The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [220]
“I should have brought some bread. The birds gather. It is my secret. If I reveal it to my staff, I am certain my young Captain Hausman will use this as the means to put them on our dinner table.” Knyphausen laughed now, a slow raspy wheeze. “I knew you would return.”
Cornwallis was surprised by the statement, said, “I was always planning to return. Was there doubt?”
“Among some, yes. General Howe, certainly. General Clinton, no. He believes you are here only to take his command.”
Cornwallis let out a long slow breath, did not want this conversation.
“I am not here to take anyone’s command. It appears, at any rate, that there will be little to take. We are going into a defensive position, retreating to New York. It is not the way I would have thought…forgive me, I should not speak further.”
“So, you agree we are retreating? General Clinton does not use the word. We are repositioning. Your Lord Germain claims it is a new war now. We must take into account the French.”
“Damn the French! What of the rebels? Washington has an army twenty miles from here, and we are simply going to march away? For two years we have made every attempt to engage them, to draw them into a fight. Mr. Washington cannot possibly imagine that we are now going to abandon all we have gained.”
Knyphausen turned toward him.
“What have we gained, General? This was General Howe’s mistake, after all. He believed that by our very presence here we were winning. In fact, Mr. Washington has succeeded in prolonging this war long enough for his rebel government to form an alliance with France. In all the battles we have fought, in all the victories General Howe has proclaimed, with all the cities and rivers and roads we control, nothing is as important to this war as that. You doubt this? The French have not yet shown us a single warship. And yet we are already in retreat. You and I, we might soon find ourselves in Europe, fighting a new Seven Years War, or perhaps we will sail to the islands, and fight in the heat, to protect your king’s sugar fields.”
Cornwallis put one foot on the stone wall, leaned forward, his arms on his knee.
“Perhaps I should have remained in England. My wife…I am concerned about her. Now I find that I have no real purpose here. What kind of war can we fight from New York? We will sit in those grand mansions and have our councils, and watch as our officers are corrupted once more by the society women. Mr. Washington will certainly follow us, move his army to the New Jersey coast, strengthen his position on the Hudson. And what then? We abandon New York? That will be the final surrender. His Majesty cannot possibly agree to this. After so much has happened, we just sail away? Pretend this war was never truly important? Are we to consider the men who died in this place to have been merely…players, another ridiculous pageant from Major André?”
“What would you do, General?”
He felt the bait in Knyphausen’s words.
“No, I have no plan. It is not my place to instruct or suggest, either to Lord Germain or General Clinton. But I cannot remain here in this situation. I cannot command from inside a fortress. I would rather resign.”
Knyphausen raised himself slowly, and Cornwallis watched him, ready to assist. The old man moved away from the wall, then turned, said, “No. You must not do that. And they will not allow it. Your king needs you here, in the event of some misfortune to General Clinton.” He laughed again. “He cannot have his army commanded by…me.”
The thoughts filled his mind, Germain, the king, Clinton. He knew Knyphausen was right, that Lord Germain would never accept his resignation. No, they will still require me somewhere. Does it matter after all if I lead my men in the colonies or on some battlefield in France? He had a sudden glimmer of pity for Clinton. He has finally received his command, and now, he is but a puppet. His duty might well involve little more than tidying up this theater of the war. He does not deserve such