CHAPTER XXII
Washington—a Man with Human Passions
Half an hour later, after the four travellers had taken some refreshment, hasty steps were heard outside the door, followed by the sentry's hail.
"Ah!" said the general, looking up eagerly from the book he had been reading, "perhaps that is Mr. Martin with news from the enemy." Then laying aside his book, he rose to his feet to meet the new-comer, who proved to be the man he had expected. The young man stood at attention and saluted, while the general addressed him sharply,—
"Well, sir, what have you learned?"
The young officer appeared extremely embarrassed. "I—well, the fact is, sir, nothing at all," he stammered.
"Nothing!" said the general, loudly, with rising heat, "nothing, sir!
Did you not cross the river as I directed you?"
"No, sir. That is, I tried to, but there was so much floating ice, and it was so difficult to manage a boat that I thought it would be hardly worth while to attempt it, sir. In fact, the crossing is impracticable for troops," he went on more confidently; but his face changed as he looked up at his infuriated superior. The general was a picture of wrath; the lines in his forehead standing out plainly, his mouth shut more tightly and grimly than ever. It was evident that he was furiously angry, and his face had in it something terrible from his rage. The young officer stood before him now, white and frightened to death.
"I saw him this way at Kip's Landing," whispered Hamilton to Seymour. "Look! he has lost control of himself completely, there will be an explosion sure."
The general struggled for a moment, and then broke away.
"Impracticable, sir! impracticable!" he roared out in a voice of thunder. "How dare you say what this army can or can not do! And what do you mean by not crossing the river and ascertaining the facts I desire to know!" The next moment he stepped forward and, seizing a heavy leaden inkstand from the table near him, threw it with all his force full at the man, crying fiercely,—
"Damnation, sir! Be off and send me a man."
The officer dodged the missile, which struck the wall with a crash, saluted, and ran out of the door as if his life depended on it; feeling in his heart that he would face any danger rather than brave another storm of wrath like that he had just sustained. The general continued to pace up and down the room restlessly for a few moments, until he recovered his composure.
"I depended upon that information, and I must have it," he soliloquized. "If that man does not bring it back to us before we cross the river, I 'll have him cashiered. Shall I send another man? No, I 'll give him another chance."
Seymour picked up the book the general had been reading. It was the
Bible, and open at the twenty-second chapter of the Book of Joshua.
His eye fell full upon the twenty-second verse, which was marked. "The
Lord God of gods, the Lord God of gods, he knoweth, and Israel he shall
know; if; it be in rebellion, or if in transgression against the
Lord, (save us not this day.)"
Just then the little daughter of Keith, the owner of the farmhouse at which they were staying, entered the room. As the little miss came up fearlessly to the general, he stopped and smiled down at her.
"Father and mother wish to know if you will want supper to-night, sir?"
"No, my little maid," he replied; "not here, at any rate. And which do you like the better now, the Redcoats or the Continentals?"
"The Redcoats, sir, they have such pretty clothes," said the nascent woman.
"Ah, my dear," he replied blithely, catching her up in his arms and kissing her the while, "they look better, but they don't fight. The ragged fellows are the boys for fighting."
"Singular man!" mused Seymour, contrasting the outbreak of wrath at the recalcitrant officer, the open Bible he had been reading, and the last merry, tender greeting to the child. But his musings were interrupted by the general himself, speaking.
"General Greene, you would better ride over to the landing and place the different brigades; take Hamilton with you, and perhaps General Knox will go also to look out for the artillery. The brigades were to start at three o'clock for McConkey's Ford, and the nearest of them should be there now. We shall move in two divisions after we leave Birmingham on the other side. I wish you to command the first one, which will comprise the brigades of Sterling, Mercer, and De Fermoy, with Hand's riflemen and Hausegger's Germans and Forest's battery. I shall accompany your column. General Sullivan will take the second division, with Sargeant's and St. Clair's brigades, and Glover's Marblehead men, and Stark's New Hampshire riflemen. The two columns will divide at Birmingham. You will take the east, or inland road, and Sullivan that by the river. Have you that order I spoke of for the troops, Mr. Hamilton? If so, you will give a copy of it to General Greene, who will publish it to the troops as soon as they arrive. Captain Morris, I think you would better go also. You will muster your troop; the men will have returned from carrying my orders to the different brigades, and can be assembled once more. I desire you to attend my person to-night as our only cavalry. Talbot, you would better go with General Greene; you also, marquis, so that you can be with your friend Captain Hamilton. The rest of us will follow you shortly."
