The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [214]
He rode to the edge of the hill, could see the headquarters, knew that Martha was preparing to leave as well. The women shall be missed, and not just by their husbands, but by the army. When they arrive, it changes the entire camp, and now, when they depart, it will change us again. He turned the horse, stared out toward the southeast, toward the city where so many of the enemy were making their own preparations, some plan he did not yet know. The women may miss us, may even curse us for what we do, but we will not spend our nights in tearful loneliness. We have a new companion, coming to life again out beyond those low hills. And before much longer we will receive the reports, and the order will come, and this army will leave behind these cabins, will move down from these heights, this horrible, wonderful place.
35. CORNWALLIS
JUNE 8, 1778
HE ARRIVED AFTER A JOURNEY OF SEVEN WEEKS, A CROSSING MADE bearable by lengthy card games and grand dinners with the men who were assigned the task of bringing the new peace proposals to America. The ship was the Trident, and though passengers were few, the staffs and servants of the peace delegation occupied nearly every available space on a man-o-war that was not constructed for comfort. But the optimism of the peace commissioners set the tone for the voyage, and he was grateful for their lighthearted approach to their mission. To a man, they believed they would reach Philadelphia to find a grand celebration of their certain success. They believed they carried the one means by which this war would draw to a close, two nations blending again into one, ruled by a benevolent king who had made an extraordinary apology for his mistakes. The only man on the ship who had serious doubts about their mission was Charles Cornwallis.
His visit home had been a marvelous rest, a time of peace and comfort. Jemima had welcomed him as he had imagined she would, all the tenderness of tears, the grateful softness of a woman who understands her husband’s duty, who holds no resentment or anger for the long absences. But this time there was more than the usual sadness, and as he slipped away from the last touch of her hand he felt an uneasy concern. From the first day of his arrival, he had been surprised at her frailness, Jemima growing thinner in his absence, her laughter and buoyant spirit tempered by a weakness that alarmed him. She had dismissed it, would not admit to any ailment, scolded him for his worries. After too few weeks together, their parting had been as they had always been, more tears and soft kisses. Once at sea he could not think just of Philadelphia and his new duties without wondering if her new fragility was more than just a symptom of his absence.
He was still a member of the House of Lords, though he cared so little for politics. But England was now festering in politics, and so he had obeyed his sense of responsibility and attended the meetings at Parliament. The turmoil was complete, King George’s opposition bolstered by the agonizing defeat of Burgoyne and the horrors of the new French alliance with the rebels. The speeches were bold and spectacular, and that one dreaded word had finally made its way into the halls of Parliament, independence, sharp calls for the king to conclude the war by a full admission of his government’s failings. The prime minister, Lord North, had offered his resignation, but George III knew that a collapse of North’s ministry would bring an opposition figure to power. The king would not accept such a shameful defeat within his own government, would not succumb to the will of his hated opposition. North’s resignation had been refused. The only alternative was appeasement to the colonies. Cornwallis has endured the debates and haranguing speeches with utter disgust, and a deep embarrassment for his army’s failure. The peace delegation believed they carried the only answer acceptable