The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [66]
Riding quickly, Washington had come with only a small guard, his part of the army making camp around his new headquarters at Hackensack, nearly six miles away. The man’s face was drawn, the dust of a long day’s march covering every part of him, and Greene’s aides had quickly brought a comfortable chair, one man stoking the fire in the small stone fireplace of Greene’s cabin. Washington sat heavily, had barely spoken, and Greene could feel the man’s exhaustion, heard the deep steady breathing. There was coffee now, and Washington accepted it gratefully, held the steaming cup in his hands, continued to stare at the fire. Greene waved the staff away, the door closing, the two men now alone, the dark room lit only by the fire. Washington set the cup down beside him, and Greene could see more than the man’s weariness, the sharp blue eyes dulled by sadness. Washington said, “I expected a better reception, General.”
Greene sat upright, glanced around the room, a moment of slight panic.
“I’m sorry, sir, what is wrong?”
Washington saw the look, shook his head. “No, not here. Forgive me, Mr. Greene. I had thought . . . when I began the march toward Hackensack, I was given cause for optimism. The New Jersey officials I met along the way were most insistent that their state would rise to this occasion. I was given reason to expect a gathering of fresh militia, some five thousand strong. That’s the reception I refer to.”
“Five thousand New Jersey militia? Did they appear, sir?”
Washington looked at the fire again, said slowly, “Two hundred fourteen.”
Greene didn’t know how to respond, had seen no great outpouring of fresh troop strength himself since he had been at Fort Lee.
“I have heard of no such report, sir. I would certainly have advised you.”
Washington held up his hand, said, “No, not your concern, Mr. Greene. I was overly optimistic. I expected this state to respond differently than the other twelve. But there is no good reason why. The congress has made many a call for enlistments in the army, for new regiments. The response continues to be . . . minimal. I should not be surprised that expecting five thousand local militia, only two hundred appear. And, of course, three-quarters of them have no muskets.” He paused, looked at Greene again, the sadness reflected in the firelight. “All we are asking them to do . . . is defend their homes. Is there such sacrifice in that?”
Greene felt strangely helpless, an eager son, trying to cheer the father.
“Sir, we have close to four thousand in the outposts here. General, you know my lack of confidence in militia. With the ground we command, militia are not necessary.”
Washington sat back in the chair, closed his eyes for a brief moment, then blinked hard, said, “So, you have decided not to withdraw?”
The arguments in Greene’s mind flooded over him, and he sorted his words, said, “Sir, if we withdraw, the morale of the army will be damaged severely. We would ask them to abandon weeks of work, a defensive position that might well be . . . perfect. The high points to the north of the fort command the King’s Bridge, the artillery easily controlling the crossing. The British cannot make use of that part of the island without great inconvenience. We overlook the main road southward for two miles, our guns control all the land from the Hudson to the Harlem River, and despite the ineffectiveness of the barricade, any ship passing upriver