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By Root 1382 0

out of the hills and into a general engagement was by giving him a target too tempting to resist. Time and again, Cornwallis would advance his men out in column from Brunswick, a feint to the west, as though his eight thousand men were suddenly on the march to Trenton. But Washington had stayed put, no ruse of vulnerability by Cornwallis had worked. As long as Cornwallis was not reinforced from New York, it was simply a standoff. Washington would not attack, and Cornwallis could not dislodge him from Morristown. Until Howe made a decision about where and when the campaign would resume, the British soldiers in New Jersey would continue to endure Washington’s sniping at their flanks, and the rebels’ annoying disruptions in their supply lines.

As spring rolled toward summer, Howe had given his army no plan, had instead conducted a tediously slow debate over strategy with his superior in London, Lord George Germain. While Howe waited for official approval of some new plan of action, much of the British command idled away the months in the comforts of their mistresses and the fine dining rooms of the city. To Cornwallis, it was another frustrating exercise in futility. He could only bide his time, nursing his army back to health, remaining close to his headquarters in Brunswick angrily waiting for Howe to make up his mind.

JUNE 5, 1777

Cornwallis had avoided the dinners, the formal occasions so sought after by the officers in New York. He always had the good excuse for staying away from the city, some new assault by the rebels requiring his attention, his own mission to capture some particular goal, spies constantly bringing him word of Washington’s shifting movements. But the invitation this time was not social, and Cornwallis could not hide his own expectations that, finally, something more specific was being discussed at headquarters, something that might put his army into motion.

He arrived at the headquarters at midday, and as he rode through the streets of New York, he saw formations of men at drill, supply wagons gathered into great squares, artillery parks alive with gun crews, fresh maintenance on cannon that had sat idle since December. There was energy to the movements that could only mean Howe was making some preparation for a march.

The house itself was a bustle of activity, Howe’s staff welcoming him as they rushed past, each with some dispatch in urgent need of delivery. It had been months since Cornwallis felt his own enthusiasm rising, the anticipation returning, that wonderful surge of strength that spreads through the army when the new campaign grows close. He moved into the grand parlor, the familiar meeting room where Howe had summoned the senior officers. The men had gathered loosely around the wide table, and Cornwallis moved into the room to salutes and handshakes. He nodded to Leslie, knew his subordinate would already be there, the young man having crossed the Hudson that morning. The Hessian von Donop stood beside a tall window, made a slight bow toward him, and Cornwallis saw the old Hessian, Wilhelm Knyphausen seated beside him. Von Donop bent low, spoke to the old man, who looked up at Cornwallis with a solemn stare, and Cornwallis thought, It must be official. Knyphausen has replaced de Heister. One old soldier carries the shame of Trenton back to his country, replaced by another. Cornwallis said, “General Knyphausen, I hope you are well.”

Knyphausen glanced up at von Donop, who translated Cornwallis’ greeting, and the old man raised his hand slightly, said something in a low voice. Von Donop said, “Thank you, General.”

It was all that Knyphausen ever said, and Cornwallis had wondered if it was the language alone, many of the Hessians speaking enough English to participate if they chose to. But more often the Hessians seemed content to sit quietly in the meetings while their British counterparts worked out their strategy. It is courtesy, I suppose. It is, after all, our war. He moved closer to the table, could feel the enthusiasm he shared with the other officers, scanned the room, saw