America Über Alles

by Jack Fernley

  John Adams took up the conversation. ‘Congratulations on such a magnificent victory, George. It is beyond our wildest dreams.’

  ‘Thank you, John. I cannot claim any credit for the victory, and you are more than aware of that. The credit lies entirely with the baron. As you will recall, I was not of the view that Howe would be aiming to attack Philadelphia. I am as much in gratitude to the baron for his foresight as anyone else.’

  ‘That is extremely magnanimous of you, George,’ Adams replied, his cousin harrumphing in agreement and Hancock saying, ‘Indeed.’

  ‘It is the truth, that is all,’ he replied.

  ‘The baron and his troops have certainly made a difference to our fortunes since they arrived,’ John Adams continued.

  ‘Indeed, they have.’

  ‘That is something that has not gone unnoticed by the general populace.’

  ‘So I see from the banners and flags that are flying about the town.’

  ‘Indeed, they have been much taken to their hearts. It was a spontaneous outpouring of affection and joy.’

  Washington could not resist the bite. ‘Those flags did not seem to have much of the spontaneous about them. They would have required much planning, and industry indeed.’

  ‘The people have chosen,’ growled Sam Adams. ‘The people. No one asked them to put ’em up.’

  ‘Has Congress decided that this swastika is to be its emblem then, for it flies from the seat of government, I see.’

  ‘Loyal patriots came and attached those banners to welcome the Stormtroopers back from Elk River,’ replied Hancock. ‘Congress took no decision, except to agree to them staying affixed while the city celebrates a famous victory. In time they will come down, but these Stormtroopers have created quite a reputation for themselves, and are much cherished by the people.’

  ‘And were not the Pennsylvanian Riflemen part of the defeat of Howe? I left two squadrons behind – the Riflemen and the Stormtroopers – were they not both to be cherished by the people?’

  ‘You’ll find yer beloved Riflemen are wearing the swastikas these days, Washington,’ snarled Sam Adams. ‘They seem to know which way their bread is buttered. There’s no division between ’em, Stormtroopers and Riflemen. They’ve formed a single battalion. I’m surprised the commander-in-chief of the army isn’t aware of such things. Quite queer that, but I suppose you haven’t been around here much, given as you were expecting Howe to be sailing down to Charleston an’ all.’

  The younger Adams looked to settle things.

  ‘George, you’ll remember that it was I who proposed you as commander-in-chief but two years ago in this very building. I have been the most loyal and staunchest of your friends throughout—’

  ‘As I have!’ chorused Hancock unnecessarily.

  ‘—throughout much failure, many trying times.’

  ‘I thanked you at the time for that, John, and I thank you now. But now, we have victories.’

  ‘Indeed, we have victories,’ repeated Hancock.

  ‘But not your victories, sir!’ Sam Adams slammed his glass of water down on to a newly purchased rosewood side table, which much disturbed Hancock. ‘Not your victories and that’s the point, sir!’

  ‘Trenton, Princeton, they were my victories, Sam!’

  ‘They were no more your victories than mine or our John’s or Hancock’s, for that matter. They were this Baron von Steuben’s victories. You were flailing around in a fog before he arrived. If he hadn’t held the Hessians back at Trenton . . . well, you’d have lost that one like you lost Long Island, Fort Washington and New York. If it hadn’t been for this baron, Philadelphia would have been undefended and Howe’d be sitting here and King George’d be licking his lips at the beating he’d given us.’

  Hancock visibly flinched, but Washington took it in his stride. Sam Adams’s temper was legendary, it was how he got his way in Congress, the Puritan with the brimstone.

  ‘Yes, I was wrong about Charleston, we were all wrong about Charleston. The only one who got it right was the baron. But that’s what leadership is about. I listened to everyone and then made a decision that benefitted us all, that’s—’

  ‘That’s not leadership, George. That’s weakness. You are but a cushion, bearing the imprint of the last man who sat upon you. Luckily for us, that last man was Baron von Steuben,’ replied Sam Adams.

