Howe shrugged. “Perhaps. It is not our concern at the moment.” The matter had passed, and Howe looked around the room, motioned to an aide, and a map was unrolled on the table. Cornwallis leaned close, saw the line of the Hudson River northward, Albany, and farther up, Lake Champlain. Howe said, “Lord Germain has given his approval to General Burgoyne’s plan.”
Cornwallis was confused, had heard brief rumors about Burgoyne and some new strategy, but had no idea Burgoyne was anywhere close to the colonies.
“Sir, excuse me, but . . . General Burgoyne?”
Howe’s face showed a curl of annoyance, said, “Yes, General. Gentleman Johnny has been busy. You may have thought he has been in London, more concerned with his writing than his military career. But it seems he is instead scripting a role for himself in this war. With all respects to Lord Germain, General Burgoyne has charmed his way into the hearts of the ministry. He is presently preparing to move a force of seven thousand British and Hessian troops southward from Canada, through Lake Champlain, overland to the Hudson River and down to Albany. With this accomplished, New York will be under the crown’s control, and New England will be severed from the remaining colonies. Gentlemen Johnny will thus have crushed the rebellion.”
There was no enthusiasm in Howe’s words, and Cornwallis could see frowns now, some of the men around him uncomfortable with Howe’s sarcasm. Cornwallis scanned the map, absorbed the plan.
To one side a voice, Charles Grey’s, said, “Sir, with all respects, this plan has, as you say, been sanctioned by Lord Germain. But it has also received the approval of His Majesty. I do not believe I am alone in this room when I say I have utmost respects for the abilities of General Burgoyne. This plan is sound, and could very well bring the rebels to capitulation.” There were nods, murmurs of approval, and Cornwallis stared at the map as he sorted out the words, more comments supporting Burgoyne. He was surprised at the dissension, more surprised that Howe was letting them have their say.
John Burgoyne had served with Howe and Clinton in Boston, as subordinates to Thomas Gage. But while Howe and Clinton had pressed forward their plans for defeating the budding rebellion, Burgoyne had spent much of his time engaged in his passion for writing plays, while at the same time, he sent a continuous stream of complaints to London, decrying the efficiency and abilities of his fellow generals. He was the oldest of the group, and to many, including William Howe, he had an inflated notion of his abilities. After the debacle at Breed’s Hill, Burgoyne went to Canada, helping Governor Guy Carleton defend against rebel invasions of the valuable colony. But the Canadian winters held no appeal, and Burgoyne had returned to England.
Cornwallis had little contact with the man, knew him much more by reputation, knew that the nickname “Gentleman Johnny” had come from the man’s own troops, a reflection on Burgoyne’s empathy to the conditions of his men, something Cornwallis was known for as well. Though Cornwallis believed that Burgoyne was content to sail home to a prestigious retirement, he could see now that the man had spent his time in England carefully nursing his ambition, and had certainly succeeded in finding the willing ear of the king. And among Howe’s command, Burgoyne clearly had his allies.
Cornwallis was surprised at Howe’s tolerance of the dissent, but the protests were mild, respectful, and when the officers had run through their words, Howe said, “Your concerns are noted, gentlemen. I have no wish to impugn the reputation of General Burgoyne.”
Cornwallis saw frowns, thought, That’s exactly what you intended. He looked at the map again, tried to fathom the plan, but he couldn’t assemble it in his mind.
“Sir, forgive me. I am trying to understand. General Burgoyne must sail the length of Lake Champlain. He must thus attack Fort Ticonderoga, must then move his wagons and artillery across this terrain, here. That is a great deal of countryside.”
“Yes, General. You are stating the obvious.”
Cornwallis ignored the comment, continued, “Do we have the means . . . how is he to navigate the country?”
Howe jumped at the question, said, “He is to be guided by a thousand Indians! Marvelous! And to add to his movements, it is believed that the loyalists in the area will flock to his march as well, providing their own assistance. Can you imagine that, General? His Majesty’s good citizens marching side by side with the savages who torment them.”
