The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [339]
THE BOAT HAD BROUGHT TARLETON QUICKLY ACROSS THE RIVER, THE artillery seeming to ignore it as an unworthy target. The young man stood before him now, still held to his glow of self-importance. Cornwallis said, “I regret I do not have an additional chair, Colonel. Undamaged furniture is something of a rarity. I require you to send over those boats in your service. How many can you provide?”
Tarleton hesitated, said, “Do you intend to bring the army across to Gloucester Point, sir?”
“What I intend is for you to send your boats, Colonel.”
He had no patience for answering questions, felt the ground shake beneath him from the impact of a shell, a shower of dirt raining on the tent. Tarleton seemed to be unaware, looked past him, the habit Cornwallis found more annoying now than ever.
“Sir, I merely wish to know if we are finally going to advance the army into the countryside. You will certainly require the services of my Legion. With all respects, sir, I should know your plans.”
Cornwallis held tight to his words, said in a low hiss, “I would prefer it, Colonel, if you would look at me when you address me.”
The bravado began to slip away from the young man, Tarleton’s eyes slowly finding him.
“Much better, Colonel. My plan is to evacuate this position this evening and place the army in a position to break out of your works across the river. Am I correct that the forces to your front would be easily removed?”
Tarleton was looking at him now, said quietly, “Yes, sir. They number no more than a thousand, perhaps fewer.”
“Once we are on the march, it will be difficult for Washington to pursue us. His numbers are too many, his supply train no doubt too cumbersome. The advantage of mobility, for once, will be ours.”
Tarleton seemed to light up, a small glimmer of excitement.
“Quite, sir! There will be nothing to stand in our path. We can make straightaway for Carolina!”
He felt none of Tarleton’s excitement, thought a moment.
“Colonel, does it not bother you that we would be marching away from what is presumed to be our salvation?”
“I’m not sure what you mean, sir. Are you referring to General Clinton? The fleet? If I may be so frank, sir, I have not had much faith in such promises of salvation.”
“You may not be so frank, Colonel. Return to Gloucester Point immediately. Send me those boats.”
The young man was gone quickly, and Cornwallis walked outside the tent, could smell a hard odor of sulfur, the smoke from the town drifting out past him. He would not watch Tarleton’s boat, could not endure any part of the young man’s arrogance for a second more. He tried to think ahead, the march, his battered army moving again into the Virginia countryside. They would leave behind every piece of baggage, every conveyance for supply, would abandon the few ships still at anchor, and possibly the sailors who manned them. Any wounded would be left behind as well, the army keeping to its feet with all the energy the men could muster. The word stuck in his brain: Carolinas. It was an extraordinary distance for an army with no food supply and few if any friends along the way. The horses would be the first casualties, forage no doubt impossible to find. In the end, it might come down to the sacrifice of those noble animals. He had already harbored the awful thought, slaughtering the horses for meat, possibly the last desperate means to feeding his army.
A shell whistled close overhead, solid iron smashing against the wharf, shattering timbers, then bounding in a high arc and landing with a hard splash in the water. He did not move, felt a cold numbness in his legs, spreading