The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [93]
If the British responded as Washington believed they must, there would have to be a new plan. To just sit and wait at Trenton was unlikely to bring any kind of success. But there could be no strategy until he knew what he was facing. From the beginning of the New York campaign, his strategy had formed itself around the needs of the moment, dealing with the new crisis at hand. Well before the British would reach his defenses, Washington had a crisis of a different sort. Many of those men who had already served, who had become veterans, were now preparing to leave, their enlistments expired. Washington had recently received a newly published pamphlet, authored by Thomas Paine, which expressed exactly the sentiment that Washington had to communicate to his troops. The Crisis was a call for the country to offer up its men as soldiers, an earnest and passionate plea for sacrifice as the only means of saving the country. Washington had read the paper and envied Paine’s eloquence, had little confidence in his own. But he would make the effort, speak to the men, and offer his own plea for his army to remain together. Though he might still raise an army for a spring campaign, the new recruits would have none of the backbone of these soldiers, and whatever advantage had been gained against the British would be lost. The victory at Trenton would mean nothing at all.
THE SOLDIERS LINED UP ALONG THE BANKS OF THE RIVER, SUMMONED by the drums of their regiments. Washington waited for the entire line to settle into place, looked at each man, rugged faces, little trace of a uniform, some with arms wrapped in shredded blankets, rags tied around their feet. He was surprised to see the quiet respect, no grumbling, no one protesting why they would have to hear a speech from the commanding general. When the drums grew quiet, he rode out in front of them, sat high on the white horse, gathered his energy.
“You here today are soldiers. At long last we have cause to celebrate. You have given your nation a victory. But it is not the final battle, and your nation is desperate that you remain here to ensure that our triumph does not simply fade away.” He gazed along the front line, tried to feel their mood, but the faces were mostly expressionless, simply watching him, waiting for more. His words seemed flat, his nervousness was growing, his frustration at the clumsiness, the unskilled oratory.
“We are anticipating reinforcements. You have heard the rumors, and I believe them to be true, that several hundred men are on the march here from Philadelphia. Some of you feel that it is their turn. Your place in the line of fire should be held by someone else, someone who has not yet done his part. I hope you will reconsider. If the raw recruit stands beside another raw recruit, it is not an army. But if he stands beside you, if he stands beside a soldier, then he will fight like a soldier. We cannot train so many fresh recruits for the duty that lies so close in front of us. I need you to show them what they must do. I beseech you to remain, to reenlist.” There was still no response from the men, and he began to feel a blossoming depression. His words were not reaching them.
He had begged congress to send him funds, enough to provide a bounty to each man who reenlisted. But he had heard nothing thus far, knew that with their scamper to Baltimore, most of the congress was more interested in preserving their own necks than in providing for his army. And now the men in front of him were showing no enthusiasm for his words, and his frustration was growing. If a bounty was required, if that was what would inspire them, he would pay it himself.
“Any man who remains, who shall sign up for six more weeks, will be paid a bounty of ten dollars.” It was pure desperation, and he saw men glancing at each other. No one seemed convinced. “I would ask you now, any man who chooses to reenlist, please step forward.”
He moved the horse away, turned, watched them. There were low murmurs along the lines, but no one moved. He gave them a long moment,