The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [158]
The young man seemed dazed, and Cornwallis said, “Are you wounded, Lieutenant?”
The young man put a hand inside his coat, felt, probed.
“A small one, sir.”
Cornwallis saw the man’s bloody fingers now, said to Leslie, “Get him some assistance. Now.”
The staff was down, moving toward the man, helping him toward a horse. Cornwallis moved past the large house, the road opening up beyond the town, larger farms, more rebel bodies spread along the fences, some in the road. He saw a blue coat, dirty white pants, the body of a rebel officer, the man lying facedown in thick grass. He looked at the man’s uniform, gold braid on the collar, a short sword still in his hand, thought, He died moving forward, leading his men. He felt a strange anger, thought of Howe. Enjoy your bloody damned parade, General. But there was more to this day than your perfect little victory. We soundly defeated these rebels at Brandywine, and yet, here they are again. He looked out across the open ground, a hundred bodies, more, thought, This was no skirmish, no raiding party. It was a well-planned, large-scale attack. That lieutenant may be correct. Fortune, indeed. General Howe can tell London anything he damned well pleases. But these rebels are far from defeated.
25. WASHINGTON
OCTOBER 7, 1777
HE ASSEMBLED THE ARMY NEAR SHIPPACK CREEK, A MARCH OF twenty miles from the site of their chaotic fight at Germantown. Their casualties nearly equaled what they had lost at Brandywine, more than a thousand men killed, wounded, and captured, and in the space of three weeks, the two fights had cost Washington more than twenty percent of his army.
The British encampment at Germantown had been a wonderfully ripe target, the town itself approachable by several good roads. From all he had learned about the British position, Washington knew that if they made their march at night, two strong forces could converge on the enemy lines in a pinching assault that not even Howe’s regulars could withstand.
He had advanced along the main road with Sullivan, while Greene led his division up to the north, would come into the town on the British flank. It was good strategy, driven by the fire of the men who saw the chance to avenge their defeat at Brandywine. The initial attack had driven the British back in total confusion, but then the confusion had swept over both armies, the entire field shrouded in dense fog. But the key to the strategy was coordination between the two prongs of the attack, the timing that both divisions would begin their assault at the same time. Greene’s route had been longer than expected, his division led by a guide whose self-proclaimed skill had proven dreadfully overstated. Though Sullivan’s attack had panicked the British into a stampeding retreat, when Greene’s men finally arrived, they stumbled right into Sullivan’s flank. Blinded by the fog, and their own nervousness, both wings of Washington’s assault began to fire into their own positions. When the British managed to re-form and make a stand, the confusion in Washington’s lines became panic. Since Washington still believed they had achieved a complete victory, he was astounded to witness the sudden collapse of his entire attack, waves of his men returning out of the fog, pursued by little more than the sound of their own footsteps. Despite the utter vulnerability of Washington’s panicked troops, Howe did not drive forward a pursuit. Once clear of the town, the retreat had slowed, and as had happened at Brandywine, Washington’s army managed to salvage itself.
As the army gathered, Washington was surprised that the men who shouldered the muskets seemed to take it in stride, were even boastful of having carried an attack straight to the heart of the British headquarters. There was little evidence of shame in the camps, more the sense that it could have worked, that this time, success was very close, a fight that was turned more by bad fortune than any fault of their own.
But if the foot soldiers could shrug