The officers designated bowed, and in a few moments were on the road. The officers left at the headquarters were speedily busy with their necessary duties, and Seymour and his two companions, one of whom, the boatswain, was most unfamiliar with and uncomfortable upon a horse, were able to get a couple of hours of needed rest before starting out upon what they felt would be an arduous journey. About half after six o'clock the signal to mount was given, and the whole party, led by the general himself, and followed by the ragged guard, was soon upon the road.
It was intensely cold, and the night bade fair to be the severest of the winter. The sky was cloudless, however, and there was a bright moon.
CHAPTER XXIII
Lieutenant Martin's Lesson
As they rode along slowly, the general explained his plans. General Howe had pursued him relentlessly through the Jerseys, until he had crossed into Pennsylvania, only escaping further pursuit and certain defeat because he had had the forethought to seize every boat upon the Delaware and its tributaries for miles in every direction, and bring them with his army to the west bank of the river, so that Howe was unable to cross. The English general had threatened, however, to wait until the river was frozen and then cross on the ice, and after brushing aside the miserable remains of Washington's army, march on to Philadelphia and establish himself in the rebel capital. Making that most serious of mistakes for a military man of despising his opponents, Howe had scattered his army, for convenience in quartering, in various small detachments along the river. The small American army, supplemented by the Pennsylvania militia, had been placed opposite the different fords from Yardley to New Hope, to hold the enemy in check in case an attempt should be made to force a crossing.
The fortunes of the country were at the lowest ebb. But there was to be a speedy reversal of conditions, and the world was to learn how dangerous a man was leading the Continental troops. Washington, to whom a retreat was as hateful as it had been necessary, had long meditated an attack whenever any chance whatever of success might present itself. The necessity for a change was apparent, not merely for the material result which would flow from a victory, but for the moral effect as well. The fancied security of the enemy, their exposed positions, disconnected from each other, and the contempt they felt for his own troops, were large factors in determining him to strike then; but another factor had still more weight, and that was the fact that the time of the enlistment of nearly the whole of his own army expired with the end of the year, and whatever was to be done must be done quickly. He therefore conceived the daring and brilliant design of suddenly collecting his scattered forces, crossing the river, and falling upon his unsuspecting enemy at Trenton, where a small brigade of Hessians, under Colonel Rahl, was stationed.
It would be a piece of unparalleled audacity. To turn, as it were, just before the dissolution of his army, and cross a wide and deep river full of ice, in the dead of winter, and strike, like the hammer of Thor, upon his unwary foe, rudely disturbing his complacent dreams, was a conception of exceeding brilliancy, and it at once stamped Washington as a military genius of the first order. And with such an army to make such an attempt! Said one of the officers of the period in his memoirs: "An army without cavalry, partially provided with artillery, deficient in transportation for the little they had to carry; without tents, tools, or camp equipage,—without magazines of any kind; half clothed, badly armed, debilitated by disease, disheartened by misfortune." But their leader was a Lion, and the Lion was at last at bay! There was another factor which contributed greatly to the efficiency of the army, and that was the high quality and overwhelming number of the American officers.
Orders had been given to the brigades and troops mentioned to concentrate at McConkey's Ferry, about nine miles above Trenton. Another division under Ewing was to cross a mile below Trenton and seize the bridge and fords across the Assunpink, to check the retreat of the enemy and co-operate with the main attack.
Cadwalader's Pennsylvania militia under Gates were to cross at Bristol or below Burlington, and attack Von Donop at that point, while Putnam, in conjunction with him, was to make a diversion from Philadelphia. The movements were to be simultaneous, and the result it was hoped would accord with the effort. The main column, and the one upon which the most dependence was to be placed, was that which Washington himself was to accompany, which was composed of veteran Continentals, to the number of twenty-four hundred, with eighteen pieces of artillery.
