Victory at Yorktown: A Novel (18 page)
Beyond the random acts of fate and wind, to underestimate the power of the Royal navy was madness as well, even though in this war, admirals of the king were almost pathetically timid, influenced still by Admiral Byng’s execution in 1757. Surely they had kept tabs on the French movements, from the time de Grasse slipped out of the harbor of Brest in March. Surely Hood, Rodney, and others, with an estimated forty or more ships of the line, at this very moment would be on a course of interception, though his intelligence reports of this morning indicated that the force covering New York City was still at anchor on the leeward side of Staten Island, or docked in Manhattan for maintenance and resupply. No emergency orders had been issued to purchase and load necessary supplies aboard, to round up drunk and missing sailors, and immediately make for sea.
Though that appearance itself could be a plan within a plan. Clinton, after years of inaction, might be just as frustrated as he was by inaction, thus a ruse of war to let him believe that de Grasse was on his way to the Virginia coast and commit his army to meet him, leaving the defense of the Hudson and West Point all but naked. Then he would sally forth, and while Washington was campaigning in Virginia, Clinton would smash the gateway into upstate New York, or swing about to the south of New Jersey and take Philadelphia once again. If Philadelphia fell yet again into British hands, he knew with almost utter certainty that Congress would remove him from command, Gates would be placed in charge, and the government would then seek a negotiated peace under English terms. The cause of freedom would be lost in dishonorable disintegration.
There were too many “ifs” to even begin to contemplate. He had struggled with that ever since the initial enthusiasm after the arrival of the courier. As usual, he decided that to ponder the “what ifs” would cause him to freeze into inaction. He and his army had faced worse odds at Trenton and seen it through to victory. Make the decision, then stick with it, and the hell with wasting time on listening to some nagging voice of an inner fear. He had made his decision and as surely as Caesar had crossed his Rubicon, and Alexander the Hellespont, he was now preparing to cross the Hudson.
Before dawn of this day, he had sent the best of his light infantry and dragoons southward, as if an advance guard, pushing toward the outskirts of New York in preparation for an assault from the north. Skirmishing had been light throughout the day. The British were ready to pull back those few crucial miles, not willing to sacrifice lives in a game that across the last year had been back and forth a dozen times in the fought-over zone between his own encampments and Yonkers, just north of Manhattan Island.
A cordon had been established: Anyone known to be of Loyalist leanings and still residing behind the lines had been politely but most firmly ordered to pack and head for the city with the promise their property would not be looted.
“The first boat—it is going,” Rochambeau announced in the falling darkness.
Washington focused his attention back to the broad expanse of the Hudson, here nearly five miles across. The Tappan Ferry was the first significant crossing point north of the city that was out of sight of the British forward lines, chosen because with its broad expanse, the current was placid, and usually a breeze could easily be caught for the wide-beamed ferryboats carrying a single large lateen-rigged sail. A single boat could carry a hundred or more men, or half a dozen horses, or a fully loaded artillery piece with crew and draft animals. Amazingly, they had been hired with real money and not useless scrip. In spite of his doubts about the honesty of Robert Morris, the new treasurer and paymaster had, indeed, come through. A wagon, burdened down with three heavy barrels, and guarded by half a hundred picked dragoons, had arrived in camp the day before. To his stunned disbelief, when the barrels were cracked open, concealed under a load of fresh hay, they contained over forty thousand dollars of money—real hard money.
Morris had pledged his own credit and his entire fortune on those three barrels, and suddenly, miraculously, money lenders and banks in Philadelphia “discovered” that there was money, in real silver, to be found somewhere in that city. The hard task was to figure it all out. It was an insane mix of English pennies, shillings, half crowns, silver guineas, and even some ten guinea gold pieces, French “louis,” Spanish dubloons, and a fair mix of pieces of eight, even some German and Dutch thalers, and Russian rubles. Blacksmiths with cold chisels finally had to be rounded up, to carefully split more than a few of the coins, as his entire army was lined up, with each man receiving a month’s pay of real money in hard currency, the first they had seen in years. Morale had soared, though more than a few, with typical American defiance, pointed out that several years of back pay were still waiting. Yet for the moment it had served its purpose, with enough set aside to purchase supplies for the march, stockpile more foodstuffs along the line of march, hire the ferrymen, and leave sufficient funds to be doled out for bribes, payment of spies, and spreading misinformation.
