The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [77]
He would not focus on that, knew that Pennsylvania would allow Washington to move in many directions, his meager force vanishing into the vast farmlands. It is winter, after all, and there can be no long marches in winter. The weather had continued to change, from chilly and dry to the icy misery of blinding storms. He tried to imagine the scene in the rebel camp, each day closer to bloody disaster or some kind of salvation. Washington knows his situation, of course. The man is no fool. He has a dwindling army of shopkeepers and farmers, and he cannot stand up to us at all, not now, not after so much of his strength has simply fallen away. He needs the river, and he needs us to dawdle and delay. Cornwallis turned in the saddle, looked back down the moving column, did not see Howe. He felt relief, looked again to the front, saw a church steeple above a thicket of trees, then more buildings, small houses, shops. They had reached Trenton.
THE TROOPS RACED AHEAD OF HIM, AND HE WAVED THEM FORWARD with the sword, but there were few sounds, scattered pops, the sudden burst from one cannon. But it was not a fight, there were no lines of rebels waiting for them, the cannon his own, a futile shot across the river.
He reined in the horse, looked across from a high bluff, could see rebels in motion, pulling boats up the far bank. The shoreline was a solid mass of boats, all shapes and sizes, some crude and unfinished, fishing vessels and simple rafts. But the boats were empty, their human cargo already gone. His men were firing across the river, at the last of Washington’s rear guard, but there was little return fire. He ignored the pleas from his staff to back away, knew there was no danger. No, it could not have been more perfect. We gave them exactly what they required, exactly the amount of time they would need to safely cross the river. General Howe will have his critics again, his enemies in London claiming he delayed with purpose, leniency to the rebels. They will not know how it is to be out here, marching this army through eighty miles of bad roads and dismal weather.
He felt himself sagging in the saddle, drained by the long days of this ridiculous pursuit, this absurd chase through land that meant nothing to anyone but General Howe. The last of the rebels were moving off, disappearing into the trees, while around him, his men continued to form solid lines along the edge of the river. Officers were beginning to gather, and he heard the curses of the sergeants, could hear Hessian troops shouting something across the river, their own curses. There was no shooting, the targets far away, the enemy beyond even his own imagination. The word rolled through his brain, Pennsylvania, his mind a fog of weariness and anger. He felt paralyzed, could not even see the river, stared at nothing, swallowed up by the great wide hole in his mind, the abyss, where that man and that ridiculous army had disappeared, had escaped again.
DECEMBER 14, 1776
They had stayed in Trenton for several days, the army settling into their camps in a dull haze of frustration. He had sent scouts out along the river, and the reports had not surprised him at all. There were no boats to be found, none, of any shape or kind. Washington had been very thorough. For many miles in both directions, the rebels had pulled every craft that could float to the west side of the Delaware River.
He was pacing the shoreline, staring at muddy water, had made this his routine now, walking out every day, while Howe kept to his lavish and comfortable headquarters.