Two Crowns for America, Page 25

  “Adequate ammunition would do much for morale,” Simon said archly. “Adequate food would also help. But we shall have to fight to procure those necessities.”

  “True enough,” Lafayette agreed. “It is my fond hope that supplies will soon be forthcoming from France. Mr. Franklin, Mr. Lee, and Mr. Deane have been working most judiciously to secure the necessary lines of credit. But there is a way that one could create the illusion of uniformity now, without waiting for outside aid.”

  “Indeed?” Washington said, toying with the stem of his glass. “And how might that be?”

  Eagerly Lafayette turned toward his idol. “You are familiar with the hackles worn by many armies in their helmets and hats, mon général?” he asked. “Or Colonel Wallace can tell you about the white cockades worn as a sign of Jacobite sympathies in former times.”

  “In these times even such simple things are difficult to obtain, my dear marquis,” Washington said gently.

  “Yes, but we have here an abundance of growing things,” Lafayette said eagerly. “The Scots were ever wont to wear plant badges in their caps. Our army may lack uniforms, but the most humble soldier wears a hat of some kind. How, if we were to have them wear green sprigs in their hats as uniform badges for the American Army? Would it not make a brave sight, to march thus into battle?”

  At the odd look on Washington’s face Simon was quite prepared to hear the idea rejected out of hand, but to his surprise the General slowly nodded.

  “We shall speak further on this,” he murmured before turning the conversation to other subjects.

  Later, when his officers had withdrawn for final duties of the night, preparatory to retiring, the General drew Simon into his office, motioning for him to close the door, though he did not invite him to sit.

  “This idea of Lafayette’s, to have the men wear green sprigs in their hats,” he said. “Was that your doing?”

  “Mine, sir?”

  A look of disappointment washed briefly across the craggy face.

  “I had thought, for a moment, that it might allude to the laurel wreath of my dream,” he said, almost to himself. “I had even dared to hope that it might portend a coming victory, when we must face the British again.”

  “I know of no such connection, General,” Simon said carefully—and truthfully, “though it may well be that the marquis has a part to play in your destiny. It is certain that he came to you despite unlikely odds, and that he worships you like a father and a god. And his wealth and connections in France do much to recommend him to your favor.”

  “Indeed,” Washington said with a wistful smile. “Would that I had a son like him.” He exhaled gustily and seemed to pull himself back to a more expected focus as he sat down behind his desk. “But perhaps I place too much importance on a chance discussion of greenery—though I shall certainly consider Monsieur Lafayette’s proposal. Thank you, Colonel. You are probably eager to retire.”

  The dismissal, though affable enough, did not invite further discussion, and Simon saw no reason to belabor the issue. After wishing the general a pleasant night, Simon made his way back to his own quarters—though his mind continued to examine the conversation he had just left.

  He himself would never have made the leap of logic between sprigs of greenery and laurel wreaths, but Washington had—perhaps an indication that he was willing and even eager to connect Lafayette with the dream. Of course that was Saint-Germain’s eventual intention, but Simon thought it unlikely that the connection was meant to surface so soon, with so much still to set in place in Lafayette himself. On the other hand, the incident could be a sign that Providence already was laying the appropriate groundwork. It would be fascinating to watch the Master Plan continue to unfold.

  Meanwhile, Howe’s plans were also unfolding. The British commander had landed troops in Maryland and was advancing even then on Philadelphia. Washington knew he must fight, to delay Howe as long as possible, but he also knew it was not possible to stop him. Nonetheless, to hearten the local people, he marched his troops through Philadelphia on his way to oppose Howe—and had them wear sprigs of green for uniformity. Lafayette rode proudly at his side, with Generals Knox and Greene; and when Simon fell in with the rest of the aides, Washington gave him a sharp but approving look as he realized that Simon’s sprig of green was laurel.

