The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [72]
He saw three jagers moving back toward him, escorting a scowling civilian, and Cornwallis did not stop the horse, moved past the man, who cursed at him as he went by. Cornwallis smiled, ignored the man, thought, There will be much cursing by the end of this day. Just be grateful, sir, that you are not a soldier. Those Hessians might not be so gentle.
It was a reminder of something he hoped never to see again, and the smile faded. As Fort Washington fell, the Hessians were the closest to the main rebel position, had made their advance from the ground on the northernmost part of Manhattan, the most difficult terrain imaginable. They had pushed through swamps, climbed up over rocky cliffs, all the while enduring waves of musket fire and well-placed artillery from the rebel defense. The cost had been enormous, and most of Howe’s casualties that day had in fact been among the Hessians. When they reached the walls of Fort Washington, and Magaw had surrendered, the exhaustion and brutality of the day gave way to revenge, and the Hessians would not recognize the white flag. The rebel prisoners were unarmed and helpless, and the Hessians had attacked them with the bayonet. It was a slaughter that had alarmed their own officers and horrified the British. Angry demands from red-coated officers had finally pushed the Hessian commanders into action, and the chaos had been brought to an end. The British had been outraged, the Hessians’ officers mildly apologetic for the loss of control. Cornwallis had seen the aftermath, the rebel bodies stacked in bloody heaps, Hessian soldiers still shouting their curses at terrified prisoners.
He glanced to the side now, the rows of helmeted troops staring ahead, a mindless force, marching toward their duty. He thought of de Heister, the old Hessian general merely shrugging his shoulders when told what his men had done, his only comment, “War turns man into beast.”
Well, perhaps. But it was a horror that would last, far beyond the emotion of that battle, of watching your own men die beside you. The British soldiers would look at their allies differently now. The Hessian soldier was simply not the same, was not taught respect for life. He looked again at the faces beside him, thought, If they fight out of fear of punishment, and not loyalty, then they still have a camaraderie that is no less powerful than our own. Even if you care nothing for generals or kings, you will come to care about the man beside you, the soldier who has shared every horror you have. And when he is killed, you will seek revenge. He looked ahead, another small house, more jagers emerging with another civilian in tow. This one was not cursing, seemed gripped by a raw terror, whimpering softly. Cornwallis looked at the man’s tears, realized now, yes, the absolute fear. These people may hate us, might spit and curse at the British soldier. But they are terrified of the Hessians. The image of the slaughter at Fort Washington was still in his mind, and he felt the disgust, but something else as well. The rebels have forsaken the dignity of the civilized soldier, to fight a war befitting the savage. What the Hessians did to their prisoners is no different. If the rebels insist on waging an uncivilized war, we clearly have troops who will oblige them. Is that, after all, a bad thing?
He heard a sudden burst of musket fire, a brief chatter, could see troops in the trees ahead, Ewald’s men coming together, rushing forward. There were more muskets now, but only a few, far to the front, and he turned, motioned to an aide, said, “Find Captain Ewald. I must know what they are confronting.”
The man rode past him quickly, disappeared into the trees, and Cornwallis saw the face of a Hessian officer, looking at him, waiting some instruction.
“No, keep your men in column. We must