The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [231]
Lee seemed surprised by the question, thought a moment, said, “Do whatever you have been doing, General. You’re supposed to know your duty. General Wayne, if he’s not certain, you may instruct him. Now, good day.”
They moved outside, and Wayne stepped out in front of him, passed by the horses, walked out into the dusty roadway. He spun around, faced him, said, “Instruct you? You are my senior officer. How could you stand before that man and maintain such . . . calm? He is only here because he suddenly realized he might miss out on a chance for some glory!”
“The orders from General Washington are clear. General Lee is in command here. We are not privy to the reasons for his change of mind.”
“It does not require intellect to see that Lee could not just sit back there while you . . . well, he could hardly allow himself to sit idly by while a Frenchman leads this attack. I mean no offense, sir.”
He had held tightly to his disappointment, but did not feel the kind of anger Wayne was showing toward Lee. The responsibility for a command this size had surprised him. Lafayette looked to the west, the sun moving lower.
“We are very close to the enemy, a march of two hours. This night will better be spent in planning the attack. General Lee must make the dispositions.”
“So, dawn, then?”
Lafayette looked at Wayne, saw the deep scowl, the man’s disgust clearly evident.
“It is sound strategy, General. There can be no assault now, it is too late in the day.”
Wayne turned in the road again, paced a few steps, turned.
“All right. Dawn. I hope you’re correct. If we wait any longer, Clinton will be gone. I wish I had your faith in General Lee.”
Lafayette said nothing, fought through his disappointment still. It is not about faith. He is in command. We have no alternative.
AS THE SUN WENT DOWN, THE ORDER CAME FROM WASHINGTON. IT was assumed that by morning Clinton would again begin his march, would spread his forces in a long vulnerable line. Lee was instructed to attack wherever opportunity presented itself, to send his troops in a hard wave against Clinton’s flank or rear, holding the British in place while Washington brought the rest of the army up to expand the attack into a full-scale engagement. Late in the evening, Lee had sent out word of a meeting of his senior commanders, and the men expected a detailed briefing on their places in the line, a map of the tactics they would bring to the field. As the men gathered at Lee’s headquarters, they found no one waiting for them but an embarrassed aide. There were no plans prepared, no maps sketched. Lee himself was nowhere to be found, had ridden out into the night, leaving his aide with no instructions at all. The meeting erupted into angry turmoil, Wayne leading the officers back to their camps. They had no choice now but to wait for some further instructions. No one but Lee was authorized to put the brigades and regiments into some order of march, no one but Lee could organize this attack.
Since Lee’s arrival at Englishtown, Lafayette had been given no troops to command, no real responsibility at all. As the other commanders stewed furiously in their camps, Lafayette rode out to find General Lee.
THE AIDE COULD ONLY OFFER SOME HINT, THAT IF LEE DID NOT STAY within the boundaries of the small village, he would certainly keep to the road that led north. It was a reasonable guess, the one safe direction.
Lafayette moved the horse in slow steps, then stopped, stared out through total darkness, listened. He had repeated the routine now for several hundred yards, the only sound the low hum and chirp of the insects. He began to move again, but a new sound broke through, and he waited, could hear the slow rhythm of a horse.
“Sir! General Lafayette! We have found him, sir.”
The aides had ridden ahead with a trio of guards, Wayne’s men, had explored each road and path, knew to find Lafayette here on the main road.
He pulled the match from his pocket, made a short hard stroke against