  The days that followed became a succession of desultory skirmishes. Less than a fortnight later, on September 6, the young marquis celebrated his twentieth birthday in the field, having seen light action against Howe’s advance positions several days before. By the ninth the Americans had withdrawn behind Brandywine Creek, whence Washington now sent all the army’s baggage back to Chester, indicative of doubt in his ability to stop Howe. Two days later Howe, Cornwallis, and Knyphausen advanced on Brandywine, which was to be Lafayette’s true baptism by fire.

  It was late in the afternoon, with most of the American Army engaged in a frontal attack by Howe’s main army, when Washington noticed that Cornwallis had begun a flanking movement, and sent the experienced General Sullivan to deflect it. Lafayette had ridden with Washington thus far but now asked to accompany Sullivan—to which Washington agreed.

  Taking nominal command of Sullivan’s center division, Lafayette rode fearlessly into battle, though it soon became apparent that Cornwallis had the superior force. With encouragement from Lafayette, his men stood their ground for a time; but while trying to rally his men on foot in the French manner, he was wounded in the leg, just below the calf.

  Only when blood began filling his boot did he remount and retreat. On encountering Washington he dismounted long enough to let the General’s personal physician apply a hasty field dressing, but then he was in the saddle again, soon swept up in the general retreat toward Chester. He had just finished restoring order among troops falling back on a bridge across the Chester River, some twelve miles to the rear, when Washington and his staff caught up with him again and took over. After one look at the white-faced Lafayette, now reeling in the saddle from loss of blood, Washington immediately ordered him to see his injury properly attended to and dispatched Simon and another aide to make certain that he did.

  Despite his blood loss, Lafayette’s wound had threatened neither life nor limb, but it was sufficient to keep him off his feet for the better part of two months—a restriction that pleased neither him nor Washington. The General’s personal physician, Dr. John Cochran, looked after him for the first week or so, but James Ramsay was among the several other physicians who tended him during the weeks of his convalescence. It was Ramsay who drew Simon aside a few days after the battle, after looking in on the wounded Frenchman.

  “I just learned something that made my blood run cold,” Ramsay said. “Apparently young Lafayette was more fortunate than he or anyone else knew. So was Washington.” As Justin approached, he motioned him to join them.

  “What are you talking about?” Simon said. “What has Lafayette’s wound to do with the General?”

  Ramsay glanced around to make certain they would not be overheard, then drew them closer.

  “I believe the General rode off on a recce with Lafayette, the morning of the battle?” he said.

  “Yes, he did. They weren’t gone very long. Why do you ask?”

  Ramsay sighed. “I was talking to some of the other surgeons the day after,” he said. “One of them told me how he’d had occasion to put a field dressing on a British officer of rifles who’d had his elbow shattered by a musket ball—a Major Ferguson. It seems Ferguson and three of his sharpshooters were scouting out Chad’s Ford before the battle, just ahead of Knyphausen’s Germans, when the approach of hoofbeats made them take cover. Two horsemen soon came into their sights—obviously high-ranking officers, though Ferguson had no idea who they might be—but he said he felt it unchivalrous to kill an unwary enemy, especially from ambush, so he forbade his men to fire.

  “The men soon turned about and trotted out of sight, but imagine Ferguson’s shock when he learned th
at it was Washington and Lafayette he’d spared.”

  Justin’s jaw had tightened as the identity of the two horsemen became apparent, and Simon bit back an oath, shaking his head.

  “Thus moves Providence,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. Then he drew a deep breath and let it out with a wan smile. “I expect Ferguson was mortified.”

  Ramsay shrugged. “Interestingly enough, my source said he seemed to have no regrets. ‘The fortunes of war,’ he termed it.” He pulled a mirthless smile. “It’s good to know that there is still some honor in this world. Anyway, I thought you should know. Perhaps the General should know as well. Perhaps it will convince him to take fewer chances.”

  “Perhaps,” Simon said, though he doubted it.

