“But why do they try to drag him into the trouble over the Brandywine defeat?” queried the boy.
“Why? Ask me why a mangy, homeless cur always snarls at the heels of a dog that is well bred. ’Tis always so. Jealousy is at the bottom of all these cabals and plots with which the army is troubled. Even His Excellency is not free from the arrows of their hate. And, as I tell you, Sullivan has too many political friends. They wish to attract attention from his mistakes to somebody else, and they fall upon General Wayne and call him reckless. Reckless, forsooth! His fighting that day when he faced those Hessians was marvelous.
“Nobody,” pursued Prentice, warmly, “unless it was His Excellency himself, realized how exceedingly well placed my Lord Howe’s troops were for defence on the left bank of the Brandywine. Greene selected our position—the position of the main army. I mean, at Chadd’s Ford—and it was well. Wayne was there. Sullivan, as the senior Major-General, commanded the left wing. Wayne’s line was three miles long, and the farthest crossing, which he did not cover, Sullivan was supposed to watch.
“You and I, Morris, were too busy in our little corner to know these facts at that time. But it has all come out now, and, just because a certain Major Spear was either a fool or a coward, Sullivan’s flank was turned and the army routed.”
“What had Major Spear to do with it?” asked Hadley, interested despite the mud and rain through which they continued to plod.
“I’ll explain. Early on the day of the battle,—the 11th, you know,—Howe and Cornwallis marched for the forks of the Brandywine, where there are easy fords. Evidently they intended to do exactly what they did do—cross the river and march down on our side, doubling Sullivan’s wing back upon the main army. For a maneuver in broad daylight it was childish; but it won because of this man Spear.
“Colonel Bland had been ordered to cross at Jones’ Ford to find out what the British were about. He sent back word—there can be no doubt of this, although Sullivan’s friends have tried to deny it—that Cornwallis was surely marching for the upper crossings. His Excellency, learning of this report, threw Wayne across the river to attack Grant and Knyphausen, while Sullivan and Greene were to engage the flanking column of Britishers. Why, if things had gone right, we’d have cut the two divisions of the enemy to pieces!” declared the captain, bitterly.
“But it was not to be. A part of Wayne’s troops had already forded the river when this Major Spear, who had been reconnoitering in the direction of the forks, reported no sign of the enemy in that direction. What the matter was with the man I don’t know—nobody seems to know; but Sullivan should have known whether he was to be trusted or not. The general, on his own responsibility, halted his column and sent word to His Excellency that the first report of the British movements was wrong—Cornwallis was not in the vicinity of the Brandywine forks. Naturally this put the Commander-in-Chief out, and, fearing a surprise, he withdrew Wayne’s men from across the river. The Hessians followed; but they got no farther. Mad Anthony held them in check.
“While we were fighting so hard down there by Chadd’s Ford, Sullivan was doing nothing at all. About one o’clock, it seems, a man named Cheney rode into Sullivan’s division and reported that the British had crossed the river and had reached the Birmingham meeting-house. That was some distance then on Sullivan’s right. But the general still stuck to his belief in Major Spear, and instead of sending out a scouting party, put aside the report as valueless.
“This ’Squire Cheney is something of a man in his township—lives over Thornbury way, they tell me—and it angered him to be treated so superciliously by Sullivan. So what does he do but spur on to headquarters and inform General Washington himself. The report could scarcely be believed by the Commander-in-Chief and his staff, and you cannot blame them. Everybody knew how much depended on the day’s action, and that Sullivan should make such a terrible blunder was past belief.