Grey stood now, and Cornwallis saw anger on the man’s face, and Grey said, “Sir! I must protest! Do you deny that this plan could end this war?”
Howe glared at Grey.
“And what of us, General Grey? What of the soldiers in this army, who have given so much to the king’s service? We have suffered the agonies of war, vanquished our enemy, as we have been bloodied by him. I have repeatedly offered my own strategies to Lord Germain, and now I receive word of this ridiculous plan of action. Will General Burgoyne succeed? Possibly. Will it bring this war to a conclusion? I have my doubts. I have insisted to Lord Germain for months now that this rebellion will be crushed by the year’s end and that we can accomplish that from right here!” His words choked away, and Cornwallis saw red-faced anger, understood now. Of course, if Burgoyne ends the war, he reaps the rewards. That’s what this is about, after all. Howe had his composure again, and Cornwallis said, “Sir, if the purpose of this plan is to capture Albany, why cannot we pursue that goal from this direction? If General Burgoyne was to bring his forces to New York, is not a campaign in force up the Hudson River a more effective means of reaching that place? His army could join with the troops already here. The rebels could not possibly hold back such strength.”
Howe looked at him for a moment, and Cornwallis saw weariness. Howe said, “You are not a student of history, General. The route through New York has always come from Canada. The route southward through Lake Champlain has been consecrated by history. Lord Germain and His Majesty both appreciate that, General. We must adhere to tradition.”
Grey said, “General Cornwallis, the strategy is to blaze a chasm through the colony of New York that will divide the rebel effort. From what I have seen of General Burgoyne’s strategy, Albany is merely the junction. His army to ours. Certainly there will be a combining of forces.”
The enthusiasm that had filled him was gone, and Cornwallis looked at Howe, said, “We are to join him in Albany? Move our forces north?”
Howe said, “General Burgoyne anticipates that we will effect a junction with his army once he has captured Albany. I have no doubt that once we know him to have arrived there, we can move a portion of our strength upriver. We should have sufficient time to complete my own plans.”
The words were spoken with slow gravity, Howe watching them all for reaction.
“General Burgoyne is not the only man who has secured the approval of Lord Germain. I did not intend this meeting to focus entirely on Gentleman Johnny’s war. I am preparing orders for each of you. This army will soon commence to march across New Jersey, with two purposes. First, I intend to draw the rebel army out of their base in Morristown in order to destroy them once and for all. General Cornwallis, you have made this attempt and failed. It is not for any lack of skill on your part. You simply did not have the resources at hand to offer Mr. Washington a sizable enough prize. I propose to march eighteen thousand men toward the Delaware River, with a train of supplies and boats, sufficient to allow us to cross unmolested. If we are fortunate, however, we will be molested. Mr. Washington cannot just sit in his hilltops and watch us go by. He must come down and offer us a fight. What he may not expect is how large a fight that will be.” Howe paused, clearly enjoying the moment.
Cornwallis said, “Forgive me, sir, but if he chooses not to confront us . . .”
“General, if he does not confront us, then he will enable us to pursue the second goal of this plan. He may sit on his hills all the while and enjoy the spectacle of this army crossing into Pennsylvania and capturing Philadelphia!”
The word flowed through the room, each man digesting it, and the re
sponse was muted, not what Howe was expecting.
“Gentlemen, do you not see? It lies there as a great ripe plum, guarded by the most fragile of militia! The rebel capital! It is the one positive advantage we can gain from General Burgoyne’s mission. The rebels must stay focused northward. Mr. Washington may perhaps divide his army and send reinforcements to their people around Albany. We can perhaps make a feint, move ships upriver toward the Highlands, drawing their attention in that direction. But any move the rebels make will come to naught! Once we are in Philadelphia, the heart of this rebellion will be crushed. How can these rebels wage war if their capital is conquered?”
