The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [320]
ROCHAMBEAU’S INTERPRETER NOW WAS MAJOR GENERAL FRANçOIS-JEAN de Beauvoir, Chevalier de Chastellux. He was also one of Rochambeau’s senior commanders, and the most educated and literate man Washington had ever met. While Chastellux was perfectly pleased to be interpreter, it was clear he was taking advantage of his position to gather information for a revealing book about life in America. It was a source of intense curiosity to Washington, if not somewhat intimidating. Washington realized that Chastellux might well record on paper every word Washington spoke.
Rochambeau had made himself at home at Dobbs Ferry, a pleasant village perched in the Hudson highlands. The graciousness had continued, dinners in Washington’s honor, invitations to inspect the French troops. He had become accustomed to the arrival of parcels of all size, gifts from Rochambeau and the senior officers in his command, an amazing array of trinkets and artifacts that Washington accepted with polite appreciation.
He accepted yet another invitation to visit Rochambeau, to witness some display of drill and small arms that the Frenchman seemed especially proud to demonstrate. But Washington had seen enough of the perfect white uniforms, had come to know by heart the particular regiments, signified by the color of their finely stitched trim. The display had been predictable, more about show than combat, the perfect precision of men on parade. Washington smiled with his host, applauded at what seemed to be the appropriate moments. It was not so different than what von Steuben had brought to Valley Forge, but to Rochambeau, and his entire command, it seemed a particular point of pride.
The event had concluded, and Washington was already tired, was nagged by a dull pain in his jaw. His teeth had been giving him considerable difficulty, adding to his sour mood. But his hosts were all smiles, and Washington forced his own politeness. As the senior staff retired into Rochambeau’s lavish quarters, Chastellux moved close to him, said, “General, if you are so disposed, General Rochambeau wishes to speak with you privately.”
“Certainly.” It was somewhat unusual, Rochambeau not often particular about the number of staff or officers who attended their meetings. Chastellux led him into Rochambeau’s office, stood to one side, and Rochambeau was there now, pulled the door closed behind him. Rochambeau did not sit, looked at Chastellux, who began to translate, “I must inform you, General, of a somewhat troublesome situation.”
Washington felt the throb in his jaw, a hard burning pain. What now?
“If we are to commence a new campaign against the British, the fleet at Newport is inadequate to serve our needs, as you are aware. Admiral Barras has been most insistent that since the infantry has removed itself from his protection, Newport is a dangerous place for him to stay. I admit to you, General, with some embarrassment, that this is a disagreement that is annoying to me. The admiral wishes to remove his fleet to Boston, and has even suggested he begin a naval operation with the intent of assaulting British interests at Newfoundland.”
Washington could not hold back.
“Newfoundland?”
Rochambeau smiled. “It is not of concern, General.”
Washington moved to a chair, his weariness betraying him, sat down, said, “General Rochambeau, it is entirely my concern. If Admiral Barras does not intend to provide his warships for our assistance, we cannot accomplish a great deal anywhere in this theater of the war.”
Rochambeau glanced at Chastellux, said, “General, I am in