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By Root 1401 0

the immediate change in Washington himself, and it made his own loneliness that much more difficult. Greene had spent many long nights deeply worried about his wife, Kitty. Her pregnancy had been difficult, made more so by the sudden chaotic presence of the British troops who had swarmed into Rhode Island under Clinton. But the baby had come in March, and though Kitty was as ill afterward as she had been during the pregnancy, her letters began to come more often, softening his worry. He had been surprised that anyone around the headquarters would share his concern, would distract themselves with his troubles during the pleasant mood of the winter camp. He was more surprised that the wife of his commander would do so much to comfort his fears, that she would help him write the soothing letters to his ailing wife, would share and celebrate his grateful relief when the baby girl was born safely. It was only fitting that the infant would be named Martha Washington Greene.

When Howe began his chaotic march through New Jersey, Washington ordered the social fineries to end. By mid-June, the wives, Martha included, were on their way home.

THERE WAS A NOTICEABLE QUIET, THE MOOD AROUND THE TABLE CONSIDERABLY subdued. Greene sat to Washington’s right, studied the formal document, ignoring the dense brick of corn bread on his plate. He finished reading, his appetite crushed by a hard twist of anger. Sullivan sat across from him, said, “Do you agree?”

Greene tossed the paper toward the center of the table.

“Of course I agree. What manner of fools do we obey? Are they so consumed by their vanity. . . ?” He stopped, glanced at Washington, who was eating, seeming to ignore the anger. Knox sat at the far end of the table, leaned forward on his heavy arms, his round face a portrait of gloomy resignation.

“Has anyone actually heard of this fellow? Du Coudray?”

Greene pushed his plate away.

“Of course not. He’s another in the parade, another feathered peacock, bringing his French superiority to the congress in yet another grand display! And they bow and coo and adorn him with all manner of compliments. And, the finest compliment of all, Mr. du Coudray, since you have come all the way from France, please accept this gift of our army. It is yours.”

Sullivan sat back, his anger more subdued.

“Not the army, actually. Just the artillery.”

The word seemed to punch at Knox, the heavy man sinking lower in his chair. Greene grabbed for the document again, fought the urge to crush it in his hands, said, “You are too generous, John. By their gracious and trembling hands, the congress has dated his rank of major general so far back as to predate our own commissions. He outranks us. He has never even seen a continental soldier, and yet, because of his sublime French manner, and his skill at flattering the congress, he now will supersede our commands.”

He tossed the paper down again, looked at Washington, saw the man mashing the dry corn bread into a plate of dark gravy. Washington filled a fork, raised it toward his mouth, the contents now spilling off onto the plate. Washington huffed, began the process again.

“The food has grown worse since the wives have left.”

Greene knew Washington was ignoring their hot protests, felt his anger draining away slowly.

“Sir, do you not share our outrage at the congress? This fellow . . .” He looked at the paper again. “This fellow Philippe-Charles . . . du Coudray brings here some letter of recommendation from Silas Deane, and suddenly, the congress decides he is in command of everything in this army!”

Washington prodded the corn bread again.

“Mr. Greene, if I reacted with anger to each foolishness that emerges from the congress, I would be in a constant state of agitation. That would be of very little benefit to this army. Do I share your outrage? Certainly. But we are all under the authority of the congress. This very country can maintain its existence only by the will of the congress.”

Greene stared at him, felt an explosion brewing, fought it, could not raise his voice to Washington.

“Sir!”

It