All this was briefly explained by the general to Seymour and the staff, while they rode slowly along the frozen road. About eight o'clock they arrived at the ford, near which the troops who had arrived before them now stood shivering on the high ground by the river. A few fires were burning in the ravines back of the banks, around which the men took turns in warming themselves, as they munched their frugal fare from the haversacks. A large number of boats had been collected for their transportation, but the river itself was in a most unpromising condition, full of great cakes of ice which the swift current kept churning and grinding against each other.
The general surveyed the scene in silence, as his staff and the general officers gathered about him.
"There is something moving in the river, general," suddenly said Seymour, pointing, his practised eye detecting a dark object among the cakes of ice. "It is a boat, sir!"
"Ah," replied the general, "you have sharp eyes. Where is it?"
"There, sir, coming nearer every minute; there is a man in it."
"I see now. So there is. Who can it be?"
"Probably it is Lieutenant Martin," remarked General Greene, quietly.
"You know you sent him back."
"Oh, so I did," replied the general, nodding sternly at the recollection. Meanwhile the man in the boat was skilfully making his way between the great cakes of ice, which threatened every moment to crush his frail skiff. He rapidly drew near until he finally jumped ashore, and, having tied his boat, hastened up to where the general sat on his horse. He stopped.
"I have been across, general," he said, saluting.
"So I perceive, sir. How did you get across?"
"When I left you, sir, this afternoon," went on the young man, gravely, "I was in such a hurry that I did not wait for anything. I swam it, sir, with my horse."
"Swam it!"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well done, indeed! Was it cold?"
"Not very, sir. At least I was too excited to feel it, and a good hard gallop on the other side soon warmed me up."
"Where did your ride take you?"
"Almost to Trenton, sir."
"And what is the situation there?"
"Very confident, the guard very negligent, the men carousing in the houses. I examined both roads, and neither of them is well picketed. I should think a surprise would not be very difficult, sir."
"Humph! Where's your horse?"
"He fell dead on the other side just as I got back. I found that leaky skiff, and came over to report, sir."
"You have done well, Mr. Martin, very well indeed! I think you must have found that man I sent you for!" continued the general, smiling grimly, while the young soldier blushed with pleasure. "Meanwhile we must get you another horse. Who has a spare one?"
"May it please your honor," spoke out Bentley, who had attached himself to Seymour, "he can have mine. I am as much at sea on him as you would be on the royal yard, begging your honor's pardon, and I 'll feel better carrying a gun or pulling an oar with the men there than here."
The general laughed.
"There 's your horse, Mr. Martin. Where do you belong, sir?"
"To Colonel Stark's regiment, sir."
"Good! Keep at it as you have begun and you will meet with a better reception when you call upon me again. Now God grant that fortune may favor us. Gentlemen, if the brigades are all up, we will undertake the crossing. It looks dangerous, but it can be done—it must be done. Who will lead us?"
"I will, sir, with your permission, with my Marblehead fishermen," said
Colonel Glover, stepping out.
"Ah, gentlemen, this is our marine regiment. Go on, sir! You shall have the right of way across the river. I think none will dispute it with you. Mr. Seymour, as a seaman, perhaps you can render efficient service, and your boatswain will find here more opportunities for his peculiar talents than in carrying a musket. General Greene, will you and your staff go over with the first boat to make proper disposition of the brigades as they arrive? I shall come over after the first division has passed. Then General Sullivan, and lastly our friend General Knox with his artillery. I expect we shall have to wait for him. Well, we cannot dispense with either him or the guns."
"You won't have to wait any longer than is absolutely necessary to get the guns and horses over, general."
"I know that, Knox, I know that. Now, gentlemen, forward! and may God bless you!"
In a few moments the terrible passage began.