Another boat cast off, and then another. The first three were carrying the advance guard of light infantry and a company of heavy infantry, to deploy down the river road toward the Palisades, by dawn to be clearly visible near what had once been Fort Lee. They were to be the diversionary force and draw the attention of the British in New York, while the main bulk of his army steathily moved farther inland. Behind them were half a dozen more boats, loading up infantry, the first of the artillery pieces, a dozen dragoons, then more infantry.
The interweaving of infantry, artillery, and cavalry had been carefully calculated. If, indeed, a trap was waiting on the far side of the river, he wanted a fighting force in place as quickly as possible to secure the position, and then to make the decision whether to press ahead with the landings or retire. It was always a risky operation, to retreat back across a river under fire, especially this one, deep drafted enough that even a ship of the line could venture this far north, and with one broadside devastate the entire operation. Still, he had planned this for when the tidal currents were running down to the sea, and his luck was holding. There was a gentle breeze from out of the northwest, which favored his crossings, both coming and going. It made it all but impossible for an enemy ship to tack up the river and try to stay in the middle of the stream without being detected from either shore.
French army engineers, ever-efficient, had constructed an observation platform for himself, General Rochambeau, and other observers who were to keep a careful watch southward, downriver, in case the British did attempt to strike during the night. Yet no signal fires were lit along the river banks to either side by the British. From his own troops on the far shore there were occasional flashes from hooded lanterns, which indicated all was going according to plan. A secured perimeter was established around the ferry landing, the advance decoy column already on the march toward Fort Lee.
Shortly after midnight a pale waning moon rose in the east. The timing of even that had been taken into consideration. If discovered now in the moonlight, sufficient forces were across to hold their position, with artillery already dug in to lay down fire across the river, the moonlight silhouetting their targets out in the river.
It was almost too perfect.
He looked over at his comrade, General Rochambeau, and in an uncharacteristic gesture, extended his hand, which the French general clasped.
“I think it is time I cross,” Washington announced.
“God’s blessing go with you, my General,” Rochambeau replied in his heavily accented English. “As planned, I will cross within three days, and follow you on the march. I pray all shall go well.”
He felt he did not need to add that Rochambeau should continue to pressure the reluctant Admiral Barre, anchored in Newport Harbor, Rhode Island. The British had, indeed, abandoned their blockade of Newport, Rhode Island, the week before and there was sharp speculation that they were gathering their own fleet together, perhaps having word as well that de Grasse was heading north. With the path to the sea wide open now for Barre, he seemed to be afraid of his own shadow, and had not yet committed to taking aboard his army’s heavy siege train and food supplies, both crucial if anything was to be accomplished at Yorktown. He was leaving it to Rochambeau to dislodge the reluctant admiral and get him moving. Rather than haul a heavy siege train of the larger eighteen- and twenty-four pound guns, and the precious sixteen-inch mortars provided by the French, along with all the entrenching equipment needed for a siege, plus additional rations, Barre had so far indicated a refusal, saying his posting and orders were to “keep watch” on the Royal navy guarding New York.
If he did so, he served no purpose. It was, perhaps, the only failing in de Grasse’s letter explaining his intentions. Unfortunately, by a technicality of precedent de Grasse was in one sense of lower rank than Barre, even though charged to coordinate naval operations along the North American coast. He therefore could not order him to move, but could only “suggest” it, as proper etiquette the French navy required.
