The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [27]
He saw a group of officers farther upriver, moved the horse that way, the aides behind him in single file. He could see Clinton now, surrounded by his staff, Clinton’s expression a reflection of his own sullen mood. Cornwallis saluted, and both staffs moved away, protocol, the two senior commanders left alone. There was a long moment, and finally Clinton said, “We made a grand show, General. To those farmers and shopkeepers it must have been an awe-inspiring sight, a perfect display of the king’s might. It is unfortunate that our commanding general didn’t know what to do with it.”
It was another of Clinton’s indiscretions, something he would never say publicly. Clinton looked at him now, and Cornwallis could see no concern on the man’s face, thought, I suppose . . . he trusts me.
“I had thought there might have been a better plan.” It was as far as Cornwallis would go with a superior. Clinton ignored his caution, stared out toward the river, said, “There was no better plan. There was a legacy to be adhered to, to be feared: the legacy of Breed’s Hill. I wish you had been there, General. Boston: another grand show, all the pageantry and bluster, marching up that hill to victory. Never mind that it was a disaster. The field was ours. Never mind that we left nearly half our troops on the ground. We were victorious. But it was a mistake that General Howe will not make again.” He looked at Cornwallis now, black despair in his eyes. “I advised against that assault, you know. There was the perfect opportunity to go around, cut the rebel retreat from behind. It was almost too simple a plan. But of course, there would not have been such . . . pageantry.”
Cornwallis knew little of the strategy of that awful day over a year ago, had read only what the ministry had put in the official dispatches. But of course, Clinton was always a strategist, had all the experience in Europe. He would always have his own plan, would dissent freely from his commander, even unwisely. It was easy now to say he might have been right about Breed’s Hill. But this was a different fight. The rebels who poured into the fortifications here were already defeated, infected with panic. What kind of stand could they have made? For Howe to be ignorant of that was to be ignorant of the power of his own army. But worse, to know the enemy’s weakness and not act upon it . . . well, there will be as much hindsight here as there was at Breed’s Hill. He stayed silent, and Clinton pointed out across the river, said, “They cannot hold New York. The island is simply too big, and there are not enough of them. It is ours for the taking. Just like this place, right behind us.”
Cornwallis had considered that, said, “What they have left of an army could well be dispersed already. They may have no more fight left. This war may be over. But if we must continue to fight, the army is rested, prepared. Has General Howe given you some indication of when we might proceed?” He kept the sarcasm out of his voice, and Clinton surprised him now, laughed.
“Proceed? You mean, make another grand assault against a weak and pitiful enemy? No, General, I have received no orders to prepare for a landing on Manhattan. Will there be one? Most certainly. Whether or not the army is rested and prepared is hardly the issue. When the enemy was in chaos, falling back into these fortifications in a complete rout, we were prepared then. If we had followed them with the same dispatch with which we had begun the attack, this war would certainly be over now. General Washington would be sharing tea with General Howe, his surrendered sword a souvenir, the object of pride to this command.”
Cornwallis glanced at the staff officers, knew Clinton’s voice was carrying. Clinton caught the look, lowered his voice, said, “General, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. But I have confidence in your abilities,