  What did make a difference to Washington’s attitude—though not about taking risks—was an incident that occurred perhaps three weeks later. The British had occupied Philadelphia shortly after the Battle of Brandywine, but despite advance information of a planned American operation in the area of Germantown, Howe failed to act upon it.

  The American attack seemed to come as a complete surprise and looked certain to succeed, except that a thick fog suddenly required an immediate withdrawal, at the very instant when victory should have been theirs. American morale remained high the day after the aborted battle, but Washington was still puzzling over the fog when he visited Lafayette’s sickroom that evening, in the company of Simon and Justin.

  “In retrospect, perhaps our plan was too ambitious,” the General was saying as he stood aside for Dr. Ramsay to attend to a dressing change. “Yet we did manage to bring together four prongs of our army to embrace the British. But the fog—the fog.” He shook his head. “We lost communication among our units. We knew not who was friend or foe.…”

  Washington fell suddenly silent as he watched Ramsay dress the marquis’s wound with oil, a strained look momentarily flickering across his face.

  “It is not so very painful, mon général,” Lafayette assured his commander, noting the latter’s reaction. “The oil keeps the flesh supple while it heals. My chief regret is that I am unable to ride at your side while I am forced to play the invalid. Dr. Ramsay is a harsh master.”

  “I am certain his only care is for your recovery,” Washington murmured dutifully, though with something of an air of distraction as he watched Ramsay rebandage the wound. “And I, too, regret the loss of your company. Pray, forgive my momentary lapse. I had remembered something else I must attend to. All of your physicians tell me that they are most pleased with your progress.”

  Lafayette accepted the explanation without hesitation, but an air of preoccupation attended the General even when he left the room. Simon had noted the comment about remembering something, so was not surprised when Washington bade him and Justin accompany him back to the privacy of his office as soon as he reasonably could.

  “Close the door, please, Mr. Carmichael,” he murmured, “and be certain we are not interrupted or overheard.”

  “Yes, sir,” Justin replied. “Shall I watch from outside? It seems to me that you have just requested the services of a Tyler.”

  A faint smile accompanied the question, and Washington exhaled softly, relaxing a little.

  “If you would, please, Brother Carmichael. It is not that I would exclude you from what I must say, but the time of evening makes interruptions likely. You need not tyle with a drawn sword,” he added, with a faint smile of his own.

  With a nod Justin withdrew and closed the door softly behind him, leaving Simon facing the General across a desk piled with dispatches. At a gesture from the Commander in Chief, Simon dragged a chair around the end of the desk to sit knee to knee with him.

  “Colonel, I have taken a great deal on trust,” Washington murmured, “and I have no reason to question that trust,” he added, lifting a hand in reassurance. “I accept that my dream has meaning on some level not yet understood, and that when you bid me forget fragments of memory that return, it is for my own peace of mind, that I may not be distracted from my work. I even accept that you have the ability to cause me to forget—and have long since ceased wondering how this is possible.”

  “But?”

  Washington’s gaze shifted uneasily to the big hands folded between his knees. “Thus far I have been content to put aside these memories as you bid me do,” he said. “But it seems that their weight grows more with each new remembering. And sometimes the returning memories are more troubling than at other times.”

  “What did you remember?” Simon asked quietly.

  “There was—a flagon of oil in my dream,” Washington said. “Aromatic oil.” His gray-blue gaze took on a faraway dreaminess. “I remember its sweet perfume as someone—anointed me with it.”

  “Was it Lafayette?” Simon asked, for the future role of the marquis was yet unknown.

  “No. I saw only hands, and they were not his.”

  “Ramsay’s, then?”

  “I don’t know.” Washington drew a deep breath before going on. “ ’Tis the anointing that troubles me, Colonel. Kings are anointed, and priests—and sacrifices. Is this a warning for the future? Was the fog at Germantown my first warning that even my meager victories now are past? Has our effort been too late?”

