The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [316]
The wagons of the wounded had stopped at Cross Creek as well, the horrified citizens reluctantly opening their homes as hospitals. One house had been reserved for the officers, and Cornwallis stepped up on the porch, could already smell that familiar, awful odor, dropped his head for a moment, then stepped through the door. He saw women, a mother and two girls, a heap of clothing already torn into brightly colored bandages. The women ignored him, and he moved past them, followed the smells to a parlor, peered inside. O’Hara was on a small narrow bed, looked up at him, said, “Ah, General, you here to part me from my miseries? I had feared seeing the Almighty before I saw you, sir.”
He was surprised at O’Hara’s spirits, said, “I thought I should see how you’re faring.” He looked at the thick bandage on O’Hara’s leg, and O’Hara said, “That’s the one that hurts, I admit.” He put a hand on his chest, patted gently. “I have been assuming, of course, that this one would be the final blow. The surgeon tells me I barely escaped the reaper. Not so . . . some of us.”
O’Hara’s buoyant mood had no energy behind it, the smile quickly gone. Cornwallis was ashamed, had forgotten that the man’s son did not survive the battle. Lieutenant O’Hara was an artillery officer, had been buried where he was struck down.
“I regret the loss of your son, General.”
“He died the best way a man can, sir. His mother will not understand, of course. Women don’t appreciate those things a soldier accepts. He was a good lad, sir. They are all . . . good lads.”
There was a silent moment, and Cornwallis saw O’Hara fighting himself to hide the emotion.
“I’m hoping, General, that we will have you back in action quite soon.” He paused, said, “How’s General Webster? Any word?”
O’Hara seemed to welcome the change of subject, said, “Webby hasn’t been awake for a while, I’m told. Poor chap. Did the best work of any of us. Took his people straight into that Maryland bunch. Hardest fight of the day. He’s in the rear bedroom. He’d appreciate you looking in on him, sir.”
Cornwallis nodded, knew that O’Hara’s appraisal was right. Webster had driven his men straight up to the heart of Greene’s third line, had been struck down in a horrific confrontation. O’Hara said, “I hear young Tarleton lost a finger.”
“Two, actually. He was fortunate.”
“We are all fortunate, General, those of us who can tell about these exploits. If you don’t mind, sir, can you tell me what our plan is now? I hear the rebels are on our tail.”
“We must continue the march. I had hoped the citizens here would provide more than their parlors.”
O’Hara tried to sit up.
“It is a singular outrage, sir! These people have benefited from His Majesty’s every favor. All the reports of their loyalty, their generosity. They have proven false in every particular. We should not remain another day in the company of such ungrateful people. Scotsmen, indeed!” He dropped back, and Cornwallis saw a twist of pain on the man’s face.
“Easy, General. It is not necessary for you to exert yourself.”
O’Hara was breathing deeply.
“Quite right, sir. It won’t happen again. So, if I may, sir, when do we march?”
“Tomorrow. I have decided to make for Wilmington.”
O’Hara looked at him for a long moment.
“I would have thought . . . Camden.”
It was Cornwallis’ private debate, the agony of a decision only he could make.
“If we continue toward the coast, the rebels will likely follow. That will prevent any danger to Camden, or the other outposts. Wilmington will afford us the protection of the navy, and a reliable source of supply. This colony is a spiderweb of infernal rivers, and I must consider that the rebels will seek opportunity to strike us at vulnerable points. The route to Wilmington is not so inconvenient.”
O’Hara looked away for a moment, and Cornwallis thought, He knows as well as I. If we march to Camden, it is a declaration of defeat, the termination