The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [138]
Washington stayed close to his tents, passed the time by studying his maps, holding himself awake in dull candlelight until the lines on paper blurred into sleep. His officers had stopped offering their own theories, exhausted as well by the pure guesswork, strategy that meant nothing until Howe gave them the answer.
It was very late, and sleep had not come. He stood in the warm air outside his tent, listened to the sounds of the night, the low chatter of insects, felt the sweat in his clothes. There was no breeze, and he strained to hear the sound, the familiar rhythm of hoofbeats that would break the silence, the blessed courier who would bring him word. Spread out beyond the town, the army was mostly asleep, and he was as tired as any of his men, but there was no rest tonight, a dull pain from a hard knot in the back of his neck that would not give him peace. He could see a soft glow in a nearby tent, knew it was Tilghman, the young man probably watching him even now, keeping out of sight until Washington gave some sign, some hint that he required his aide. Washington stared at the light, saw flickers of motion, the night creatures drawn to the glow. His mind was drifting, and he fought it, tried to keep himself in the moment. How much longer can we remain here? He had asked himself the question every night, and his officers were asking as well, some believing still that Howe would appear at Charleston before anywhere else. If that is true, we will not know for many days yet, and there will be little we can do about it. Seven hundred miles on foot would destroy this army.
He pushed the thought away. No, Howe will still come to Philadelphia, or he will go back to New York. If Philadelphia cannot be assaulted by way of the Delaware River, the alternative is the Chesapeake Bay. If he returns to New York, it is possible he has received explicit orders from London, to unite his army with Burgoyne. He shook his head, sorted through the fog of thoughts. That is the one great mystery, more perplexing than where they have taken their ships. How can he simply abandon Burgoyne? It would have been logical to wait in New York for Burgoyne to march southward, some plan perhaps to push up the Hudson at the appropriate time. But for Howe simply to sail away, put such a great distance between their forces . . . how can London have approved such a strategy?
He turned his head to the side, pulled at the knot in his neck, tried to relieve the dull ache in his head. He turned into the tent, a faint glow of light, the one candle nearly burned down, a small flame barely surviving above a small pool of wax. He stared at the light, thought, It must be New York after all. Perhaps that is best. We cannot hope to confront them down here in a general engagement. There is little cause to sacrifice this army merely for the protection of Philadelphia. The congress would never understand that of course. If we can make a wise confrontation, we will do so, but ultimately the city has no value beyond the symbolic. If Howe occupies the city, he must fortify it, and that will be so much more difficult than defending the island of New York. Surely he knows that the congress will simply move to another location. It is one luxury we have, a government that is mobile. Nothing like that in Europe, certainly. And, there is still Burgoyne. He fought the blur in his mind. New York. He will go to New York, and we must return as well. We will march tomorrow. But . . . would Sullivan not have sent word?
He shook his head, moved to the bed, sat down. The exhaustion was complete