The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [213]
The room came to life, a hum of comments. Greene looked around, could see the sudden glow of enthusiasm. Greene saw Stirling raise his hand, the man’s words hinting of a Scottish burr. “Sir, do we know where they’re off to? Might be hightailing it back to New York, eh? Should we be preparing to march, then, sir?”
Washington held up his hands.
“My apologies, gentlemen. Perhaps I was not clear. I meant to say that the British ships have left Philadelphia, but not their army. There is no sign that troops are yet going anywhere. The ships are said to have carried sympathetic civilians, and likely, equipment.” He paused a moment. “And baggage.”
Greene looked at Stirling, said, “If their baggage has sailed away, then a march cannot be far behind.”
“Well, then, we had best make preparations for a fight!”
The words came from behind them, and all heads turned toward the doorway. Greene saw Lee, adjusting his dusty uniform, his matted hair standing up stiffly on his bare head. Washington said, “General Lee, thank you for joining us. What do you make of the movement by the ships?”
“Quite clear. They’re planning an attack. It will come at us here, or it will come at our cities to the south, Baltimore, Wilmington perhaps. General Howe is certain to strike a hard blow at our weakest point. That would narrow the decision to our position here. We cannot stand up to an attack, not with the command structure we have at present.”
There was silence in the room, and Greene felt an explosion building in his chest. Washington pulled himself up out of his chair, said, “I am not clear on just what message the British navy is offering us. I am certain however of the following. Mr. Lee, you have been understandably without communication since your release, due to your necessity of travel. This is an opportune moment for me to inform you, as I intended to inform all of you. We have received word that within the past few days General William Howe has been relieved of command. His successor is Henry Clinton, which should surprise no one.”
There were more comments, and Greene saw Washington lowering his head, staring down at the floor, the room growing quiet again.
“I am certain as well that General Clinton would not send his ships away from a place where he intended to commence a campaign.” He paused, and Greene wanted to cheer, thought, Of course not. There will be no attack here, or anywhere around here. He fought the urge to look back at Lee’s smugness, and Washington seemed to avoid Lee as well, said, “I anticipate that we will learn the enemy’s intentions soon enough. To that end we shall prepare to leave Valley Forge.”
JUNE 1778
Greene rode the horse up on the plateau, moved along past the rows of cabins. He knew Kitty was waiting for him, by now had completed the details of her packing, was preparing to board the carriage that would carry her northward. He had wanted her to come along, just a brief ride through the camp, to hear a final cheer from the men who were making ready to leave themselves, the entire army stirring in a restless awakening. But she had stayed with her bags, and he knew better than to argue. She was fighting the sadness, another good-bye that would likely divide them for many months. He would succumb to it himself, and he knew that this ride was the distraction, delaying the scene that he could not delay much longer. He had experienced it before, knew that the tears would come, her soft crying, her fragile arms holding tightly to him. She would tell him of her prayers, how every night the Almighty would hear her soft voice pleading for his safety, for his return.
He turned the horse, heard his name, a group of men loading rolls of new white canvas into wagons. He acknowledged them with a brief wave, spurred the horse, and moved toward the artillery park. He looked for Knox, didn’t see him, wondered if Lucy would be as emotional as Kitty, more so perhaps, a woman who held nothing back. He smiled, could