  “No, and no, and no,” Simon said softly, leaning closer to set his hand atop the General’s clasped ones. “I do not yet know what it means, but none of that. Close your eyes now and put it from your thoughts.” Washington’s eyelids fluttered and then closed obediently. “Put away all anxiety, and all memory of this conversation. What will come is in more powerful hands than ours. I believe this; and you must believe it too. All shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.…”

  He did not move as the General’s breathing gradually slowed, the craggy face slowly relaxing. Only after several tranquil moments did he finally tighten his hand slightly on the General’s.

  “When I get up to leave, you will turn around to your desk and lay your head down on your arms to rest. After a few minutes I will send in Justin with correspondence for you to sign. You will rouse refreshed and untroubled by any memory of dreams, ready to resume your duties. Nod if you understand and agree.”

  The powdered head slowly nodded.

  Without further word Simon slowly withdrew his hand and stood, moving quietly to the closed door. Washington had stirred as Simon stood, but only enough to turn in his chair and lay his forehead on his crossed forearms on the desk. As soon as he had done so, Simon slipped outside and gave Justin instructions to fetch the afternoon’s correspondence.

  Ten minutes later the General was dealing with that correspondence and receiving reports from his other aides as if nothing untoward had happened. A little later, when Simon had retired to his quarters, he set his pen to correspondence of his own, relating the incident to Andrew for inclusion in the growing body of information they eventually must incorporate into recreation of Washington’s dream.

  Germantown and its fog effectively signaled an end to serious campaigning for 1777. Despite a technical victory at Germantown, the British gradually wound down their efforts in what remained of the year, for news of Burgoyne’s surrender in mid-October had been extremely demoralizing. Furthermore, despite continuing skirmishes, the exhausted American Army managed to stay just ahead of Howe’s forces—who did not seem eager for another battle.

  The two armies came close to a confrontation in early November, some twelve miles west of Philadelphia, but the Americans had the high ground. After several days spent looking at one another, Howe marched his men back to Philadelphia for the winter. Within a fortnight, and only twenty miles away, Washington had withdrawn his battered army into winter headquarters at Valley Forge. That winter would be both the nadir of American morale and the flowering of legend that would sustain American efforts throughout the remainder of the war.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the beginning of 1778 the Master had set most of his principal players in place. Now he waited
through the long winter of Valley Forge and the campaigns of the year that followed for the most junior of his players to grow into maturity.

  And Lafayette rose to the challenge as the months of 1778 unfolded, proving himself repeatedly in battle, blithely weathering rivalries and upheavals within the ranks of Washington’s generals (and often unaware of those who tried to use him in their own intrigues), winning a place of affection and respect in the hearts of many besides his Commander in Chief.

  The year was a coming of age for the American Army as well as for its youngest general. Despite appalling conditions in the Valley Forge camp, with uncertain food supplies and desperate shortages of adequate clothing, shoes, and blankets for the men, Washington proved the binding force that held them together through that long and dreadful winter. Until huts could be constructed to house his men, built of logs and sealed with clay, he lived in a tent and shared the army’s hardships.

  His table remained austere even when he moved into a cramped stone house at the head of the valley, for provisions were almost nonexistent until well into February; and even though he had the authority to seize food from the surrounding area, he was reluctant to do so, since he felt that such behavior would undermine the very cause for which his army was fighting. When times were particularly lean, the men subsisted on water and firecake, a thin bread made of flour and water and baked on sticks held over campfires. On three particular occasions, in late December, early January, and mid-February, even firecake was in short supply.

  Such austerity at least was conducive to the fasting and meditation that Washington had come to adopt increasingly as a means for refining and clarifying his inner perceptions, seeking ongoing guidance for the task stretching before him. Long convinced of the efficacy of daily prayer, and hopeful that official endorsement of it would help to elevate the general tone of demeanor among his men, the Commander in Chief had instituted morning and evening prayers for the army as early as Cambridge, with officers required to make certain that their men attended, especially on the Sabbath; and on Sundays when no chaplain was available, Washington himself read the Bible to his men and led them in prayer.