The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [97]
The headquarters at Princeton was under the command of Cornwallis’ friend Alexander Leslie, but the overall commander of the lengthy line of New Jersey posts was General James Grant. Grant was an accomplished veteran of English wars dating back over thirty years, and brought to his command a thorough disregard for the rebels, and especially for the leadership of George Washington. Grant had once made the boisterous claim to a session of Parliament that with an army of five thousand men, he could conquer all of America himself. It was a speech designed to please the newspapers, but there were no rebel marksmen in the halls of Parliament. Cornwallis would not embarrass Grant, was not riding to the front to find fault. Grant was still an exceptional field commander, and though his boastful disdain for the rebels had become a sad irony, Cornwallis knew there was an opportunity still, that if Washington was to hold on to his victory in Trenton, he might attempt to hold Trenton itself. Despite Rall’s defeat, one thing had not changed. If there was a major confrontation, the rebels were still no match for the British army. Though Howe might believe fighting in winter to be uncivilized, there might yet be an opportunity to end this war.
He rode into Princeton wondering how Grant would respond to his arrival, knew that the older man would certainly not expect him so soon. Nothing had ever been done in this army with speed, but delays now could give Washington a dangerous power. The longer the British took to respond, the greater the chance that public opinion would swing toward the rebel cause. The result could be a sudden influx of militia to Washington’s army, an enormous increase in morale. Whether or not that would matter on the battlefield, it would certainly matter to congress, and to Parliament.
He rode past the college again, saw a few lanterns, guard posts placed at the intersections. He led a company of dragoons, and the guards welcomed the horsemen with raised arms and cheers, few realizing that Cornwallis himself was among them. They turned down a side street, moved toward headquarters, and Cornwallis began to dread seeing Grant, thought, He should not have been in command of such an important position, especially with its most vulnerable outpost manned by Hessians. It was a problem for most of the British commanders, the awkward relationship between British and Hessian officers that might now be worse than ever. But the chain of command should always prevail, and Cornwallis knew that if you made a decent effort at diplomacy, you could give an order to anyone in the Hessian command. Tradition or not, pride or not, the Hessians were subordinate to their British counterparts. Even Grant would understand that the Hessians had been humbled now. One of their senior officers had lost his life in their worst defeat of the war.
It was very late, and he climbed down from the horse with a stiffening pain in every joint in his body. Just outside the town, he had overtaken a column of Highlanders, and he could hear their bagpipes. He stretched his back, thought, They’ve marched as far as I have ridden, and there will no complaining from their lot. There shall not be a word out of me either.
The dragoons had dispersed, one of Grant’s staff guiding them to a camp. Cornwallis’ staff had been strung out on the road, the last pair of aides now arriving. He showed patience, waited