Cornwallis had finally seen the letter from Burgoyne, the plan spelled out in enormous detail. There was no confusion as to either the line of march or the ultimate goal. Burgoyne insisted that with Howe’s strength added to his own, their combined armies could devastate any rebel opposition and subdue all of New England in short order. There was one confusing gap in the plan, and Cornwallis was still not certain how the two armies were to join, whether Burgoyne expected Howe to advance farther northward than Albany, or whether Howe was to remain in New York and wait for Burgoyne to summon him up the Hudson. In either case, Howe did not seem concerned, his own orders from Germain granting him the discretion to march on Philadelphia in the manner he chose. Howe had settled the disagreements with his subordinates, reassuring Grey and the others that once the rebel capital had been secured, they could return to New York in plenty of time to join forces with Burgoyne.
If both armies were successful, Cornwallis believed the combined loss could crush the rebel spirit out of every colony, and he began to spread Howe’s enthusiasm to his men. Finally, after so many months of waiting, the army would resume their march.
They embarked from the wharves at Amboy on June 12, began to march inland over the same roads that had carried Howe’s army to Trenton six months before. As Cornwallis led his men along the southern banks of the Raritan, he tried to share their high spirits. It was, after all, the soldiers’ opportunity for revenge, to sweep away the disasters of winter. But his gloom was returning, and he scolded himself, his enthusiasm dampened by the cold image in his mind, another great column of men and equipment, three hundred miles to the north, beginning their march as well. The grand strategy required cooperation and timing between two separate armies who were too distant from each other to communicate, and Cornwallis knew that no matter how sound the mission, how complete the plan, each army was led by a commander whose eyes were firmly focused on his own place in history.
Howe ordered him to maneuver as far west as Hillsborough, Cornwallis leading one wing of the army while Knyphausen’s Hessians moved on a more southerly route toward Princeton. But there was no rebel army to face them. Washington had advanced his army out of his camp at Morristown, but only as far as Middlebrook, settling the rebels into another series of stout hills, this time within ten miles of Brunswick. As Howe marched his army toward Princeton, Washington would not take the bait, and abruptly, Cornwallis received orders to turn back, to gather the entire army at Brunswick. Howe was determined to bring Washington off his hills, and the next march was north, toward Metuchen, an attempt to outflank the rebels. But again Washington stayed in his defenses, and Howe’s frustration spread through the entire army. But Cornwallis knew that no matter how much his men wanted a fight, Howe would not order them to attack a position they could never carry. After eighteen days of marching and countermarching, Cornwallis realized that Howe had made a huge mistake. Howe’s plan was to continue on to Philadelphia, but Cornwallis knew they could not just march past Middlebrook as though the rebels weren’t there. Washington’s army would be coiled for a strike at the rear of Howe’s army, could seriously torment the flanks and rear guard all the way to the Delaware River. If Howe attempted to move into Pennsylvania, Washington could strike him during the crossing of the river, the very tactic Cornwallis had failed to accomplish in December. As Cornwallis watched Howe’s plan unravel, he knew that Howe was still focused on Philadelphia, the strategy fixed in his mind, stubborn and inflexible. If they could not assault the rebel capital by land, Howe would find another way.
On June 30, the army was ordered to march again, this time back to Amboy, to board the boats that would carry them to Staten Island. Once again Cornwallis shared the mood of his men, the utter disbelief that nearly three weeks of maneuvers and marching had gained them a few sharp skirmishes and nothing else. As Cornwallis stepped away from the wharf at Amboy, he fought the despair, the frustration mixed with a growing sense of alarm. Precious time had been lost, the time they would need to capture Philadelphia and return to assist Burgoyne, the time they would need to bring this war to a conclusion before another winter brought Howe and his grand strategies to yet another standstill.
20. GREENE
JULY 1777
For weeks he had maintained his position on the hills north of the Raritan, watching the great one-sided chess game play out below him, the British throwing up earthworks around Brunswick, then marching west, then back again. Washington had finally ordered him down to pursue Howe’s rear guard, and when the British had turned and marched back to Brunswick, Greene had followed. He had maneuvered his troops with great care, knew that if the British realized he had come down from the safety of the hills, they might suddenly turn back on him, his men perhaps caught in the open, no time to build their own defenses. But when Howe had abandoned his march toward Princeton, it had been no ruse, no bait to draw Greene too close. It was as though the British were more focused on their own display, a strategy that made little sense to Washington.