  His cousin signalled for him to be quiet and then said sternly, ‘George, whatever the circumstances, it is time for a change. A time for us to bring some fresh ideas into play. I have kept Congress off your back for so long, but now the tide has turned. I, we, would ask you to do one more great thing for the colonies and for our new country: stand down as commander-in-chief.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  A summer thunderstorm had broken out, rain pelting down on the tents of the Northern Army. Knox was on his daily round of artillery positions. He did not believe that Burgoyne was going to attempt to break out and join with Howe any time soon, but he could not take the chance. Keeping his gunnery crews focused was the most difficult matter he had at the present time.

  There had been disquiet among his men when news came through of the events at the Elk. Despite the ever-present danger battle presented, his boys were always up for a scrap. They had songs about the victory at Trenton and the successful holding of the Assunpink Bridge, times when they showed they were more than capable of holding off the British. How they would have loved to be singing songs about Howe’s defeat at the head of the Elk. On more than one occasion, he heard men at their fires bemoaning Old George’s decision to come north, how the German von Steuben had changed things for the good, how they would love to follow him into battle, how they admired the Stormtroopers, their discipline, their success.

  It was difficult to argue against such sentiments.

  He was inspecting Neil Rodger’s second gun placement, four ten-inch howitzers and a single twelve-inch mortar, when a messenger came riding up to him.

  ‘Sir, General Schuyler asks for you to return immediately to camp. We have visitors from the south and urgently need a conference.’

  Shrugging, he mounted his horse, pulled his cloak over himself, and drove his mount down the increasingly muddy track back to Schuyler’s staff quarters.

  Jefferson had come to Philadelphia for the Conference, but had immediately taken to his bed with a terrible summer cold. Wheezing, coughing, his body racked with tremors, he had been unable to play any role in Congress’s deliberations since his arrival. Indeed, he had Sally, his maid, turn away any visitors, delegates or otherwise. It was very out of character.

  He had dragged himself out of bed and was pissing in his pot when a commotion broke out outside his chamber. His head still spinning, he dropped down his nightgown and went to return to his bed when the door flew open and Edward Hand appeared, with Sally hitting him around the body and screaming. In the background he saw an agitated Negro whose name he would later learn was Oliver Cromwell.

  Slumping to his bed, Jefferson said, ‘Good God, Hand, you look worse than I feel.’

  Thomas Paine was far from pleased. He had been in Bordentown for several weeks, putting the final touches to the latest pamphlet in the American Crisis series, and now he learned that there was an extraordinary meeting of Congress in Philadelphia, a war council, no less, that he was missing. The defeat of Howe at the Elk had changed everything. While all the leading men of the cause would be debating the plans for the final defeat of the British, he would be stuck a day’s travel north reading printer’s copy. His fear was not the strategy for the continuation of the war – he never claimed to be a master of the strategies of war – but that important decisions would be made on the future shape of the polity without him being present, and he regarded himself as a key architect of those plans. Furthermore, he was concerned about the pernicious influence the merchants, moneylenders, industrialists and landowners would hold over Congress. He saw how defeat could yet be snatched from the jaws of victory.

&n
bsp; Jefferson, the Adams cousins, Hancock, all good men, all had made the most splendid of starts, but Paine was determined that he should be there to provide a solid backbone to their deliberations. There were questions, crucial questions, which could not be evaded at this juncture. Now was the time to settle the issue of slavery, for example. A republic formed on the basis of a slave society could never succeed; aside from the moral issue, it was primitive economics. England was being transformed by great industrial innovations. For all his criticisms of the British polity, even he could recognise that such innovation could not develop in a society in which so many were the chattels of others. If America were to succeed, it would need a free labour supply that could adapt to technology. Slave plantations were a throwback, a pre-feudal throwback that had no place in the modern world.