CHAPTER XXIV
Crossing the Delaware
The men, divided into small squads, marched down to the boats,—large unwieldy scows, which had been hauled up against the shore,—and each boat was speedily filled to its utmost capacity. The most experienced seized the oars; three or four Marblehead fishermen armed with long poles took their stations forward and aft along the upper side of the boat, with one to steer and one to command; and then, seizing a favorable opportunity, the boat was pushed off from the shore, and threading its way in and out between the enormous ice-cakes grinding down upon her, the difficult and dangerous passage began. Should the heavily laden boat be overturned, very few of its occupants would be able to reach the shore. Once on the other side, the fishermen took the boat back, and the weary process was gone over again. Fortunately it was yet bright moonlight, though ominous clouds were banking up in the northeast, and everything could be clearly seen; each boat was perfectly visible all the way across to the eager watchers on the shore, and a sigh of relief went up after each fortunate passage. In this labor Seymour and Bentley, and in a less degree Philip Wilton, aided Colonel Glover's men; Seymour having the helm of one boat continuously, Bentley that of another.
About half-past nine it was reported to General Washington that all of the first division had crossed, and the boat was now ready for him according to his orders. The largest and best boat had been selected for the commander-in-chief, one sufficiently capacious to receive his horses and those of his staff who accompanied him. Seymour was to steer the boat; Bentley stood in the bow; Colonel Glover stationed himself amidships, with three or four of his trustiest men, to superintend the crossing, and all the oars were manned by the hardy fishermen instead of the soldiers. The general dismounted and walked toward the boat, leading his horse. Just as he was about to enter, an officer on a panting steed rode up rapidly, and saluted.
"General Washington?"
"Yes, sir."
"A letter, sir!"
"What a time is this to hand me letters!"
"Your excellency, I have been charged to do so by General Gates."
"By General Gates! Where is he?"
"I left him this morning in Philadelphia, sir."
"What was he doing there?"
"I understood him that he was on his way to Congress."
"On his way to Congress!" said the general earnestly, with much surprise and disgust in his tone. And then, after a pause, he broke the seal and read the letter, frowning; after which he crumpled the paper up in his hand, and then turned again to the officer. "How did you find us, sir?"
"I followed the bloody footprints of the men on the snow, sir."
"Poor fellows! Did you learn anything of General Ewing or General
Cadwalader?"
"No, sir."
"And General Putnam?"
"He bade me say that there were symptoms of an insurrection in the city, and he felt obliged to stay there. He has detached six hundred of the Pennsylvania militia, however, under Colonel Griffin, to advance toward Bordentown."
"'T is well, sir. Do you remain to participate in our attack?"
"Yes, sir, I belong to General St. Clair's brigade."
"You will find it over there; it has not yet crossed. Now, gentlemen, let us get aboard."
The general stepped forward in the boat, where Bentley, an enormous pole in his hands, was stationed, and the remainder of the party soon embarked. The order was given to shove off. The usual difficulties and the usual fortune attended the passage of the boat with its precious freight, until it neared the east bank, when one of the largest cakes that had passed swiftly floated down upon it.
"Pull, men, pull hard!" cried Colonel Glover, as he saw its huge bulk alongside. "Head the boat up the stream, Mr. Seymour. Forward, there—be ready to push off with your poles." As the result of these prompt manoeuvres, the oncoming mass of ice, which was too large to be avoided, instead of crashing into them amidships and sinking the boat, struck them a quartering blow on the bow, and commenced to grind along the sides of the boat, which heeled so far over that the water began to trickle in through the oar-locks on the other side.
"Steady, men," said Glover, calmly. "Sit still, for your lives."
Bentley had thrown his pole over on the ice-cake promptly, and was now bearing down upon it with all the strength of his powerful arms. But the task was beyond him; the ice and the boat clung together, and the ice was reinforced by several other cakes which its checked motion permitted to close with it. The vast mass crashed against the side of the boat; the oar of the first rower was broken short off at the oar-lock; if the others went the situation of the helpless boat would be, indeed, hopeless. The general himself came to the rescue. Promptly divining the situation, he stepped forward to Bentley's side, and threw his own immense strength upon the pole. Great beads of sweat stood out on Bentley's bronzed forehead as he renewed his efforts; the stout hickory sapling bent and crackled beneath the pressure of the two men, but held on, and the boat slowly but steadily began to swing clear of the ice. These two Homeric men held it off by sheer strength, until the boat was in freewater, and the men, who had sat like statues in their places, could once more use their oars. The general stepped back into his place, cool and calm as usual, and entirely unruffled by his great exertions. Bentley wiped the sweat from his face, and turned and looked back at him in admiration.
