Read Online The Glorious Cause by Jeff Shaara - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jeff Shaara
Ads: Link
still hoped to see more of the familiar faces, knew that all through the past two nights, men had continued to straggle in, finding their way in the darkness past the British. But as he looked at the faces, his last hopes were brought down. He looked at Putnam now, said, “We have heard nothing further? No word?”
Putnam shook his head, said nothing. Washington took a breath, said, “We do not have definite reports, and thus there is no way to make certain of the facts. But by all accounts, General Sullivan has not been seen. Those who saw him in the field are confident that he survived the action. It is a forlorn hope that he is alive and well, and, as the best alternative, is in the hands of the British as a prisoner.”
He looked at the others, knew that Putnam was the only available senior commander, most of the others men of lesser rank, and certainly, lesser experience. One man seemed to surge forward, said, “Sir, if you will allow . . .”
“Everyone may speak, General Heath. This is a council of war. What have you to say?”
William Heath was a Massachusetts man, had served under Putnam in Boston, and if Heath had not distinguished himself for any particular action, the two men were at least accustomed to working together. He seemed full of protest, unsure how to begin, finally said, “Sir, I am at a loss to explain the actions of some of our most . . . able commanders.”
There was sarcasm in the word, and Washington did not want to hear this, but Heath continued. “I have been made aware, sir, that certain regiments behaved with scandalous disregard for the safety of this army. I am told that the Marylanders carelessly burned a bridge that could have afforded a path of safe withdrawal . . .”
“General Heath, I did not call this council to pass censure on anyone. There is time enough for that later. I would point out to you that I myself observed Colonel Smallwood’s regiment in heroic action, and I have since learned that those men performed with as much heroism on this ground as any unit in this army.” There was a hand raised now, and Washington was surprised to see William Smallwood himself, the man’s face emerging from a dripping dark coat.
“My apologies, Colonel. I intended no embarrassment. I did not realize you were here.”
“General, I thank you for your approval. I cannot respond to General Heath’s claim, but I can assure the commanding general that when I arrived on the field, Major Gist and the men of my command had already acquitted themselves under extreme hardship.”
Washington could hear something in the man’s voice, a sober calmness, the man about Washington’s age, another veteran of the French and Indian War. Smallwood had been in New York on court-martial duty when the British attack began, his unit commanded first by Mordecai Gist. But Smallwood had come across the river quickly, would not allow his men to make the good fight without their commander. Washington had sought out the details as much as he could, knew that the Marylanders had been among those men who had held away an attack that could have destroyed Stirling’s entire force. He knew nothing of the event Heath had referred to, some bridge being burned, knew the reports would be detailed later. He dreaded the aftermath of any battle, had been through this before, small men striking out with rumor and their pens at those who had done the work with musket and sword. It was the nature of war, and the nature of men who brought more ambition into battle than ability. And right now, Washington didn’t want to hear any of it.
It was unusual that a colonel be at a council of war, but Smallwood had been called to this council because he was a veteran, and his immediate superior, Stirling, was absent. And it was apparent to the entire army that Smallwood’s command was not only reliable, but might be some of the best troops Washington had.
“Gentlemen, I would prefer that each of us focus on the future, and
Putnam shook his head, said nothing. Washington took a breath, said, “We do not have definite reports, and thus there is no way to make certain of the facts. But by all accounts, General Sullivan has not been seen. Those who saw him in the field are confident that he survived the action. It is a forlorn hope that he is alive and well, and, as the best alternative, is in the hands of the British as a prisoner.”
He looked at the others, knew that Putnam was the only available senior commander, most of the others men of lesser rank, and certainly, lesser experience. One man seemed to surge forward, said, “Sir, if you will allow . . .”
“Everyone may speak, General Heath. This is a council of war. What have you to say?”
William Heath was a Massachusetts man, had served under Putnam in Boston, and if Heath had not distinguished himself for any particular action, the two men were at least accustomed to working together. He seemed full of protest, unsure how to begin, finally said, “Sir, I am at a loss to explain the actions of some of our most . . . able commanders.”
There was sarcasm in the word, and Washington did not want to hear this, but Heath continued. “I have been made aware, sir, that certain regiments behaved with scandalous disregard for the safety of this army. I am told that the Marylanders carelessly burned a bridge that could have afforded a path of safe withdrawal . . .”
“General Heath, I did not call this council to pass censure on anyone. There is time enough for that later. I would point out to you that I myself observed Colonel Smallwood’s regiment in heroic action, and I have since learned that those men performed with as much heroism on this ground as any unit in this army.” There was a hand raised now, and Washington was surprised to see William Smallwood himself, the man’s face emerging from a dripping dark coat.
“My apologies, Colonel. I intended no embarrassment. I did not realize you were here.”
“General, I thank you for your approval. I cannot respond to General Heath’s claim, but I can assure the commanding general that when I arrived on the field, Major Gist and the men of my command had already acquitted themselves under extreme hardship.”
Washington could hear something in the man’s voice, a sober calmness, the man about Washington’s age, another veteran of the French and Indian War. Smallwood had been in New York on court-martial duty when the British attack began, his unit commanded first by Mordecai Gist. But Smallwood had come across the river quickly, would not allow his men to make the good fight without their commander. Washington had sought out the details as much as he could, knew that the Marylanders had been among those men who had held away an attack that could have destroyed Stirling’s entire force. He knew nothing of the event Heath had referred to, some bridge being burned, knew the reports would be detailed later. He dreaded the aftermath of any battle, had been through this before, small men striking out with rumor and their pens at those who had done the work with musket and sword. It was the nature of war, and the nature of men who brought more ambition into battle than ability. And right now, Washington didn’t want to hear any of it.
It was unusual that a colonel be at a council of war, but Smallwood had been called to this council because he was a veteran, and his immediate superior, Stirling, was absent. And it was apparent to the entire army that Smallwood’s command was not only reliable, but might be some of the best troops Washington had.
“Gentlemen, I would prefer that each of us focus on the future, and
Similar Books
