The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [15]
There was a pause in the sounds, then another burst, uneven. Cornwallis nodded to himself, thought, A good sign. If they were merely firing at shadows, the sounds would be steady, officers losing control of their men, volleys fired at nothing. If a man is affected by fear, he will shoot at anything and nothing, and he will not search for a real target. There was another pause, scattered pops, more silence. He fought to see in the dark, strained to hear. But there was a lull, no sounds at all.
Cornwallis said, “It is not a general engagement yet. General de Heister would have them advancing. Use the darkness. It is the rebels who will fire at shadows.”
He thought of the Hessians now, had wondered about what kind of soldiers they were from the first time he had seen them. They seemed almost inhuman, but not in the way that inspired fear in the civilians. They fought as one man, a singular purpose, the ideal soldier, rigid obedience to the commands of the officers. Even the British command had been amazed at their appearance, many of the officers never having seen a Hessian before. And, they had learned quickly that not all of them were in fact Hessian. The troops came from several small kingdoms and duchies: Hesse-Cassel and Hesse-Hanau, who were accurately referred to as Hessians. But there were regiments from Brunswick and Waldeck, Anspach and Anhalt-Zerbst, all those lands controlled by men who would appreciate the generosity of King George, who would be paid a fee for every soldier they could muster or impress into service for the British cause. All during the landing at Gravesend Bay, he had seen the Hessians standing at attention in their boats, in a rigid, if somewhat unsteady formation. They had maintained that stance the entire way across the harbor, and he had smiled at that, some sort of show for their British counterparts, the absolute discipline, the first gesture from their commanders that this hired army would earn the king’s gold.
In the colonies, the British had already planted rumors of their barbarism, confident that the ignorance of the rebels could expand those rumors into raw terror if the men in strange uniforms and polished helmets actually faced them on the battlefield. Cornwallis knew the foreigners were as well trained as any British unit, but there was a difference, the discipline coming from something beyond loyalty to a king or pride in their flag. They were recruited by force, often kidnapped by aggressive sergeants, held in line by the threats of the pure brutality that awaited them if they strayed. The training was inhumane at best, and orders were obeyed out of fear. He would never question a man like de Heister, but from their very demeanor, Cornwallis could sense that the Hessian soldiers had no pride in themselves, seemed to march in the mindless cadence of soldiers who had lost their humanity. And if those men have a disregard for life, have been taught to have no respect for themselves as men, how will they regard their enemy? There could be a brutality in those men that we might not be comfortable with. Yes, certainly, it makes them a frightening army. But what kind of ally?
He smiled, could not help thinking that, yes, rumors work in many ways. It had been his idea, to make discreet mention to de Heister, to plant an image solidly in the old commander that the rebels either scalped or ate the dead of their wounded enemies. It was a bizarre tale, and de Heister had listened to it with a somber nod, would betray nothing of his own skepticism at such a ridiculous ploy from his British ally. But Cornwallis knew, de Heister didn’t