The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [100]
He stared at the distant campfires, could hear the sound of shovels, axes, the rebels strengthening their defense. Yes, Mr. Washington, you know that as well. But behind you is a wide river, and unless you have all your boats, you aren’t going anywhere at all. He turned the horse, surprising his aides, said, “I wish to see General Grant. I must learn what the scouts have to say.”
THE WINDOWS WERE COVERED IN BLACK CLOTH, HIDING THE HEADQUARTERS from the continuing annoyance of the rebel cannon. Grant was laying out a map, and Cornwallis moved around the small table, pointed to the creek, said, “Is there any one place more suited for a crossing? The bridge will be the focus of their artillery. How shallow is the water along this stretch, here?”
Grant looked to an aide, who stepped forward, said, “General, according to the men who fought there today, there are depths to a man’s chest along most of the creek. Some more shallow areas, of course, but we do not have the exact locations.”
There was a knock at the door, it opened slightly, and one of Grant’s aides held a black cloth up to shield the lantern. A voice from outside said, “Excuse me, sirs. Scout’s arrived.”
Grant motioned, and quickly the man was inside, the door closing behind him. Cornwallis was studying the map, saw the scout’s face, unfamiliar, was surprised to see the gray hair of a veteran. The scout was wide-eyed, seemed surprised by the presence of Cornwallis, said, “Sirs! Forgive the interruption. I have just returned from the river just north of town. We have scouted up that direction for a good bit. We ran into a bit of a flurry, rather like stumbling over a bee’s nest. No casualties though, sir. Even their squirrel hunters can’t shoot in the dark. But sir, the rebels have got their boats under pretty strong guard.”
Cornwallis absorbed the word.
“Boats? You found the rebels’ boats?”
The man’s confidence seemed to wilt under Cornwallis’ stare, said, “Um . . . yes, sir. Quite. Just above the town.”
Cornwallis was skeptical.
“Do you mean that the rebels are separated from their boats? What of the river south of town?”
The scout showed no hesitation.
“No, sir. I was down the river myself when the artillery fire stopped. We were trying to find some route to get in behind the rebel position, slipped our way right out to the river proper. There are no boats there. They’re all upriver, sir.”
Cornwallis felt a surge of enthusiasm, looked at Grant, said, “General, can you tell me how the rebels might escape across the river, if we are between their men and their boats?”
Grant understood, was smiling now, said, “No, sir. I cannot.”
Behind him, another man spoke. “General, it is our best chance! We can take it to them right now!”
There were murmurs of agreement, and Cornwallis looked around the room, saw that the comment had come from his quartermaster.
“Thank you for your suggestion, Mr. Erskine.” Grant was looking at him with the same hopefulness, and Cornwallis rubbed his hands together, said, “Gentlemen, they cannot reach their boats tonight. There is no need for haste. Crossing the Assunpink Creek will be a deadly affair in the dark, and there is no point in distressing the troops so severely. This army needs its rest. We will be fresh in the morning.”
He was feeling the spirit now, the first time in a long while, the sense that finally something good would happen. They were a long way from New York, from General Howe, from the politics and foppery of the city. Out here it was army against army, strength against strength, and when the sun came up, they would have their confrontation. It was all he had hoped for, and it was coming to pass from an unexpected surprise. This time it was Washington who had made the mistake. He looked at the map, ran his finger around the rebel position,