The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [206]
“I see that, Mr. Tilghman. Quite a bounty.”
He could see the wave of fish passing up to the left, moving away from the gathering of troops. Men were scrambling up the bank, trying to move out in front of the fish, but the swarm was swimming upriver faster than the troops could surround them. Tilghman said, “It seems to be passing, sir. A good catch though. Someone will make a nice feast of this.”
Men were pulling themselves out the water, some still carrying their catch, and Washington felt himself opening up to their excitement, said, “I have never seen this before. But they’re getting away.”
“Yes, sir. It’s how it goes. You only catch them when they swim past.”
“We shall turn them around then!”
He spurred the horse, moved quickly down to the bank, rode along the edge of the water, caught up to the swirling tide. He looked back, saw men standing in the river, watching him, few moving at all now. He shouted, “Here! I will stop them!”
He pulled hard on the reins, drove the horse straight into the river, the icy water shocking him, soaking his legs. The horse bounced high, reared back, and Washington gripped the reins in one hand, grabbed his hat, waved it low, toward the water. He spun the horse around, and the tide of fish stopped their advance, seemed to back away down the river.
“Now, gentlemen, now! Retrieve them!”
The troops were still watching him with stunned amazement, but finally they understood what he had done. They began to scramble along the bank, some plunging into the water again, into the midst of the fish. The catch began again, the laughter and shouting as men wrestled with fish, gathering them into their arms, tossing them up on the bank. He was still waving the hat, shivering with excitement, soaked through by the cold water. He saw Tilghman on the bank, watching him with a look of panicked concern. He began to laugh along with his men, exhausted soldiers struggling up the bank, some collapsing among the fish. The men were mostly out of the water now, the fish they could not catch slipping past him, out of reach upstream. He eased the horse toward the bank, put the hat on his head, felt the shock of ice water down his neck. The men were cheering him, some holding up fish in both hands, and he climbed the bank, held tightly as the horse shook itself free of the water. Tilghman followed him, and Washington said, “A fine day for a swim, Colonel! A bit chilly yet.”
The men were gathering the fish together, hauling them away toward the camp. He sat dripping in the saddle, felt weak with the cold, and the laughter that still rolled out of him.
“A fish dinner, gentlemen! More for salting!”
He waved to the men, heard another round of cheers, said to Tilghman, “I should change my uniform. My wife would have a cross word certainly.”
He waved to the men, spurred the horse up the hill, Tilghman close behind. He reached the crest, could see all along the river, the men enjoying their new work, the feast that the entire army would enjoy. He felt the sunshine, stopped the horse.
“I recall our talk in Trenton, Mr. Tilghman.”
“Sir?”
“Fishing. I recall that I asked you about fishing.”
“Yes, sir. I recall as well.”
“This was . . . an adventure. The men enjoyed it, certainly. I don’t know how often this sort of . . . shad run occurs.”
“It’s the springtime, sir. They swim upstream to spawn.”
“Ah, of course. The design of the Almighty. This could be more than just an occurrence of nature, Mr. Tilghman. It was a gift, an extraordinary bounty. It is possible that the Almighty is showing us some favor.”
“Certainly, sir. This army has endured much.”
He felt the sun on his back, a delicious warming. The chill was gone, and he looked upward, closed his eyes, absorbed the heat on his face.
“Indeed, Mr. Tilghman. That we have.”
He sat quietly for a long moment, then turned away from the sun. He could see out toward the camp, the commissary officers responding to handle the incredible catch. There was already a sense of order,