The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [309]
The road climbed up through a long open field, black earth flecked with the remains of cornstalks. Out in the center of the field, a ragged fence intersected the road, and behind the fence, the first line of militia stood ready.
He had taken Morgan’s experience to heart, the extraordinary strategy that had worked so well at the Cowpens. The first line would be the men from North Carolina, nearly a thousand nervous militia, most of whom had never seen their enemy. The fence would give them blessed protection, split rails stacked in a snaking line. It was Morgan’s lesson, to put the least reliable men in a place where they had little to do but make a show. Greene stood now where the enemy should first appear, and he guessed, four hundred yards to the fence, perhaps more. The open ground in front of them would offer ample opportunity for several clean volleys, and once the British had moved close, the militia knew to withdraw. The militia were protected on their right flank by William Washington’s cavalry, and companies of veteran marksmen, most of the men hidden in the woods that lined the cornfield. Once Harry Lee returned, his horsemen would take up position on the left flank, more protection, and a perfect position to enfilade the British advance.
Behind the North Carolinians, the woods engulfed the road, and here Greene had placed the Virginia militia, another thousand men, huddled now in the protection of the trees. Behind them, another open field led to the town itself, where Greene had placed his most seasoned troops, two regiments of Virginia Regulars under Huger, and two regiments of Marylanders under Otho Williams. If the British advance reached the third line, they would confront the finest soldiers Greene had on the field.
He pointed up the rise, said, “We will take up our position behind the regulars. Until we hear from Colonel Lee, we have no alternative but to wait.”
He heard hoofbeats, looked back down the draw, saw riders rounding a distant curve. They climbed the hill, were clear of the tree-sheltered road. He could see now, it was Harry Lee.
Lee reined up, saluted him, his horse blowing clouds of hot breath, still jostling the young man about. Lee pulled hard on the reins, said, “Whoa, easy there! Sir, I’m surprised to see you here! You intend to start this fight yourself?”
Lee’s joviality was always infectious, but Greene was not in the mood for pleasantries. He looked past Lee, stared down the road, could see the rest of the horsemen in column, moving quickly up the hill.
“You have a report, Colonel?”
“Indeed, sir. Right down thataway is a whole flock of redcoats. A few greencoats too. We had a little confrontation with Tarleton’s boys. Did like you said, held them up a bit, made sure they knew what direction we wanted them to go. As I said, sir, unless you plan to take your place on the skirmish line, I’d be moving on back. Should I send my men out to the left flank, sir? I see the militia boys are set.”
Greene stared down into the woods, moved his horse a few steps forward, listened. Lee’s horsemen were moving past him now, and Greene said, “Yes, proceed to the left flank, Colonel. Dismount your men, put your best marksmen in front.”
Lee gave the order, his officers now leading the way. Lee moved up beside Greene, and, after a long moment, the woods seemed to pulse with a low sound. Gradually the sounds grew louder, and Lee said, “Their drummers are in fine form today, sir.” Lee pointed down into the woods, and around the far curve riders appeared, men with green coats, a flag, the drums rattling a sharp rhythm up the hill.
“As I reported, sir. You were hoping for a fight. I think you have one.”
IT WAS MIDDAY BEFORE THE BRITISH EMERGED IN FORCE ON THE LOW road. They spread into a heavy line, began as they always began, stepping in unison through the field, pushed on by the sounds of the drums. Yet it was not quite like Cowpens. Guilford Court House was a much more vast area, the heavy stands of trees blocking Greene’s view of