The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [91]
“Yes, I am a doctor. I believe you have come to see my patient, here.”
The man backed up a step, and Washington could see a man on the floor, a thick blanket folded under him. Washington leaned closer, the face old, sunken eyes looking up at him, another officer kneeling beside him. The wounded man said something, his voice faint, and the officer stood now, said, “I am Lieutenant Piel, sir. May I assume you are General Washington?” Washington nodded slowly, still looked to the older man, and Piel said, “This is Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall, sir, in command of the Trenton cantonment. He is . . . we are your prisoners, sir.”
Rall’s face was a pale gray, empty eyes staring past him, barely conscious. Piel spoke to him, and Rall seemed to focus, responded to Piel, who said, “General, Colonel Rall asks no favors for himself. He wishes only that you offer some kindness to his men.”
Washington removed his hat, could see death on the man’s face, said, “Tell the colonel that his men will not be abused.”
Piel conveyed the message, and Washington backed away, moved to the open door. He stepped outside, took a breath of clean air, rid himself of the smell of the church. The doctor had followed him, said, “He will not survive this day, General.”
Washington wasn’t sure how to respond, said, “We regret the loss of so many.”
The doctor reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, handed it to Washington.
“I thought perhaps you should see this, General. I found it in Colonel Rall’s pocket when he was brought here. The note is written in English, thus it is not likely Colonel Rall knew what it said. He is a somewhat stubborn man, did not appreciate the need for an interpreter. Lieutenant Piel is much abused, I’m afraid. I do not know if this is proper, General, but this note mentions you.”
Washington took the paper, saw bloodstains, read the words,
. . . a considerable force of rebels is on the roads north of Trenton . . .
He handed the paper back to the man, said, “It is not improper of you, Doctor. You are no doubt correct. It is apparent he did not read it.”
Washington climbed the horse, the doctor disappearing back into the church. The horse carried him into the streets again, and everywhere he looked, his soldiers were in motion, hauling wagons of supplies, men carrying armloads of muskets. He saw Knox again, the man bouncing heavily on horseback, directing the flow of six brass cannon, hitched now to the horses that would carry them away. Knox saw him, waved to him with joyous informality, moved away with his new guns.
He saw Greene coming toward him, more officers, the horses at a gallop. As they reined up Greene said, “Sir! We have the first reports. The provost has estimated around a thousand prisoners, sir. Perhaps a hundred dead.”
This was the part that Washington dreaded, but saw none of that on Greene’s face.
“General Greene, what were our losses?”
Greene laughed, an odd response, and beside him, another man said, “Colonel Knox had some difficulty, two of his officers received light wounds. Two other men are unaccounted for, lost possibly on the march last night.” The man stopped, and Washington waited for more, said, “What else?”
Greene was still smiling, said, “Nothing else, sir. There were no other casualties.”
Washington felt a strange numbness, disbelief.
“Thank God for that.”
Greene’s smile faded, and he looked at Washington with concern.
“Are you all right, sir? This was a perfect victory, General. Your strategy was without flaw.”
He heard men cheering now, saw a regimental flag held high, the men who captured it parading it through the streets. When they saw the officers, hats went up, the flag held out, and behind them, more men, a second flag, one man holding it aloft on the point of a bayonet. Greene raised his hat, and the men returned the salute. More troops were gathering, and there was music, and Washington saw a drummer, the young man who had given the signal on the bank of the river, the young man’s legs covered now, ill-fitting stockings