Barre’s capital ships would surely give de Grasse the upper hand if the two fleets could unite, but it would be a risk for him to venture forth with only half a dozen ships of the line, carrying such essential supplies only to fall afoul of a superior British force possibly holding the weather gauge if they should sally forth from New York harbor.
Then again, Washington reasoned, as he had ever since the note from the Caribbean had arrived, this entire venture was one mad, insane risk.
Removing his hat in formal acknowledgment to Rochambeau, who returned the gesture, Washington climbed down from the observation platform. The grounds were visible in the moonlight but no torches were lit. He sensed more than saw his personal guard falling in around him. Ever since the Arnold affair there had been rumors of plots either to assassinate him, or to snatch him in a raid and take him back to England for trial and a good public hanging. Though he kept no pistol at his side, as a show of bravado, Billy Lee knew what the final order was if surrounded, his guard down, and about to be taken. Billy Lee carried two pistols for that grim task.
He sensed Billy by his side, limping slowly, the night air afflicting his rheumatism. There was no sense in asking. Of course the man would deny any discomfort.
The only light visible was a single lantern down by the ferry wharf. In peacetime or war, that light would be there as a marker for a nighttime crossing, by someone willing to pay the extra shilling in hard silver for a midnight crossing rather than wait till dawn. Tonight thousands would make that crossing.
All was going in orderly fashion, so different than that nightmare of Trenton. Companies of infantry, troops of dragoons, artillery pieces, their draft horses and crews, and the first of the supply wagons carrying extra ammunition were stretched out in a leisurely manner from the wharf clear back to the main encampment. The weather was mild after a hot day. Fires were forbidden, men had cooked their ration of fresh beef or pork during the afternoon and had placed the meat back in their haversacks. Of course, having seen their first real pay in six months, thanks to Robert Morris, gambling now consumed many of them, though in the darkness a game of whist or dice was difficult, so it tended to just be whoever threw down the high card that won the pot. As any wise general knew, there were times to break up such vices, and times to turn a blind eye, and tonight was a time to turn a blind eye. A strict cordon had been placed around the camp ever since this campaign had started to form in his mind, and one of the strictest orders was to block all liquor from coming in, along with women of dubious virtue who might actually be spies.
As to the legitimate women of the camp, some who had been with the army since before Valley Forge, his orders had been strict as well. They were to be left behind with the small garrison he was leaving in place to bluff the British into thinking his entire army was still north of New York. There had been howls of protest over that, with more than one of the women directly confronting him, even the famed Molly Pitcher of Monmouth Court House, but they had at last seen some reason. The march—and he did not reveal to a soul where they were marching—would be swift and hard. The fact that they, the women and children of the camp, remained here would help delude the enemy into thinking all of this was a bluff if detected, for surely the army would not leave their wives and children behind.
Some recognized him as he approached the road down to the wharf, coming to their feet, saluting, a few wags asking questions from out of the darkness. “Where we headin’ to, General?” “Gonna kick ’em out of Staten Island!” One, his Virginia accent clear, did chill him with the question, “I bet we’uns are going after Cornwallis, ain’t we, General?”
If he had reacted to that one, it surely would have been a giveaway. He ignored them, moving along the side of the road. At last they reached the wharf, one of the broad-beamed Dutch-designed ferryboats, shallow of draft, with a removable keel, and a single large sail drifted up out of the darkness, sail luffing in the light breeze. One of his staff announced for the next group waiting to stand aside, that the general was about to cross.
The men were silent as he passed, but he could hear their whispers after he passed, that if he—the general himself—was crossing the river this night, then something was, indeed, up.
He smiled at that. It meant that so far the truth of what he intended had not leaked out and all was speculation.
It only took a few moments for his guards and staff to board. As was typical of him, he was the last to board, spotting an officer of the next company waiting to go over, accepting the man’s salute, offering a few words of encouragement, and telling him, loud enough so that others would hear, that when the time came, all would be made clear, and he had full trust in the men of this army to end this war soon.