The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [23]
“General Heath, I did not call this council to pass censure on anyone. There is time enough for that later. I would point out to you that I myself observed Colonel Smallwood’s regiment in heroic action, and I have since learned that those men performed with as much heroism on this ground as any unit in this army.” There was a hand raised now, and Washington was surprised to see William Smallwood himself, the man’s face emerging from a dripping dark coat.
“My apologies, Colonel. I intended no embarrassment. I did not realize you were here.”
“General, I thank you for your approval. I cannot respond to General Heath’s claim, but I can assure the commanding general that when I arrived on the field, Major Gist and the men of my command had already acquitted themselves under extreme hardship.”
Washington could hear something in the man’s voice, a sober calmness, the man about Washington’s age, another veteran of the French and Indian War. Smallwood had been in New York on court-martial duty when the British attack began, his unit commanded first by Mordecai Gist. But Smallwood had come across the river quickly, would not allow his men to make the good fight without their commander. Washington had sought out the details as much as he could, knew that the Marylanders had been among those men who had held away an attack that could have destroyed Stirling’s entire force. He knew nothing of the event Heath had referred to, some bridge being burned, knew the reports would be detailed later. He dreaded the aftermath of any battle, had been through this before, small men striking out with rumor and their pens at those who had done the work with musket and sword. It was the nature of war, and the nature of men who brought more ambition into battle than ability. And right now, Washington didn’t want to hear any of it.
It was unusual that a colonel be at a council of war, but Smallwood had been called to this council because he was a veteran, and his immediate superior, Stirling, was absent. And it was apparent to the entire army that Smallwood’s command was not only reliable, but might be some of the best troops Washington had.
“Gentlemen, I would prefer that each of us focus on the future, and not what has already occurred. Our losses have been heavy. And, I fear this weather has put us in a grave situation.”
Putnam sniffed, said, “With all respects, General, my view is that the British have the disadvantage. We control the fortified ground, while they must come at us from the open. We control the hill, they must climb. If our powder is wet, so is theirs.” Putnam stopped, and Washington watched the old man’s face, saw the man’s pride tempering a bit by a new thought, something unspoken.
“General Putnam, your comparisons to the glorious fight you commanded on Breed’s Hill are noted. I have no doubt that you are correct in one regard. The British are taking their time, and will likely wait for a break in the weather. If they dry their powder, we will dry ours, and I am certain that in a duel of musket fire, their loss would be desperate. But as you know, General Putnam, the enemy has something we do not. They are proficient in the use of the bayonet. That is a superiority we cannot underestimate. As you know, this army does not possess . . . the bayonet.”
He saw several faces go down, and Putnam nodded silently. It had become a fact that no one could overlook. Throughout the great fight they had just endured, the most effective tool of both the British and the Hessians was the bayonet. To the farmers and militia of Washington’s army, many of whom fought with their own weapons, it was a piece of equipment that was completely foreign. As each of the commanders had learned, asking a man to fire his musket and then reload while enduring a bayonet charge made only for a brief battle. The men simply turned and ran away. Washington would not say it now, didn’t have to. He could see that each man had already run the image through his mind, as Putnam had done. If the British come