The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [130]
The name brought more thoughts of the congress to Greene’s mind, a bungling of promotions that had nearly cost the army one of its most able field commanders.
Benedict Arnold had distinguished himself from the earliest days of the war, stood side by side with Ethan Allen the day Ticonderoga was first taken from the British, an astounding accomplishment that provided the Continental Army nearly all of its artillery pieces. Arnold had continued his good work, defending Ticonderoga against a major British assault the year before. But when the congress granted promotions to a new group of major generals, they were hesitant to commission too many men from any one state. Some in the congress believed that Connecticut had already provided a disproportionate share of senior commanders, and thus Arnold, the Connecticut native, was passed over in favor of men from other states. Congress never seemed to consider ability to be as important as appeasing the tender feelings of various state assemblies. Washington had been given no say in the matter, but he recognized the ridiculous injustice and campaigned angrily on Arnold’s behalf. Finally, Arnold had received his promotion. Despite the insult from congress, Arnold continued to exert himself with considerable skill in the field. For the past several weeks, he had been in command of the militia that guarded Philadelphia.
Greene knew that if Washington required a capable commander to take the field against Burgoyne’s advance, there were few in the army who could take charge of a dangerous situation with as much skill as Benedict Arnold.
Washington began to walk slowly back up the hill, said, “Are you certain the ships are still at anchor?”
Greene followed, knew Washington would see for himself, and he waited until they reached the crest of the hill, pointed, said, “One group of frigates, a dozen, perhaps, near the mouth of the river. Several more, and at least six ships of the line out in the middle of the harbor. There’s another group of smaller gunboats and a good many transports still at Staten Island. They do not appear to be making ready.”
Washington had raised his field glasses, lowered them again, said, “General Howe is a mystery. He may not yet know of their capture of Ticonderoga, but still . . . I would be moving my strength upriver. I would not wait.”
“General, he has done a great deal of waiting.” Greene smiled, but Washington was grim, focused, and Greene said, “Perhaps, sir, he knows we are expecting him, that we are reinforcing the Highlands.”
Washington made a small grunt, said, “Mr. Greene, when have we ever prevented them from gaining a river? A year ago I heard nothing but confidence about our strong defense of New York. You were a witness to our arrogance there. We have no engineers in this army. We build our fortifications by consulting outdated textbooks, written by the very enemy we are trying to hold away. General Putnam is confident he can keep the British from passing his works at the Highlands.” Washington paused, raised the glasses again. Greene said, “With respects to General Putnam, sir, we have not prevented the British from passing anywhere. The Highlands may be no different.”
Washington looked at him, his expression softer, a small nod.
“It is essential for an effective commander to learn from mistakes, whether his own, or the mistakes of others. Thank you, Mr. Greene.”
Washington looked away again, and Greene sorted through the small puzzle, realized now that Washington had tested him. The stain of Fort Washington had been with him for a long while, but he saw past that, could see that Washington was telling him to learn from the error. He suddenly felt very good, wanted to say something to return the favor, somehow lift the burden he could feel in the