The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [12]
Cornwallis had never spoken to Henry Clinton about such things, it was simply not good form. Clinton would never speak openly, of course, but his silence betrayed a simmering disrespect for Howe. That sort of dissension was not tolerated, certainly not by a commander like William Howe, who carried a fragile pride. But Cornwallis had come to know Clinton well, suffering through the ridiculous disaster in South Carolina. Clinton had been stubborn, relying on bad intelligence and bad tactics, and it was Cornwallis’ first taste of a war against the rebels. He had experienced the same outrage about their methods, the rebels who stayed put behind great fat logs, not understanding that when the British came to fight, the most proper response was to oblige. But the rebels had been perfectly satisfied to wreak havoc on the naval vessels, while the torturous heat and damnable insects wreaked havoc on the British troops. At least in New York, the countryside seemed well suited for a fight, rolling hills, hard ground, a place where cavalry could fight beside the bayonets. The coast of South Carolina was more swamp than land, the air thick with blight. Clinton had finally admitted defeat, that Charleston could not be taken without great loss, and both men had known Howe would understand that. Howe would never expect his subordinates to endure another Breed’s Hill.
It was said with optimism that the Howe brothers made an effective partnership, the officers speaking quietly of how one man’s weakness was bolstered by the other’s strength. Admiral Howe was more matter-of-fact about strategy, had actually spoken out in support of some means of avoiding war, something the king and his ministers would never endorse publicly. But Richard Howe held a stronger political position in England, had quiet support from many who stood in opposition to the king’s policies. Even before Cornwallis had arrived in America, he understood that the admiral had more powerful friends than did his brother, that some in England, and perhaps right here at headquarters, still cast some blame on the general for the loss of Boston and the carnage they had endured at Breed’s Hill. Cornwallis had no affection for William Howe, had known him only from their days serving together in Parliament. It was not Cornwallis’ job to place blame or find fault with anyone. William Howe had full command of the army. It would be Cornwallis’ duty to follow his orders.
AUGUST 26, 1776
They gathered at the home of a grateful Tory named DeNuys, a nervous little man who bowed and scraped before General Howe, gushing with unbridled relief that the great British army had been delivered by God, a force of angels to hold the great hordes of rabble away from his modest home.
The last of the foreign soldiers had been landed the day before, brought ashore by their commander, General de Heister. The old Hessian was barely mobile, and Cornwallis guessed him to be nearly seventy, a military man who had charged through wars on European soil before many of the British command were born. There was an arrogance to the old man, but it was not an obstacle, and de Heister knew his place at the table, the professional soldier’s instinct of when to speak, when to offer an opinion. Like Cornwallis,