The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [219]
There was no enthusiasm in Clinton’s words, and Cornwallis stared at the map, felt a boiling stream rising in his brain.
“Sir…we are to abandon Philadelphia…”
“There is no debate on the matter, General. Despite my personal objectives for this army, I cannot find fault with Lord Germain’s decision. Philadelphia has proven to be of no value to us. Some would say it has been a veritable prison. This army has suffered moral and physical decay in these quarters.”
“No debate, sir. I understand. But sir, what of the rebels?”
The words had come out with more volume than he intended, and he expected a hot response from Clinton. There was silence for several seconds, and he could feel his own sharp breathing, said in a low voice, “My apologies, sir.”
Clinton stared down at the map, said slowly, “Exercise caution, General.”
The words were a low growl, and Cornwallis waited for more, but Clinton sat back now, said, “This meeting is concluded.”
The men moved past Cornwallis like children released from school, the door opening to a flow of cool air. He waited as the room emptied, saw Clinton leaning heavily on the table, the man now resting his face in his hands. He wanted to say more, to ask the same question, but Clinton was ignoring him. Knyphausen was rising slowly, helped to his feet by the young officer. He moved slowly past Cornwallis, and he felt a hand on his arm, the old man touching him briefly as he moved to the door. Cornwallis looked at Clinton again, the man frozen, fixed in his pose, staring into his own hands. There was nothing left, no words, and Cornwallis turned away, moved into the hall. He could hear André, out by the main entrance, a fluttering of words to the senior commanders as they made their way outside. He wanted to move the other way, thought, Another entrance perhaps, but then the young Hessian was there, said, “Sir, if it is not a bother, might you accompany General Knyphausen to his headquarters?”
YOU SHOULD REGRET HAVING MISSED SUCH A PARTY, GENERAL.”
He could not tell if Knyphausen was serious or not.
“I heard. Major André described it to me.”
“Ah, yes, Major André. A man of considerable energy. I admit, General, to some sense of mystery. I am not yet clear why this Meschianza was such a positive event.”
“It was a tribute, I suppose, to the man, to General Howe. To his tenure as commander.”
Knyphausen looked at him now, leaned closer, said, “That could have been accomplished with a toast of brandy at a simple dinner. Forgive my bluntness, General, but Major André’s Meschianza was a display of decadence and excess, the likes of which no Turkish pasha has ever enjoyed. And, to be honest with you, General, whatever purpose it served was lost on the men in my command. It was, as I heard someone say, ‘a marvelous salute to failure.’”
Cornwallis said nothing, felt relief that he had not experienced the show firsthand. They walked out toward the river, the scene much different than his last visit. The river was alive with birds, clusters of white flying low past the few big ships that still lined the wharf, a fleet of ducks gliding slowly along the shoreline in front of the mansion Knyphausen still called his headquarters. He could see the old man had something of a limp, said, “I hope this winter has not caused you any discomfort.”
“Every winter causes me discomfort, General. It is the nature of growing old. If you are fortunate, you will learn this for yourself.”
Knyphausen moved out in front of him, sat down slowly on a low stone wall, stared at the river, and Cornwallis thought, Fortunate to grow old? Of course. Von Donop. Not all of us will have the privilege of growing old. Knyphausen assumed