New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [160]
Believing that this might further good relations with the French, Washington had taken him onto his staff. And then discovered to his surprise that he had acquired a second son.
Lafayette had no illusions about his own lack of experience. He’d take on anything asked of him. He also proved to be competent and intelligent. At Brandywine, he’d fought well and been wounded. But in addition to all this, his aristocratic upbringing and his sense of honor had given him the very qualities that Washington most admired. Slim and elegant, he had exquisite manners, was completely fearless—and he was loyal to his chief, which was more than could be said for most of the other Patriot commanders. When Gates and other generals schemed against Washington behind his back, the young Frenchman came to know of it, and warned Washington at once. They tried to get him out of the way by sending him up to Canada, but he soon got out of that, and rejoined Washington at Valley Forge, where his Gallic charm helped to lighten the grim realities of daily life.
James liked Lafayette. In London, since an educated gentleman was supposed to speak the language of diplomacy, he’d learned to speak a little French. Now, with plenty of time on their hands at Valley Forge, Lafayette helped James improve his mastery of the language considerably.
But Lafayette was not the only man Ben Franklin sent across. His other and still greater gift arrived in the new year. And if Lafayette had brought a touch of Gallic charm to Washington’s army, the Baron von Steuben was to change it entirely.
Baron von Steuben was a middle-aged Prussian officer and aristocrat. He’d served under Frederick the Great. A lifelong bachelor, he turned up with an Italian greyhound, a letter from Franklin, and an offer to give the ragged Patriot troops the same training as the finest army in all Europe. And in his own eccentric way, he was as good as his word.
For now at Valley Forge, first in the snow and slush, then the mud, then in sight of the snowdrops and finally during the sunny days when the green buds appeared on the trees, he drilled them as they had never been drilled before. Instead of the motley collection of manuals from different militias, he produced a single, classic drill book for the whole Continental army. Next he trained a cadre of men who would act as instructors. Then, in full dress, he would stride from one training ground to another, supervising and encouraging them all with a stream of curses in German or French, which his orderlies would precisely translate—so that by the end of their training, every soldier in the Patriot army possessed a broad vocabulary of profanities in three languages.
At first they thought him mad. Soon they came to respect him. By the end of spring, they loved him. He taught them to drill, to march, to maneuver in battle, to rapid-fire. Finding that hardly a man knew how to use a bayonet, except to roast meat over the fire, he taught them the bayonet charge and told them: “I will teach you how to win a battle without any ammunition at all.”
By the time he was finished, they were good, by any standards. Very good.
“We needed a German to teach us how to fight the Hessians,” Washington remarked wryly to James one day in spring.
“The British can employ Germans, sir,” James answered with a smile, “but we’re the real thing.”
“I’m getting word,” Washington told him, “that we may soon expect fresh recruits who’ll sign on for three years.”
But the news that really ended the agony of Valley Forge came soon after this conversation.
Ben Franklin had done it. The French had declared war on Britain. At Valley Forge, on Washington’s instructions, Baron von Steuben organized a huge parade.
Grey Albion’s invitation