The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [106]
He stepped into the house, could hear the sounds of the dying, sharp screams and low groans. Every room was lined with men, and their clothing showed a mix from both armies. He saw women, kneeling, wrapping bloody limbs, and he moved past them without speaking, thought, The farmer, perhaps, his family. Their peaceful home was suddenly the center of a battlefield, and yet they remain here to help. We are blessed with such people as these.
He glanced into a small room, saw a man in a British uniform, the insignia of a doctor, bent over, tending to a man in a blue coat. Washington looked over the doctor’s shoulder, saw the wounded man’s face, and his heart turned cold. It was Mercer.
The doctor looked up at him, no recognition, and Washington said, “Sir, if you please, I would speak to my officer.”
The doctor said nothing, moved quickly to another man, and Washington knelt, relieved to see Mercer’s clear eyes, said, “General, it is nothing serious, I pray.”
Mercer smiled slightly.
“Can’t say for sure, sir. Told that chap I’m a doctor myself, he didn’t believe me, wouldn’t tell me anything. I do know one thing, sir. I’m about as full of holes as a man can be and still be in one piece.”
Washington could see bloody rips in Mercer’s coat, spots of blood on the man’s legs.
“They thought I was you, sir.”
Washington was puzzled, said, “The British?”
Mercer nodded. “Thought they had captured the commander in chief. They were mighty rude about it too, as though General Washington would have been so unwise as to walk himself right into the line of fire. I took it as an insult, sir. On your behalf, of course. No excuse for myself.”
Washington could not help thinking of the scolding from Tilghman, and Mercer took a long deep breath, gripped Washington by the arm, raised his head slightly, said, “We hurt ’em, General. Dropped a good many. We got off three good volleys, but I give the redcoats their due, they kept coming. They shot my horse, didn’t have much choice but to lead the men on foot. But we couldn’t stand up to the bayonets. I ordered them to fall back, and then . . . well, I wasn’t about to let a redcoat insult you, sir.”
Mercer laid his head down, another long breath, and Washington felt the man’s grip loosen on his arm.
“You did your part, General. We won the day.”
The man’s eyes were closed now, and Washington felt himself shake, put a quivering hand on a bloody stain on the man’s chest, could still feel movement, soft slow breaths, thought, Thank God. He looked for the British doctor, but the man was out of the room, and Washington stood, stared down at the old Scotsman, blood on every part of his clothes. He backed away slowly, the smell of the room filling him, the doctor moving past him again, carrying a wad of white linen, going about his work with calm precision. Washington stood in the doorway for a moment, looked again at Mercer.
“God bless you, General. We won the day.”
AFTER THE FOOD HAD BEEN CONSUMED, AND THE ARMY HAD GATHERED as much of the British supplies as they could carry, he assembled the officers to survey the condition of his troops. The British supply depot at Brunswick was another hard day’s march, and Cornwallis would be pursuing them from behind, but no matter how much speed the British commander could make, Washington’s men had the head start. He was still not sure of the British troop strength at Brunswick, the reports from the scouts inconsistent. Some believed it was unprotected, and Washington wondered if those reports were more wishful thinking than good scouting. But others believed that Howe had continued to send reinforcements from Amboy, and any move on Brunswick might involve another sharp fight. The spirit of the army might be willing, but every officer understood that to push the men on yet another forced march, to the probability of yet another fight would exceed what his men