The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [227]
JUNE 25, 1778
The report came from von Steuben himself, the Prussian having led a small scouting party that probed the British western flank. Clinton had changed direction, had obviously abandoned his goal of reaching the Brunswick Post Road. There could be no doubt that the British knew of the position of Washington’s main force, and Clinton was making it plain that he had no intention of forcing a confrontation. The British were moving to the east, along the one main roadway that would lead them toward their transports at Sandy Hook, the road that led through Monmouth Court House.
The change in direction meant that Clinton was moving directly away from Washington’s position, that Lafayette’s plan for an assault on the rear guard would result in a small force pursuing a much larger one, with nothing to be accomplished but annoyance. The opportunity was slipping away, and despite the hesitant stance of so many of his officers, Washington changed the plan. He increased the size of the harassing force from fifteen hundred men to a major advance of better than half the army. By marching on a parallel course instead of a pursuit from the rear, Washington’s men could make better time, could possibly strike right at the main British line of march.
HE HAD WAITED FOR MORE THAN AN HOUR, MAKING HIMSELF BUSY with mundane tasks, unwilling to leave his office. He would not let the staff know that he was bothered by the man’s tardiness, or worse, that Charles Lee might be keeping him waiting on purpose. He checked his watch, nearly nine o’clock, most of the staff retiring already, the business of the army complete for one more day. He stood by the open window, stared into starry darkness, low sounds of an army settling into a steamy night’s restless sleep. He held tightly to his temper, thought, He has a good reason, certainly. He is still finding his place here, many new officers. He turned away from the window, sat at the desk, could feel the stale dampness in his uniform, the window offering no relief, no breeze to wash away the heat. He listened for movement beyond the door, Tilghman perhaps, some last duty, the man never retiring without notice, always offering some final bit of service. But the silence was complete, no boot steps, no voices, nothing except…dogs.
The sound cut through the night air, and he focused, could hear them louder now, interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats. The voices came finally, beyond the door, and he could hear the dogs clattering through the small house, a sudden burst of barking, chaotic excitement. The sounds startled him, ripping through him, the sounds of a snarling fit, broken by Lee’s voice.
“It’s all right, Colonel, just having sport!”
The door burst open, and Washington saw Tilghman, the man’s face white with a strange horror, and he said in a hushed voice, “They near attacked me, sir!”
Lee was there now, did not wait for Tilghman’s permission, the dogs rushing past him, swarming around Washington’s desk, his feet, sniffing and probing. Lee chose his own seat, sat across from him, laughed.
“Your colonel has no appreciation for the primal needs of the beast! Never seen a man so frightened. They never come into a room without knowing all they can of the inhabitants, a lesson I have learned as well.”
The dogs were calmer, circling Lee’s chair, finding their own places to settle down. Washington knew there would be no explanation for Lee’s late arrival, said, “Thank you for coming at such a late hour, Mr. Lee.”
“Nonsense, George. Looked forward to it. There was a time we spoke often, you know. Didn’t require such an audience of junior officers to plan the future of these campaigns. Rather miss those days.”
He did not share Lee’s cheery mood, said, “It was a different time then. Boston was a different circumstance. We have accomplished a great deal.”
Lee shrugged.
“I suppose so. Been wondering myself when this war might end.