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By Root 1283 0

and Cornwallis could see the fierce gleam in Clinton’s eye. Of course. Charleston. The overall plan could work, the Carolinas peopled by enough loyalist support that the rebels would have no means to hold the place. But first would come the landing, the necessary capture of the one place that was a dark stain on Clinton’s record. It had been an embarrassment for Cornwallis as well, his first confrontation of the war, a clumsy and arrogant attack against an invulnerable position, manned by rebels who were commanded by Charles Lee. That was an embarrassment as well, even though the rebel prisoners themselves had no respect for Lee, claimed only to serve William Moultrie. Moultrie had constructed the fortification that Clinton and Admiral Peter Parker had tried to destroy, and the result was catastrophic for the British navy. Both the strategy and the planning had been disastrous, the first experience Cornwallis had with arrogant assumptions of rebel weakness. Whether Clinton had learned those lessons from nearly four years before remained to be seen. But Cornwallis knew that if Charleston was the first objective, those memories would be hard in Clinton’s mind.

DECEMBER 1779

“Do you believe he is correct?”

Cornwallis studied the old man for a long moment, said, “Does it matter?”

Knyphausen shouted the words, “Of course it matters! No matter if General Clinton is right or wrong, it will matter! This war cannot last for so many more years. I receive news from my king. He is concerned that already this war is bankrupting your empire. Now we fight the French as well? You cannot sail to South Carolina and pretend you are simply doing the bidding of your commanding officer! You have a part in this! You owe that to your king!”

Cornwallis accepted Knyphausen’s scolding, felt weak, a dull sense of shame.

“I will perform what duty I am required to perform. I do not believe General Clinton will allow me much authority. He still believes I am his enemy.”

“He believes every officer in this command is his enemy.” Knyphausen laughed, surprising Cornwallis. “I have never seen anyone like him, General. He is truly skilled at strategy, far more than General Howe. But I wonder if he has the ability to take a plan from the paper to the field. That must be your duty. You are the skilled hand at tactics. Together, the two of you are an ideal command. Ah, but to General Clinton, there is no . . . together.”

“How will you fare here?”

The old man shrugged.

“There will be no trouble here, unless the French navy comes. Even then . . . I am not too concerned. Both of you, your navy, theirs. Is it so difficult to find an admiral who does not sail his ships like a blind man stepping through rocks? It is fortunate for both you and the French that you build good ships. You do not build good sailors.”

Cornwallis would not argue the point, said, “They are still good men. They are used poorly. Someone will emerge, when there is need.”

Knyphausen raised a finger, smiled.

“Ah, but on which side?”

Cornwallis stood.

“I should return. The men are boarding the flatboats. The loading is to commence.”

Knyphausen rose slowly, and Cornwallis saw a sadness on the old man’s face. Knyphausen moved toward him, stood close, touched his arm.

“When next I see you, it is possible the war will be over. You may be the hero. I wish that for you.”

Cornwallis felt a hard knot in his throat, lowered his head. He felt angry at himself, embarrassed. Since his return, it had been difficult for him to control his emotions. The soft wound inside him was opened up too easily, and he wiped at his eyes, took the old man’s hand.

“My apologies, sir. I shall miss your counsel. It is quite possible that you may be the hero as well.”

Knyphausen shook his head.

“No. General Clinton has chosen the right man to stay behind. You must make certain he has chosen the right man to lead his attack.”

DECEMBER 26, 1779

It took more than two weeks to move the army to the big ships. The weather had turned quickly, erasing any hope that this winter would be as mild as the one