"Friend Bentley," he said quietly, "you are a man of mighty thews and sinews. Had it not been for your powerful arms, I fear we would have had a ducking—or worse."
"Lord love you, your honor," said the astonished tailor, "I 've met my match! It was your arm that saved us. I was almost done for. I never saw such strength as that, though when I was younger I would have done better. What a man you would be for reefing topsails in a gale o' wind, your honor, sir!" he continued, thrusting his pole vigorously into a small and impertinent cake of ice in the way. The general was proud of his great strength, and not ill pleased at the genuine and hearty admiration of this genuine and hearty man.
A few moments later they stepped ashore, and a mighty cheer went up from the men who had crowded upon the banks, at the safety of their beloved general. Greene met him at the landing, and the two men clasped hands. The general immediately mounted his powerful white horse, and stationed himself on a little hillock to watch the landing of the rest of the men, engaging General Greene in a low conversation the while.
"Do you know, Greene, that Gates has refused my entreaty to stop one day at Bristol, and take command of Reed's and Cadwalader's troops and help us in the attack! I did not positively order him to do so; only requested him to delay his journey by a day or two. I can't understand his action. A letter was handed me just before we crossed by Wilkinson, telling me that he had gone on to Congress."
"To Congress! What wants he there? Oh, general, it seems as if you had to fight two campaigns,—one against the enemy, and the other against secret, nay open, attempts to minimize your authority and check your plans."
"It seems so, Greene; but with a just cause to sustain, and the blessing of God to help our efforts, we cannot ultimately fail, though, indeed, it may be better that I give place to another man, more able to save the country," went on the general, solemnly.
"Forbid it, Heaven!" cried Greene, passionately. "We, at least, in the army, know to whom has been committed this work; ay, and who has done it, and will do it, too! We will stand by you to the last. Could you not feel in the cheers of those frozen men, when you landed, the love they bear you?"
"Yes, I know that you are with me, and they too. 'T is that alone that gives me heart. Did you publish the orders about the capture of the transport?"
"Yes, sir, and it put new heart in the men, I could see. I wish we had the supplies, the clothing especially, now. It grows colder every moment."
"Ay, and darker, too; I think we shall have snow again before we get through with the night. I wonder how the others down the river have got along. But who comes here?" continued the general, as two men walked hastily up to him and saluted.
"Well, sir?" he said to the first.
"Message from General Ewing, sir."
"Did he get across?"
"No, sir, the ice was so heavy he bade me say he deemed it useless to try it."
"One piece removed from the game, General Greene," said Washington, smiling bitterly. "Now your news, sir?" to the other.
"General Cadwalader got a part of his men across, but the ice banks so against the east side that not a single horse or piece of artillery could be landed, so he bade me say he has recrossed with his men, sir."
"And there's the other piece gone, too! Now, what is to be done?"
General Sullivan, having crossed with the last of his division, at this moment rode up.
"The troops are all across, general," he said.
"Well done! What time is it, some one?"
"Half after eleven, sir," answered a voice.
"Very well, indeed! We have now only to wait for the guns. But, gentlemen, I have just heard that Ewing made no attempt to cross, and that Cadwalader, having tried it, failed. He could get his men over, but no horses and guns, on account of the ice on the bank, and therefore he returned, and we are here alone. What, think you, is to be done now?"
There was a moment's silence.
"Perhaps we would better recross and try it again on a more favorable night," finally said De Fermoy, in his broken accents.
"Yes, yes, that might be well," said one or two others, simultaneously. The most of them, however, said nothing. The general waited a moment, looking about him.
"Gentlemen, it is too late to retreat. I promised myself I would not return without a fight, and I intend to keep that promise. We will carry out the plan ourselves, as much of it at least as we can. I trust Putnam got Griffin off, and that his skirmishers may draw out Von Donop. But be that as it may, we will have a dash at Trenton, and try to bag the game, and get away before the enemy can fall upon us in force. General Greene, you, of course have sent out pickets?"
