The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [278]
“General Rochambeau, you ask a fair question. I do not have the most satisfying answer. We are a nation who knows little of building armies. We do not have great feudal estates peopled by workers who lay down their shovels and axes and take up the swords of their lord because he requires it. It is not our way. The American people are concerned that one tyrant will replace another. If we defeat the British, what will follow? Will there be another oppression, from the hand of our own soldiers perhaps? We created this nation from a collection of ideas, words on a piece of paper. There is no ruling order, no class of warriors to call on. From the beginning, we relied on militia, to take to the field when there is need. We have learned that it is a system that does not serve well in the face of a strong enemy, or in the face of a wider war. A man in Connecticut can be expected to defend his home, but it is not so simple to convince that man to fight for Virginia. Under my urging, the congress has granted this command the power to raise a Continental Army, and we have been somewhat successful. But those troops serve for a period of time, and when that time expires, they are free to go home. My men have given so much to this cause, and many of them ask the same question as you. Why does not the great mass of citizens turn out in support? Perhaps, General, they must be given guidance. Perhaps there are many people who do not yet understand that this cause is worthy of sacrifice. Perhaps they have not been offered a leader who inspires them. I . . . simply do not know.”
Lafayette completed the translation, then said, “It is not true, General.”
Washington motioned him to silence again, then looked at Rochambeau, saw puzzlement, thought, He does not understand. How can I expect that, when I do not understand myself? He put his hands flat on the table, leaned forward, said, “General Rochambeau, what must we do to gain your cooperation?”
“I am here only to obey, General. But we have been inconvenienced by our enemy. It is the nature of war. We must allow ourselves patience.”
Patience. The word bit him. He thought of Greene, imagined him at this table, that word so likely to inspire an explosion. Rochambeau seemed to read him, said, “General, the British are not going to leave their base in New York very soon. We must seek opportunity. You spoke of faith. Perhaps this is the example. I have already made a study of this war, of your adversaries. General Clinton is a man of lofty planning and poor execution. Allow him the time to open the door. My troops will remain a formidable presence in Newport. We will not abandon you, General.”
The meeting was concluded, and Washington was saluted again with the inflated tokens of affection.
He began the journey back to his headquarters in a somber silence. He scolded himself for having such high expectations, for believing that Rochambeau could be a savior. He felt drained of hope, absorbed the rhythm of the horse, staring blankly ahead. His thoughts settled into dull blackness, and he fought and grappled with his own despair. The struggle was too familiar, and he knew that tomorrow would cleanse much of it away. Once he was back at his headquarters, the business of the army would occupy him, consume him, push the despair into some dark hole in his mind.
He rode now through a cascade of falling leaves, a warm breeze that pulled them from the tall trees. He looked up, the roadway darkened above him by soft blankets of red and gold. It would not be so long before the trees were stripped bare yet again, another winter for his army to suffer. He focused ahead, thought of West Point. He had sent word of his arrival, had thought a pleasant night there might ease his mood. It had been a long while since he had enjoyed a comfortable meal with a couple as pleasantly sociable as Benedict Arnold and his charming young wife.
45. ARNOLD
NEAR WEST POINT, NEW YORK,
SEPTEMBER 1780
HE WAITED IN THE BACK ROOM OF THE HOUSE, STARED OUT TO thick woods. He focused on the shadows, longer now,