The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [236]
“Whatever you say, sir. I’d just as soon not go out . . . there.”
“On my responsibility, you are to go to General Washington. He is advancing on the main road, should not be more than two or three miles back. Tell him, Sergeant, in the most urgent terms, his presence is required on this field.”
38. WASHINGTON
THE MARCH HAD BEGUN QUICKLY, SHIRTLESS MEN ENERGIZED BY THE enthusiasm of their commander. But as the sun moved overhead, the heat had drained much of the energy away. He had seen men collapsing in the road, helped off by their comrades, knew that others were simply slipping away, seeking some brief comfort in patches of blessed shade. He had tried to gather them in, ordering the provosts to bring the stragglers back to the line. Any delay in the march could mean greater danger for the men already facing the enemy. But the sheer brutality of the heat could not be erased by threats of punishment. The provosts were called off, and he hoped that the men who fell away might regain some strength, might rejoin the army in time to give their support.
As he reached Englishtown, he could hear the steady rumble of cannon, knew that around him, the troops were responding to the sounds as he was. The march became energized again, the men focusing on what lay ahead of them. He wanted to push them harder, fought to hold himself in line with the troops. But the sounds were a message that, finally, the enemy was where Washington needed them to be; that finally, there was a fight erupting in the manner of his plans; that finally, if there was any surprise to be suffered, it was suffered by the British.
And then the sounds began to fade. He spurred the horse, leading the staff forward, moved out toward the advance regiments. The sounds of the horses, of the calls from his men obscured any sounds of a fight, and he crested a small hill, stopped, strained to hear. He felt a twist in his stomach, said in a low voice, “Begin . . . now. Surely. Renew the charge.”
He stared ahead, wide fields rolling to the horizon, patches of low trees, deep narrow creeks. And silence.
The column was moving by him still, and he nudged the horse, could only resume the march. His mind was a swirling torrent of questions, and he looked back, saw the faces of the staff, the expectation of what he would say.
“One of you . . . Mr. Hamilton. Go to General Lee. I must know what is happening. Repeat my order, if necessary, that they press the attack.”
Hamilton began to move, slowed his horse again, said, “Sir, there.”
A man was stumbling toward them, a ragged mess of a uniform, no weapon, and Washington could see now he was only a boy. The guards were there now, the boy held by two men, and Washington stopped the horse, said, “Who are you, young man? Are you a soldier?”
The boy stared at him with wide ghostly eyes, his red face a smear of sweat and dirt. One of the guards lifted him upright, said, “You will respond to the general.”
The boy nodded slowly, tried to speak, and Washington saw the shredded insignia on the man’s sleeve, said, “You are a musician? I do not have time for riddles. Who are you, why are you on this road?”
The boy seemed to gather himself, said, “A fifer, sir. I was with General Varnum’s brigade. I have lost my fife.”
He looked at the wild stare from the boy’s eyes, thought, Madness from the heat, certainly. He said to the guards, “See to his care. Send him toward one of the creeks.”
The boy seemed not to hear him, said, “Sir, the army is retreating.”
The words stabbed at him, and he said, “You will use caution. That kind of talk is dangerous.” He looked at the guards now, said, “Hold him under guard. His madness could affect others. We cannot have him spreading such rumors.”
He took a last look at the boy, felt annoyance at the weakness of such a child, turned the horse away. He moved back into the road, tried to calm himself, thought, He is a boy, after all. He cannot be blamed for suffering this heat. But if he is correct . . . I must know. He slapped at the horse with the leather straps, began to ride hard out past