"Yes, sir, the first men who crossed over, a mile up the road, on the hill yonder."
"Good! Ha, what was that? Snow, as I live, and the moon 's gone, too! How dark it has grown! I think you might allow the men to light fires in those hollows, and let them move about a little; they will freeze to death standing still—I wonder they don't, anyway. How unfortunate is this snow!"
"Beg pardon, your excellency?" said the first of the two messengers.
"What is it, man? Speak out!"
"Can we stay here and take part in your attack, sir?"
"Certainly you may. Fall in with the men there. Where are your horses?"
"We left them on the other side, sir."
"Well, they will have to stay there for this time, and you 'll have to go on foot with the rest."
"Thank you, sir," said the men, eagerly, darting off in the darkness.
"That's a proper spirit, isn't it? Well, to your stations, gentlemen! We have nothing to do now but wait. Don't allow the men to lie down or to sleep, on any account."
And wait they did, for four long hours, the general sitting motionless and silent on his horse, wrapped in his heavy cloak, unheeding, alike, the whirling snow or the cutting sleet of the storm, which grew fiercer every moment. He strained his eyes out into the blackness of the river from time to time, or looked anxiously at the troops, clustered about the fires, or tramping restlessly up and down in their places to ward off the deadly attack of the awful winter night, while some of them sought shelter, behind trees and hillocks, from the fury of the storm. Filled with his own pregnant thoughts, and speaking to no one, he waited, and no man ventured to break his silence. At half after three General Knox, whose resolute will and iron strength had been exerted to the full, and whose mighty voice had been heard from time to time above the shriek of the fierce wind, was able to report that he had got all the artillery over without the loss of a man, a horse, or a gun, and was ready to proceed. The men were hastily assembled, and, leaving a strong detail to guard the boats, at four o'clock in the morning the long and awful march to Trenton was begun, the general and his staff, escorted by the Philadelphia City Troop, in the lead. The storm was at its height. All hopes of a night attack and surprise had necessarily to be abandoned. Still the general pressed on, determined to abide the issue, and make the attack as soon as he reached the enemy. It was the last effort of liberty, conceived in desperation and born in the throes of hunger and cold! What would the bringing forth be?
CHAPTER XXV
Trenton—The Lion Strikes
The route, for the first mile and a half, lay up a steep hill, where the men were much exposed and suffered terribly; after that, for three miles or so, it wound in and out between the hills, and through forests of ash and black oak, which afforded some little shelter. The storm raged with unabated fury, and the progress of the little army was very slow. The men were in good spirits, however, and they cheerfully toiled on over the roads covered with deep drifts, bearing as best they might the driving tempest. It was six in the morning when they reached the little village of Birmingham, where the two columns divided: General Greene's column, accompanied by Washington, taking the longer or inland road, called the Pennington road, which entered the town from the northeast; while Sullivan's column followed the lower road, which entered the town from the west, by way of a bridge over the Assunpink Creek. As Greene had a long detour to make, Sullivan had orders to wait where the cross-road from Rowland's Ferry intersected his line of march, until the first column had time to effect the longer circuit, so that the two attacks might be delivered together. General Washington himself rode in front of the first column. It was still frightfully cold.
About daybreak the general spied an officer on horseback toiling through the snowdrifts toward him. As the horseman drew nearer, he recognized young Martin.
"What is it now, sir?"
"General Sullivan says that the storm has rendered many of his muskets useless, by wetting the priming and powder. He wishes to know what is to be done, sir?"
"Return instantly, and tell him he must use the bayonet! When he hears the firing, he is to advance and charge immediately. The town must be taken, and I intend to take it."
"Very good, sir," said the young man, saluting.
"Can you get through the snow in time?"
"Yes, sir," he replied promptly. "I can get through anything, if your excellency will give the order."
The general smiled approvingly. It was evident that young man's first lesson had been a good one; his emphasis, he was glad to see, had not been misapplied.