  Now that the British were on the verge of defeat, there was no longer the compunction on the part of either Congress or Washington to ameliorate the south by refusing to tackle the slavery issue. It had to be tackled and now. But when even the angels in the debate, men such as Jefferson, Washington and Hancock, were slave owners, how could Congress understand the importance of the issue without a fierce advocate of freedom? Ben Franklin was in France and he, Thomas Paine, was in Bordentown. Damn it, he would have to forget these proofs (such a tiresome business anyway) and travel to Philly immediately.

  They had been waiting for the best part of two hours in the assembly room. The heat of the August day had turned the room overly warm and the food was long finished. Cadwalader was asleep in the corner, Greene was reading Voltaire, in French, Lafayette, Sullivan and Hamilton were playing cards and Ewing was writing letters. As military men they had become accustomed to spending long hours waiting for something to happen. Usually, nothing happened. Not this day though.

  The twin doors were opened wide and in came von Steuben, Hanna Reitsch, Werner Conze and Lothar Kluggman.

  ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ opened von Steuben.

  ‘Ah, the victor of the Elk River – and all our glories past and present – has arrived,’ said Sullivan, throwing his cards to the table.

  ‘Thank you for your kind regards,’ said von Steuben, deliberately overlooking the sarcasm in Sullivan’s greeting. The others stood up and exchanged pleasantries with Conze and Reitsch. ‘And let me introduce you to our comrade Lothar Kluggman, who was much complimented for his efforts in the defence of Trenton and thereafter.’

  The German giant towered over all the others.

  ‘Ah, young Lafayette, I see you have made yourself useful to General Washington. We have a wager, young man. I am expecting you to make full payment.’

  Lafayette blushed, ‘And I will of course honour ze debt. You were proved correct in zat analysis. We are in your debt. As soon as my funds come through from France, I will settle ze debt.’

  Von Steuben eyed him suspiciously, ‘Of course you will. You are a man of your word. I have no doubt of that. Gentlemen, shall we?’ He pointed to the long table in the centre of the room.

  ‘Shall we what?’ asked Sullivan.

  ‘Shall we begin our war conference,’ replied von Steuben, taking his place at one end of the table.

  Drenched from the rain, Knox entered Schuyler’s tent to find an unexpected pair of guests, Horatio Gates and Benedict Arnold, both dressed in the grey-green Hessian uniform, swastikas on their right arm.

  ‘Gates, Arnold, a pleasant surprise. What brings you both here?’

  ‘We have new orders. Ones that we were happy to take, from an experienced military man.’

  ‘Ah,’ nodded Knox, ‘That would explain the uniform. You have become part of Baron von Steuben’s retinue, have you?’

  ‘Finally, we have a leader among us, Knox. One who prefers action to prevarication, and look what success it has brought us.’

  ‘The last time I saw you, General, you were certainly not prevaricating – as you sped away from Trenton. Making off to Baltimore and Congress, wasn’t it? Certain as you were of our defeat.’

  ‘Which would undoubtedly have occurred had it not been for the baron,’ replied Gates stiffly.

  ‘Given that you were not among us, but rather had gone to feather your bed with Congress, I am unsure how you would know how that day or indeed our further victory at Princeton was achieved, and who or who did not play a role.’

  ‘Sir, your judgement is even poorer than I imagined if you do not accept that before the baron arrived we had nothing but failure, abject failure, but now we have nothing but success. Had we enjoyed more assured leadership previously, then we may not have needed the baron’s involvement?’

  Knox was furious. ‘It is easy to play the weasel for you, isn’t it, Gates? Seems to come naturally. Perhaps it’s because you’re an Englishman by birth. Must be difficult to overcome it, the natural arrogance. General Washington has proved himself to be the finest among us. No other could have held the army, the militias together, in the face of such great difficulties.’

  ‘Difficulties entirely of his own design, sir.’

  ‘Please, let us end this debate,’ interjected Arnold. ‘We have come here to pass on Congress’s plans for the future conduct of the northern campaign.’

  ‘Congress’s plans?’ asked Schuyler. ‘Congress is now determining our strategy for war?’

  ‘No, it is not,’ Gates replied. ‘But it has decided that now is the time for a change of leadership.’ He thrust out a parchment. ‘Read this. General Schuyler, you are dismissed. I am taking control of the Northern Army.’

