The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [196]
HE HAD MADE THE ACQUAINTANCE OF ALL OF WASHINGTON’S SENIOR commanders, had felt the bonds between those for whom Washington seemed to have a special respect. Nathanael Greene came to headquarters many times, and those who dared to speak behind his back did so well out of the presence of Washington himself. Greene seemed to possess a Prussian’s impatience, and von Steuben was surprised to learn that the man had no background as a soldier. There were jealousies toward the man, some minor complaining that Washington relied on the Rhode Islander to an extreme. The complaints were few though, and even the men who groused quietly that Greene had not actually accomplished much on the battlefield seemed to believe that if the crisis came, he would be the man to emerge.
Von Steuben was making regular visits to headquarters, a guest for dinner nearly three times per week. The makeshift dining room was always crowded, a mingling of senior officers, staff, cooks and maids, and the wonderful company of the women. He had taken immediately to Martha, the quiet smiling woman, always polite, always gracious, a kind word at every turn. But her soft graciousness could not hide a hard core of authority, and von Steuben knew that the headquarters was not managed by the instruction of the commanding general. It was run by his wife.
He took his time reaching the headquarters, knowing he was still somewhat early for dinner. He enjoyed walking through the camp, appreciated the cordiality of the troops, something rare in European armies. As he stepped carefully down the snowy hill, his mind was focused, his latest project, a means of shortening the Prussian Manual at Arms, a version that might be distributed on paper to every company of men. He stepped along the icy banks of a small creek, thought, It must be brief, concise, something that can be learned in days, not months. Yet it must contain the essential formations, commands. He stopped, looked across the muddy snow to the house, the tall plume of gray smoke rising above. He could feel the softness under his boots, the snow melting, the creek more muddy than frozen. He studied the open ground, thought, Yes, it will be spring soon. He looked down toward the river, beyond the house, could see speckled patches of white and pink spread through the thickets of brush, the first buds, trees with names he didn’t know. He glanced down to the mud caking his boots, thought, That will be a problem. The roads will swallow an army, so no one will move for a while. But it will dry quickly. Already the warm air is coming. He looked down into the creek, the water moving in a narrow swift rush, driven by the thaw on the hill behind him.
He thought of the day’s drill, the formations. In Europe, men train for months to be called recruits. Here, we must train in weeks to be called soldiers. What army in Europe would endure what these men have suffered? He heard it still, the cries that met every officer, every tour by any man on horseback, from Washington to the occasional civilian. They call out from their dismal beds, no meat, no soldier. They make their protest, and then . . . they go about their duty. In Europe, this army would have simply dissolved, great bloody riots. He looked at the house again. They would come here as a mob, would have destroyed this place, taken every scrap of clothing and food, stolen every boot, and if the officers could not escape, they would be hanged. But the Americans . . . simply endure. If this army prevails in this war, it may be by the very suffering they have endured here, by their very survival. It is as if they understand that their cause is more important than their suffering. The British will never understand that. Even King Frederick would not understand. In Prussia, Austria,