Greene would not be careless, kept close enough to the British to monitor their movements, but not so close that a sudden burst of British mobility might catch his division in a fight he didn’t want. But there was nothing about the British that suggested mobility, either in their movements or the planning of their commander. Greene could only wonder at the mind of William Howe, that once the man put some plan to paper, the strategy required no further thought, simply did not allow for the possibility of change.
When the British had gathered back into their defenses at Brunswick, Washington had ordered Greene once more to pull back to the safety of the hills, in case Howe ordered a sudden thrust toward Princeton. But when the British took to the road again, they went north, leaving Greene to worry if Washington had fortified the passes into the hills with sufficient strength. But Stirling was there, a strong force dug into good ground, and the British thrust at Washington’s eastern flank had dissolved as quickly as it began. This time, when Howe withdrew his men back into Brunswick, they did not stop to occupy their own carefully built defenses. As Greene eased down from the heights again, the redcoats were already marching east, this time toward Amboy. Greene had pursued them, small skirmishes, quick jabs at the British rear, but the British were in full retreat, had boarded their boats at the wharves and, just as quickly, sailed away. When Greene reached Amboy, not a shot had been fired. As Greene’s men spread along the waterfront, Howe’s baffled troops were once again pitching their tents on Staten Island.
Greene had stood with his troops, astounded that the British would expend so much energy, and waste so much time only to see their commander change his mind. Then the amazement of Greene’s men changed to celebration. It was not so much a victory as it was satisfaction, the British march across New Jersey ending where it had begun so many months before.
As he glassed the British ships now anchored close to Staten Island, Greene thought of Washington, who had accepted the blame for the defeats in New York, who shouldered the despair of the entire nation that they could not bring to the field enough strength to hold the British away. Greene would never forget that one awful day, the catastrophe at Fort Washington. The commanding general had placed no blame, but Greene knew what others had said, knew there was grumbling in congress. Nothing was ever said in headquarters, and Greene knew now that Washington was not a man to cast blame
away from himself, would not allow any criticism of his commanders to be voiced in the camps.
Throughout the desperate retreat across New Jersey, Greene had realized that the men who kept to the march were held by a loyalty to Washington that had nothing to do with strategy. Greene did not know how to explain it, knew it was something in the men’s heart. He wondered if Washington himself was aware of the affection and loyalty of the men in this army. That loyalty had been tested, and might be again, but for now, they had their reward. As he stood on the shores of Amboy, he knew that for the first time in many months, not a single British soldier had his foot in New Jersey.
The long encampment at Morristown had revitalized the army. Their stunning accomplishments on the battlefield had inspired new confidence that brought in an amazing abundance of food from the farms. They were strengthened as well by the arrival of French merchant ships, bearing the fruits of the careful negotiations in Paris. Besides the much-needed supplies of cloth and gunpowder, the army was receiving troop strength as well, a sudden inflow of new volunteers to the regiments. Greene had shared Washington’s despair at the loss of so many of the veterans whose enlistments had expired, but Greene could not find fault with those men who wished to return to their homes. With the British firmly in their winter camps, the desperation had tempered, and the deluge of new recruits swelled the army to nearly eleven thousand men, many persuaded to sign eighteen-month enlistments. Though Greene had little faith in new recruits, and no faith at all in local militia, he hoped that the commanders would have the luxury of time, perhaps two months of drill and training to bring the army back to its feet. As the long weeks passed, Greene had grown nervous, knew that the recruits were still too raw, still finding their way into the soldier’s life. Washington had cautioned them to expect a new British campaign by April, but they had been granted yet another luxury, this time by their enemy. Amazingly, the British camps had remained quiet until June.