The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [330]
Lafayette saw the British horsemen turn away, disappear into a row of trees, as they had done each day.
“I’m concerned it is not a game. The enemy has one avenue left to him. We are standing upon it.”
Wayne lowered his glasses.
“You think he’ll try it? It would be foolish. We’d cut him up bad.”
“Perhaps. If he came in one tight formation, drove into one flank or the other, I’m not sure we could stop him. Not completely.”
“Then let him come, sir. We’re ready, that’s for certain. Your French boys over there would probably like a shot at those lobster-backs too.”
Lafayette turned his horse.
“I should see General Saint-Simon. Caution him to guard his flanks. The British might even attempt some movement by night. Surprise us.”
Wayne moved beside him.
“Why? General, I don’t understand your concern. It would be a slaughter for the British to try to bust through here.”
Lafayette could not escape the nagging discomfort inside him. He had not enjoyed a meal for several days, his own body protesting every bite. He was suffering his breakfast, some strange pudding of cornmeal, sweetened with molasses, now a brick in his gut. He looked at Wayne, saw a strange smile, and Wayne said, “Sir, all they can do is exactly what we want them to do. We’re ready for them.”
“General, if they move against us here, it is because they have no other alternative. Cornwallis certainly knows he is trapped. Any move he makes now is likely born of desperation. That makes him very dangerous. If the British are faced with the choice of surrender or fight, I am not so certain that they will choose surrender. Our strength is nearly equal, yet we still employ a large number of militia. He has only his regulars, and they will fight like animals to escape.”
“No animal can stand up to a musket, sir. With all respects. Are you telling me you’re afraid of a confrontation? What do you think we should do, pull back?”
“Certainly not, General. I am only concerned that we not allow ourselves to feel . . . relaxed. We are in a stalemate here. Until General Washington arrives, we are not strong enough to change that.”
HE HAD SPENT THE REST OF THE DAY LEADING HIS SMALL STAFF ON A nervous ride from outpost to outpost, from picket lines to the main fortifications. He knew Wayne thought him overly cautious, the outspoken Pennsylvanian probably joking about him behind his back. The French troops were as nonchalant as Wayne, Saint-Simon holding them at their posts with mild impatience, wondering if their young commander truly had the backbone for a fight. It added to his nervousness that the officers he now commanded didn’t seem to understand that they had a beast in a cage, and that the cage could be weaker than they believed. He yearned for spies, the kind of men Washington had in New York. He had marveled at their astounding courage and ingenuity, men who could learn the most secret of orders, could impart such amazing misinformation that had fooled the British command, possibly saving Washington’s army. No, I must only sit here and watch their cavalry scouts. And if I am fortunate, Cornwallis does not have his spies. For if he does, then he will know my fears, he will find our weakness. Surely he must try to escape us, must break out of this cage. There is only one route, and it must pass through here. If he breaks past us, even part of his army, he can march into North Carolina again. And I will have failed General Washington.
It was nearly dark, Williamsburg a distant scattering of candlelight. He could smell the smoke of the campfires, the empty rumble in his stomach warning him of the inevitability of another miserable meal. He turned the horse, climbed a hill, moved into a wide road. The sun was low in the far treetops, the ground a soft gray haze. The two aides were close behind him, the squad of guards behind them. There had been no protest from his men, who seemed not to care if he led them over every inch of his lines. He glanced back, said, “Time to eat, gentlemen. You would certainly be hungry.”
There were low mumbles of approval, and