The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [217]
Cornwallis felt himself drowning in the man’s enthusiasm.
“A medley?”
“Oh, quite, sir! We could not allow General Howe to retire from his command without a magnificent show, a salute from the army, the entire city. It was…truly…” He paused, and Cornwallis saw a glint of wetness in the man’s eye. André seemed to fight the emotion. “I sincerely wish you had been here, sir. We had jousting knights, fair damsels, a veritable throng of Negro servants in oriental dress. The costumes were my own design, if I may say. The entire army marched past the general, a parade through two magnificent arches, my design as well…well, no matter. At the conclusion, a cascade of trumpets, a presentation to General Howe of a laurel wreath, a grand salute by verse, which, I admit, sir, I did compose myself.” André stepped back, put his hands together on his chest, recited,
Chained to our arms, while Howe the battle led,
Still round these files her wings shall conquest spread
“There’s a good deal more, but I will not trouble you now, sir. Perhaps later I can recite the verse entirely, allow you to capture the moment. I must say, there was hardly a dry eye. The entire evening was a grand ball, dancing until the sun rose to grace the final morning of General Howe’s presence among us. I say humbly, sir, no commander in the history of arms has ever departed his army in such a grand fashion.”
Cornwallis had no words, could not imagine the scene in his mind.
“Very nice, Major. I’m certain General Howe was grateful for your efforts.”
André seemed to swell at the compliment. “Thank you, sir. I would imagine…yes. Of course, the general had little time to express such appreciation, but I am certain I shall yet receive some word, once the general settles himself in London. Ah, to be in England, sir! But of course, you were just there…”
“Major, may I see General Clinton?”
André seemed to gather himself, said, “Of course, sir! Please follow me!”
He spun around on his heels, and Cornwallis followed him down a wide hall, waited while André opened a door, saw the cluster of uniforms. André said, “General Clinton, forgive the interruption, sir. General Cornwallis has returned!”
All faces turned to him, and he stepped into the room, felt the door closing behind him, André now gone. The silence was a blessed relief, and he met the faces with a smile, Grey, Grant, Erskine, and in their usual place in the corner, the Hessians. Knyphausen was slumped in his chair, his usual posture, the old man seeming to stare away in a haze of thought.
Clinton sat on the far side of a small oval table, was studying a map, pushed it aside, looked up at him with no expression.
“General, welcome. I trust your journey was without incident.”
The man’s words had no cordiality, and Cornwallis said, “No incident at all, sir.”
Clinton returned to the map, his social duties complete, and Cornwallis looked toward the old Hessian.
“General Knyphausen, I hope you are well.”
The old man responded to his name, a brief glimpse of recognition. Beside him was an unfamiliar officer, a young Hessian with sharp blue eyes, and the young man leaned over, said something to Knyphausen, who nodded, still stared away. The young man stood straight again.
“The general welcomes your return, sir.”
Cornwallis smiled at the unnecessary interpreter, the young man responding with a cordial smile of his own. He suddenly felt the absence of von