Chapter 19

Those of you that have already read Book One of this Trilogy probably have deduced my unease with the swelling regard for the French assistance in this uniquely American struggle for independence in a world that was decidedly against the rights of the average Joe in all corners of the world.

There was a point in my thinking after the battle of Ticonderoga that we could probably win this thing without turning to the French for their help. I knew that Mister Franklin and Mister Adams were quite opposed to that line of thinking and I did my best to keep my thoughts to myself despite my advantage of looking back on things from the twenty-first century.

The French member of my four man long range reconnaissance team was a fantastic combat soldier and a person that I trusted to cover my back when the enemy was coming at us from all directions. However, I had this deep-seated suspicion that most of the French advisors were taking notes and writing down dates and names of everything we did for future use against us when the time was ripe. I knew their ambitious plans for a “New France” eventually would be doomed to failure and it was a bitter pill for them to swallow what with the pallor of death and destruction with the French Revolution and the eventual spiral down into the years of warfare under the rule of the military genius Napoleon Bonaparte.

Emperor Bonaparte was one of those leaders that like to direct traffic from in front and not from behind. It was a sore point with his tactical commanders because they preferred their Generals far in the rear so they could not witness the many mistakes of chaotic battlefields.

The details of the “Louisiana Purchase” rolled around in my brain like the warning signals on a railroad crossing advising the close proximity of a huge train approaching. The French fleet was at its height of glory at the time of Yorktown and the British naval forces were sorely embarrassed at their inability to assist the ground forces of General Cornwallis in his futile attempts to avoid being completely surrounded and forced to surrender.

At the beginning of that clear-cut British defeat, things didn’t really look all that bad for the British and the American forces were grumbling because they felt they were being led into a defeat that would doom the struggle for independence in a place where they really did not want to be.

I had to admit it was mostly a French plan to trap the British ground forces and they had done similar operations in Europe in the earlier part of the century, but not with the success of the Yorktown disaster.

We passed through the lines no less than three times just like the triple denial of Christ on the eve of his ultimate sacrifice. Only our passages were through the three lines of offense around the city of Yorktown facing the threat already inside the city in the form of the southern British Army under the command of General Cornwallis.

History had reported the supposed fact that General Cornwallis had a lack of respect for the Colonial forces arrayed against him. In fact, he had allowed his minion, Tarleton to raid and rape the civilian populace as if they were barbarian hordes in the depth of Asia or Africa. It was a decidedly strange situation because most of the local folks were originally from locations in England, Scotland or Ireland and they still had mixed feelings about loyalty to the far distant King or an awakening love for their new-born country of freedom and liberty for all.

Apparently, the bulk of the officer corps was not believers in the concept that the key to success in the field was to win the hearts and minds of the local civilian populace. Their ruthless destruction of residences and farms and churches made them “persona non grata” to the residents of the new nation and the taking of arms to defend their new homeland was becoming the norm rather than the oddball choice of a bunch of rabble-rousers.

Washington’s headquarters was well-stocked with ample provisions and I was impressed with the organization that he had established with the delegation of responsibility to different sections that all worked like a carefully constructed Swiss timepiece.

My company of irregulars was camped on the other side of a clean running river that was recently swollen from heavy rains that left our canvas and our supplies a bit water-logged if the truth be known. It was not a real problem at the moment but I suspected that when we started to move our artillery around and move troops from point A to point B we would find that the following mud would impede our ability to relocate with ease in any direction.

Since our tents were at a premium, I took my other three patrol members and we took up sleeping quarters in a small inn on the edge of the city well out of range of the British forces.

The bar area of the inn was packed with French uniformed forces and they were celebrating the fact that the forward elements of the French fleet was already on the horizon in the harbor much to the chagrin of the British high command.

I could just imagine the panic sweeping the British headquarters as Cornwallis realized the dangers of his cut-off position. I was certain he was questioning the wisdom of Howe in keeping his forces safely camped in the New York City area and not rushing to reinforce his threatened southern Army.

From what I knew of Cornwallis, I felt certain that he was a gentleman above all else and that he despised the wilder elements of his forces that preyed on the civilian populace. His writings at a later date underscored his dismay at some of the excesses such as burning women and children alive inside their churches praying for salvation and receiving only the flames of their destruction.