The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [288]
He halted the column, and the officers took over, moving the men out of line, marching them toward the clusters of dingy white tents. Ahead, he saw a small tavern, and beyond, some sort of boardinghouse. Officers began emerging from the house, and he pulled the horse to the side of the wide road, studied them as they studied him. One last man came out, short and round, thick glasses perched low on a hawklike nose. It was Horatio Gates.
Greene dismounted, took his time adjusting his coat, annoyed with himself for his nervousness about confronting Gates. He fiddled with his saddle for a moment, saw a groom waiting patiently for the reins to the horse. Greene took a deep breath, handed the leather straps to the groom, who led the horse away. The meeting was unavoidable. Gates was right in front of him.
“General Greene! Welcome to Charlotte! A dusty ride, certainly. Come, we have some refreshment inside.”
The man’s politeness disarmed him, and Greene said, “Yes, certainly. Thank you.”
Gates led the way, the others standing aside, not following, clearly obeying some previous instruction from Gates. Greene moved inside, trailed Gates to a dimly lit dining room, a fat wooden table perched in the center. There was a lantern on the table, and Gates adjusted the light, the room now opening up in a dull yellow glow. Greene saw a bottle, something dark, and Gates retrieved two glasses from a small cabinet, said, “This potion is not what one would expect in New England, but it is passable. Some kind of grape, or perhaps not. A gift from General Sumter. Ah, but you have not met him. You will. Please.” Gates pointed to another chair, and Greene moved slowly, feeling wary, one animal circling another. He still expected some hostile burst from Gates, sat slowly. Gates held up a glass.
“To your success, General, the success of our cause.”
Greene raised his glass, tasted the liquid, something like wine, very sweet. Gates set his glass down, waited for a moment, said, “Is there something you need to tell me, General?”
“Yes, sir. I suppose I should make this official. General Gates, by order of the Congress of the United States, you are relieved of command of the Southern Department of the Continental Army. I am your replacement.”
“I acknowledge your command. Congratulations, General Greene. May your fortunes be blessed to a greater degree than my own.”
It was not the reception he expected.
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please, Nathanael, formalities are not required.”
“You still outrank me, sir.”
“Not any longer. With your arrival, my service to this army is concluded. I shall return to my home in Virginia. I have learned that there is no place in this army for a man who trusts too deeply in the abilities of his soldiers.”
Greene was not yet prepared to regard Gates as a civilian, said, “I’m not certain I understand, sir.”
“Unlike so many in General Washington’s command, I have been a champion of militia. I have always believed that a man will fight more fiercely and more dependably if he is close to his own home. Without the support of militia, I do not believe I could have defeated General Burgoyne. However, the Almighty has played a tragic game in this theater. I had every reason to believe these men would show the courage of their brothers at Saratoga. A foolish mistake. They have done me in, Nathanael. They have put an end to my career, erased my laurels. Your journey here took you through Philadelphia, certainly. Tell me what you heard.”
“I’m not certain I can comply, sir.”
“Then I’ll tell you. ‘He ran away. The gallant Gates abandoned his army.’ They weren’t here, Nathanael. It was shameful in the extreme. No man should be expected to lead such a rabble of cowards and misfits. I believed in them, and they rewarded