The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [230]
As the daylight brought another stifling wave of heat over Englishtown, more troops had appeared, Washington sending reinforcements to Lafayette’s command. He had expected to receive new orders, some update from Washington, word of Clinton’s response to this pursuit. But the only word had come from the scouts, and from von Steuben, who was only two miles from the British position. Clinton had halted his column around Monmouth, was shifting the marching order of his troops, putting the more elite units toward the rear, the Hessians more to the front. It was a logical move with the approach of Lafayette’s forces, moving the stronger regiments, the Grenadiers, Queen’s Rangers, the Highlanders, closer to the vast line of British wagons. It was clear evidence that Clinton believed the wagons would be the target of such a large force. But Lafayette’s orders said nothing about capturing supplies. He knew that Clinton’s halt was simply a mistake, another critical delay that might cost the British a safe escape.
As the sun climbed higher, the men had rested, and the day had passed with the army continuing to gather strength, men now storing up water and preparing food, making ready for the last march toward the enemy. He watched as another small column appeared from the west, men in white shirts, their faces shielded from the sun by wide round hats. They moved past him, and officers appeared, led them into the camp, where the rest of his men were tending to their muskets. They would gather quietly in the shady places, waiting for the order that would send them back into the sandy road. The column was past him, and he still expected to see a rider, some new word from Washington, was confident that the main army was no more than five or six miles behind him. He could feel the heat from the horse beneath him, looked toward a small stand of trees, thought, No need for you to suffer this. He began to move toward the shade, saw Anthony Wayne, one aide trailing behind him, their horses coated with a slick wetness.
“General, we are prepared to advance.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wayne. We are awaiting final instructions from General Washington. I have sent him the reports of the enemy’s position.”
“We should not wait too long. I’m certain Clinton won’t.”
He knew of Wayne’s brash impatience, something so very rare in this army. It had led Wayne to some difficulties on the battlefield, and his straightforward tactics had won him both critics and admirers. Wayne’s dogged style might not always have been the right strategy, but to many, including Washington, it was a tonic that had often been sorely missed.
Wayne followed him toward the trees, and now both men turned at the fresh sound of hoofbeats in the road. He expected to see Washington’s courier, was surprised at the small thin figure leading a pair of hounds. It was Charles Lee.
I MUST ADMIT, GENERAL LAFAYETTE, THAT I DID NOT BELIEVE THIS MISSION would actually come to pass. Once I was aware that General Washington had increased the number of troops in this command to near six thousand, I felt it was unwise for a junior officer such as yourself to maintain such important authority. This is a position best suited for the second in command of the army. I trust you agree?”
Lafayette read the letter in his hand, Washington’s order. It was wisely written, giving Lafayette continued authority if an attack was already in progress. But, with the troops still at Englishtown, Lee could assume overall command with no disruption. He handed the letter to Wayne beside him, said, “Yes, General Lee. You are correct. It is entirely appropriate for this command to be under your authority.”
“Ah, yes. Good, then. I shall make my headquarters in this house. You shall report to me here with any information you receive as to the enemy’s disposition and activity.”
“Yes, sir.