The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [192]
FEBRUARY 23, 1778
He waited just beyond the outposts on the road that came from York. His guards were in formation behind him, a wide arcing line, several of his staff just inside their ranks. Washington held the horse in the middle of the road, watched as a cluster of riders made their way up a long hill, the horses stepping high through a fresh layer of loose snow. He caught sight of a dog, a thin rail of an animal, bounding rapidly behind the horses.
They were close enough that he could see the details of their uniforms, and he thought, American, how odd. Well, perhaps not so odd after all. If they are to serve in this army, they should dress the part. How better to make a favorable impression, especially for a man who claims to serve as a volunteer. It was obvious which one was von Steuben, an older man, large in the saddle. There was something on the man’s chest, bouncing as he rode, a large flat disc, a medal nearly the size of a bread plate. There was another medal as well, pinned in place, a massive star, and as the man rode closer, Washington could see bits of color, the star encrusted with jewels. The parade halted, only a few yards in front of him, and Washington looked at the older man, said, “General von Steuben, welcome to Valley Forge. Welcome to the army of the United States of America.”
The man nodded, formal, did not smile, and another man rode forward, said, “General Washington, I am Peter Duponceau, aide and secretary to General von Steuben. I also serve as the general’s interpreter. General von Steuben is somewhat deficient in his use of the English language. However, I assure you, this will not be a disadvantage. I am instructing him daily. The general is most joyful to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Von Steuben made a brief, curt smile, said something in German, and Washington felt awkward, did not enjoy interpreters.
“I was not aware General von Steuben did not . . . um, well, no matter. Thank you, Mr. Duponceau. Your presence is most welcome.”
There was a low voice behind him, and Hamilton said, “Sir, with your permission, does the general speak French?”
Washington looked at Duponceau, who said, “Most assuredly.”
Hamilton rode forward, said, “Sir, if you will allow, I can assist as well.”
“Very well. General von Steuben, this is Major Hamilton of my staff.”
Hamilton made a slight bow, said something in French, and von Steuben responded with a brief word, another polite smile. Washington said, “We should retire to the camp. General, if your men will accompany us.”
The parade began to move, von Steuben easing his horse up just behind Washington. It was more formality than Washington required, and he thought, Probably a European custom. I should tell him to ride beside me. He glanced back, saw Duponceau, and the man caught his look, moved quickly forward.
“Sir? May I be of service?”
The dog was now out in front of him, a prancing, delicate gait, then suddenly racing out into the trees, and von Steuben gave a quick shout, the dog quickly returning to the road. Washington could not help thinking of Charles Lee, the man’s fixation on dogs, noisy hounds accompanying him everywhere. But von Steuben bore no other resemblance to Charles Lee, and Washington put the unfortunate comparison aside, realizing Duponceau was beside him still.
“May I inquire . . . the breed of dog?”
“It is an Italian greyhound, sir. A special favorite of the general.”
“Greyhound. Very well. Uh, Mr. Duponceau, it is not necessary for the general to ride behind me. In this army, we prefer not to be so formal. Please ask if he would care to ride alongside.”
Duponceau eased back, and in a short moment von Steuben moved up next to