  Jefferson’s head was reeling, both from the tempest inside it and from Hand’s and Cromwell’s revelations.

  The slaughter of the defenders and civilians of New Brunswick, the murder of the families and devastation of the trading post, the destruction of Queen Esther’s Town. All this was news to him. That and that von Steuben might be an imposter.

  ‘This last charge, Hand, how can it be proved? You have the word of a veteran, who, by the sound of it, is some old drunk who can easily be dismissed as a peddler of lies.’

  ‘We should write to Ben Franklin.’

  ‘We can, indeed we will, but that will take months. By which time . . .’

  ‘By which time, I fear our revolution will be distorted. We will have won the war for independence, but lost the soul of our revolution.’

  ‘They have rounded up so many of my fellow Negroes and taken them to Lord knows where, sir. All those fine fellows who fought for freedom, gone. They will come for others now – and soon,’ added Cromwell.

  Jefferson nodded his head. ‘Here’s the thing. I will have you dictate to my secretary the details of the events—’

  ‘There is no need. We thought it prudent that we should write this all in a letter to you, sir.’ Hand handed over a few loose pages of text. ‘It embraces my experiences at New Brunswick, Heidlebergtown and Queen Esther’s Town and Cromwell’s story of the removal of all the Negro troops. I have also included the revelation about von Steuben, although, as you say, it is little more than barrack room gossip.’

  ‘Well, it shouldn’t be difficult for the baron to deny it then. I will take this with me today to Congress; it sits again today. And we shall have the debate there and then. What of you?’

  ‘Of me?’

  ‘Yes. Aren’t these German thugs still on the lookout for you? Won’t they tear you apart if they see you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mister Jefferson, I’ll be keeping an eye on him. We’ll be at my smithy along Carter’s Alley. You should send for us when you think the danger is over,’ answered Cromwell.

  ‘Carter’s Alley, you say?’

  ‘Yes. But first Oliver and I want to see what these Hessians are up to down at the port. There is much of a hurly-burly down there, some industry whose purpose seems furtive to us.’

  Paine had packed his bags. His mind was settled. He had to be in Philly and a coach was leaving in an hour.

  At that moment, there was a tremendous knocking on the front door of the
small townhouse he had been lent by Vivienne Clore, the wealthy society widow who had taken Paine under her wing over the previous few months. He assumed it was one of her servants come to summon him to afternoon tea with his benefactress, a regular request that was losing much of its charm. Opening the door, he was surprised to find two Stormtroopers outside.

  ‘Herr Thomas Paine?’ asked the first, a tall, blond lad, no more than twenty-two.

  ‘Indeed,’ he replied, puzzled by the appearance of these uniformed men.

  ‘Please come with us.’

  ‘Come with you? Where? I am about to depart to Philadelphia.’

  ‘No, come with us, please.’

  ‘Why and where, where would I be going with you?’

  ‘Just come with us, please.’

  ‘I will not, unless I have an understanding of where we are going.’

  ‘Please, come quietly with us.’

  ‘Come quietly with you? What is this? I will not come quietly, I will—’

  The other German, older, shorter, simply moved in front of the younger man, and pushed Paine back into his townhouse.

  ‘What the . . . ! Tyranny! What is this tyranny? Help!’

  But Thomas Paine’s words were lost to the world, as the two Stormtroopers closed the door of his house behind them and silenced the author of The Rights of Man.

  ‘Sit down, gentlemen, let us begin our Conference,’ said von Steuben, settling into his chair. Reitsch and Conze sat along the left side of the table. Kluggman hovered, menacingly, at the back.

  ‘Where is Washington?’ asked Sullivan. ‘We cannot have a war conference without the commander-in-chief.’

  ‘Sit down, Sullivan, you old windbag,’ sneered Reitsch.

  ‘Why is General Washington not with us?’ asked Hamilton.

  ‘He haz been overthrown by zese people, I suspect,’ said Lafayette, languidly throwing himself down into a chair.