumors had already infected them, talk of a massive French armada, somewhere out there, poised to swarm over this small fleet. They knew little of the French, just the stories told by their fathers, who described them as a savage enemy, uncivilized men who would throw a murderous broadside into a transport ship and dance in the rigging while the helpless soldiers screamed for mercy.
Leslie had already heard the ugly rumble of panic, had quietly armed the marines, spreading them around the perimeter of the wharf. Leslie had chosen Simcoe’s men to board first with good purpose. The horsemen would be certain to show their bravado, adventurers setting the fearless example for the foot soldiers who watched them. The first infantry regiments were lining up now close to the boarding plank, and Leslie heard his name, turned to see a rider coming hard, a dispatch in the man’s hand. He read it with openmouthed amazement, then motioned to his aide, said, “Stop them. Have the Rangers disembark, return to the wharf. Orders of General Cornwallis. It seems General Clinton has changed his mind.”
The new orders were specific, and carried the endorsement of the navy. Cornwallis’ troops would remain in Virginia after all, would focus on the construction of the seaport. The naval commander was, once again, Thomas Graves, replacing Marriot Arbuthnot, who had returned to England in some dispute over rank. Clinton’s orders to Cornwallis bore the signature of Admiral Graves, the man familiar with that part of the coast of Virginia. Though the particular location of the base was suggested as Old Point Comfort, centered on the eastern end of the Virginia peninsula, the final decision would be left to Cornwallis and his engineers.
Sir, with all respect to your orders, I must report that it will not be suitable.” The man was nervous, and Cornwallis said, “Lieutenant Sutherland, you may stand at ease. I will not strike you.” Sutherland seemed to jump at his words, was more stiff now than before. “My word, Lieutenant, do I inspire this much fear in all my officers?”
“I don’t know, sir. I mean . . . by no means, sir. My apologies. I was concerned that the general would find my report most distressing.”
“I find a great many things distressing, Lieutenant. Engineering reports are not among them. If Old Point Comfort is unsuitable, then you will find another location. My orders are to locate a suitable port, and construct a deepwater base.”
“Yes, sir, I understand. That place is not Old Point Comfort. There is no suitable material available for fill, and there is no protection for shipping from the shelter of a natural harbor. I have made some notes, if I may, sir.”
“By all means, Lieutenant.”
Sutherland scanned his paper.
“There is no existing port in this part of Virginia which offers every advantage. I have considered the sites available to us, sir, and examined the ground. There are details on this map . . . here, sir, with your permission.”
Sutherland placed the paper on Cornwallis’ desk, turned it toward him, and Cornwallis saw the precise lines, the writing of a trained engineer, numbers and formulas.
“What am I looking at, Lieutenant?”
“The location I believe is best suited, sir. With your permissio
n, we can begin work immediately.” The young man leaned forward, put his finger on the paper, said, “Here, sir. Yorktown.”
AUGUST 30, 1781
Clinton’s orders continued to arrive, but there was less contradiction, and more of a tone of caution to Cornwallis that soon, any part of the British command might be under threat of attack. Clinton and Admiral Graves seemed to accept the choice of Yorktown as a base of naval operation, and Cornwallis ordered the construction of wharves, fortifications, and shore batteries.
Clinton’s orders were specific in another way as well, that Cornwallis was not to commence any new offensive in Virginia. Though Lafayette’s rebels sat astride the peninsula just beyond his reach, Cornwallis was under direct orders to place his army into a defensive posture. As the engineers focused their labors on constructing the seaport, Cornwallis had no choice but to fortify the town against land assault as well. While Sutherland worked the waterfront, O’Hara supervised the digging of fortifications in a wide perimeter around the town. Cornwallis could find only one ray of optimism through the gloom of his assignment. If Lafayette made any attempt to assault him there, the rebels would meet with disaster.
By the third week of August, the laborers and soldiers were toiling in a scorching sun, molding Yorktown into a formidable British port. As he paced the waterfront, he appreciated the engineer’s eye, could see the aspects of Yorktown that might be a disadvantage for a seaport. The York River was wide, could be passed easily by ships under sail. But across from Yorktown the river was squeezed like an hourglass by the intrusion of a point of land, Gloucester Point. The only way effectively to block the river to ship traffic was by placing an outpost on the other side, separating them from the protection of the main army. It was dangerous, and those troops would have to be strong enough to withstand an assault on their own. Cornwallis felt he had no choice. He ordered batteries to be placed at Gloucester Point as well. Once that work was completed no one could pass up the York River without taking serious damage from British cannon.
