The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [194]
Organizing the departments, the accounting for supplies and munitions, the process of leave and enlistment, all had their priority. But papers and files and the staffing of offices could wait. Nothing was as important as the training of the men.
MARCH 1778
Von Steuben had assembled a hundred men, a select few chosen from each division, those whose sense of discipline had been made clear, either on the battlefield, or on the march. Most were junior officers, all were young, and von Steuben had marched them to a quiet patch of open ground, out away from the eyes of the rest of the camp.
They stood in a column of two, and he rode the horse down alongside them, tried not to notice the amazing lack of clothing. Behind him, the two American aides, Captains North and Walker, gave instructions, straightened the formation. He rode again to the front of the column, sat stiffly up on his horse, said to North, “Line of battle. With all haste.”
The shout went out, and the men began to shift their ground, from the vertical to the horizontal, the men gathering in a ragged crowd, then spreading to the sides. Within a minute or more they were facing him in two wide rows, the men pulling themselves close beside each other, eliminating any gaps in the line. They were looking at him now with satisfied smiles, and he showed no change in his expression, said, “Return to column of march.”
The men began to shift again, the lines collapsing into a stumbling mass, one man falling, knocking another man to the ground. The collisions were many, and the men down in the snow were laughing, one man launching a snowball at another. Gradually they shifted back into line, some of them laughing still, but coming to some kind of order.
“Gentlemen, if this was a battle, you would not be so concerned with repeating this move. You would all be dead, probably by the bayonet of the Hessians.”
The laughter had stopped, and he motioned to his aides, said, “Captain North, Captain Walker, assume a position at the head of each line.” He moved the horse around to the side, said, “You will follow the steps of the man in front of you. When he turns, he will pivot sharply. You will do the same. When he stops, you will stop. When he resumes his march, you will resume yours. Captains North and Walker will begin the shift. From column of march to line of battle. Now!”
The two aides made their turns, the men close behind, following. As more of the line made the turn, the crispness dissolved, the men at the rear still milling slowly past.
“No! Crisp! Pivot! By damned, we will do this again! No! Better I will show you!”
He climbed down from the horse, grabbed a musket from one of the men, glanced at the rusty bayonet, could see a coating of rust on the barrel as well.
“This is a disgrace! Before you complete these lessons, you will learn to care for your weapon. You will understand that a bayonet is not a tool for you to roast your supper!” He pulled the musket close to his chest. “Now, you will march . . . the order to halt! Now, the order to shift to column . . . so! Pivot . . . turn . . . crisply!”
He made the move again, swung the musket up to his chest, marched with a high stiff kick, prancing his way across the snowy field, a one-man army. He stopped now, stood stiffly, the musket straight down by his side.
“You are facing the enemy! You will wait for the order! The officer will give the order to load, thus!” He reached into his belt, pulled a nonexistent musket ball from an imaginary cartridge box, went through the motion of loading the musket.
“See? Now, the officer will order you to firing position!”
He dropped to one knee, raised the musket to his shoulder.
“Fire! Powwww! Now, the enemy is fleeing before you! The officer orders . . . charge bayonets!” He jogged forward now, the musket pointing straight out, made a high-pitched scream, “Aaaaaaaaaa!”
He stopped, slashed and cut the musket through