The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [59]
“General Leslie, allow me to repeat my question. Have you been ordered to make a crossing . . . somewhere?”
Leslie seemed uncertain how to respond, cleared his throat, said, “The order came this morning, sir. General Howe . . . oh, dear me. Were you not informed? This is highly . . . it is not seemly for a junior officer to convey orders to his senior. I’m not at all certain what I should do . . .”
“Good God, General, just tell me where you’re going. I’ve been out on the line all morning, questioning deserters. What orders?”
Cornwallis’ explanation seemed to soothe the man, and Leslie said, “Oh, quite, sir. Yes, that would explain . . . Orders, sir, to board the flatboats in the East River. Lord Percy is to remain in command here, while the army makes the journey to the Throg’s Neck. The orders are from General Howe, of course, sir.” Leslie’s discomfort seemed to return, and Cornwallis held up a hand, said, “All right, General. Don’t trouble yourself further. I will go to headquarters immediately. Thank you for the information. You did nothing untoward. I am quite certain that as we speak, one of General Howe’s couriers has been sent to find me out in this wilderness. As long as I remain near the advance lines, he will likely confine his search to whatever tavern he may find, until he can deliver his dispatch in safety.”
He moved the horse, the staff coming alive behind him, then turned to Leslie again, ignored the grateful relief on the man’s face.
“If you don’t mind my asking, General, what the devil is a throg’s neck?”
IT IS TIME, GENTLEMEN! WE HAVE THE REBELS EXACTLY WHERE WE WISH them to be, and our only job now is to round them up! Rather like draining the water from a container of live fish. There lies Mr. Washington, ingloriously flopping about!”
There was laughter now, and Howe basked in the attention, a quick glance to the servants and staff. They began to laugh as well, as ordered. It was a grand party, the headquarters crowded with the brightest light of loyalist New York. The banquet table was spread with every manner of treat that could be procured, the servants slipping in and out discreetly removing the rapidly emptying platters, bottles of wine flowing into a sea of glasses.
Howe moved around the table, and Cornwallis backed up a step, allowed him to pass, caught the smell of perfume, not all of it belonging to Howe. In one corner stood the plump blond woman who had been Howe’s greatest priority in New York, and Cornwallis was used to her now, even the jokes about Mrs. Loring becoming stale. It was obvious to Cornwallis, if not to the entire senior command, that Howe was going to enjoy his dalliance no matter what anyone said, and no matter what military matters might arise. The war would not end without General Howe, and the commanders now understood, it would be General Howe who would decide when.
Howe took Mrs. Loring’s hand, made a great show of kissing her white glove, and Cornwallis could not help thinking of her husband. What kind of man . . . he wiped the question away. He already knew the answer. Loring must certainly have sought some position requiring some level of prestige and no real work. Howe had promoted the man to be his commissioner of prisoners, a rather uncomplicated job that produced a reasonable salary. In his gratitude, all Loring had to do was ignore the behavior and the whereabouts of his wife. Howe returned to the table, poked among the sliced meats, and Cornwallis thought, A happy man. Well, of course. He has an accommodating woman, a jolly audience. And finally he has a plan.
Howe allowed the noisy commotion in the room to grow quiet, and the audience seemed to understand he was ready to speak again. He waited a last silent moment, dramatic effect, said, “Once we have burst upon the rear of the rebel position, it will be as wrapping