When Martin rejoined Sullivan's column, which had been halted at the cross-roads, the men who had witnessed his departure were eagerly waiting his return. As he repeated the general's reply, they began slipping the bayonets over the muzzles of their guns without orders. So eager were they to advance, that Sullivan had difficulty in restraining them until the signal was given. Such was their temper and spirit that, in the excitement of the moment, they recked little of the freezing cold and the hardships of their terrible march. The retreating army was at last on the offensive, they were about to attack now, and no attack is so dangerous as that delivered by men from whom the compelling necessity of retreat has been suddenly removed.
It was about eight o'clock in the morning when they came in sight of the town. The village of Trenton then contained about one hundred houses, mostly frame, scattered along both sides of two long streets, and chiefly located on the west bank of the Assunpink, which here bent sharply to the north before it flowed into the Delaware. The Assunpink was fordable in places at low water, but it was spanned by a substantial stone bridge, which gave on the road followed by Sullivan, at the west end of the village. Washington came down from the north, and entered the village from the other side. About half a mile from the edge of the town, the column led by him came abreast of an old man, chopping wood in a farm-yard by the roadside.
"Which is the way to the Hessian picket?" said the general.
"I don't know," replied the man, sullenly.
"You may tell," said Captain Forest, riding near the general, at the head of his battery, "for this is General Washington."
The man's expression altered at once.
"God bless and prosper you!" he cried eagerly, raising his hands to heaven. "There! The picket is in that house yonder, and the sentry stands near that tree."
The intense cold and heavy snow had driven the twenty-five men, who composed the advance picket, to shelter, and they were huddled together in one of the rude huts which served as a guard-house. The snow deadened the sound of the American advance, and the careless sentry did not perceive them. No warning was given until the lieutenant in command of the guard stepped out of the house by chance, and gave the alarm in great surprise. The picket rushed out, and the men lined up in the road in front of the column, the thick snow preventing them from forming a correct idea of the approaching force. The advance guard of the Continentals, led by Captain William A. Washington and Lieutenant James Monroe, instantly swept down upon them. After a scattered volley which hurt no one, they fled precipitately back toward the village, giving the alarm and rallying on the main guard, posted nearer the centre of the town, which had been speedily drawn up, to the number of seventy-five men. Meanwhile Sullivan's men, with Stark at the head, had routed the pickets on the other road in the same gallant style. This picket was composed of about fifty Hessian chasseurs, and twenty English light dragoons, under command of Lieutenant Grothausen of the chasseurs. They all fled so precipitately that they did not stop to alarm the brigade which they had been stationed to protect, but rapidly galloped down the road, and, crossing the bridge over the Assunpink, made good their escape toward Bordentown. Grave suspicions of cowardice attached thereafter to their commanding officer. Had Ewing performed his part in the plan, the bridge would have been held, and they would have been captured with the rest. Stark's men, followed by the rest of Sullivan's division, were now pushed on rapidly for the town, and the cheers of the New England men were distinctly heard by Washington and his men on the main road. The main guard on the upper road, almost as completely surprised as the other by the dashing onslaught of the Americans, made another futile attempt at resistance to Greene's column, but they soon fell back in great disorder upon the main body.
It was broad daylight now, and the violence of the storm had somewhat abated. In the town, where the firing had been heard, the drums of the three regiments were rapidly beating the assembly. Colonel Rahl was in bed, sleeping off the effects of his previous night's indulgences, when he heard the commotion. Jumping from the bed and running rapidly to the window, still undressed, he thrust out his head and asked the acting brigade adjutant, Biel,—who was hurriedly galloping past,—what it was all about. There was a total misapprehension on all sides, even at this hour, as to the serious nature of the attack; so the confused colonel, satisfied with Biel's surmise that it was a raid, ordered him to take a company and go to the assistance of the main guard, in the supposition that it was only a skirmishing party, and never dreaming of a general attack. Nevertheless he then dressed rapidly, and, running down to the street, mounted his horse, which had been brought around. The three regiments which comprised his brigade and command were already forming; they were the regiment Rahl, the regiment Von Lossburg, and the regiment Von Knyphausen. At this moment the advance party and the main guard came running through the streets in great confusion, crying that the whole rebel army was down upon them. The regiment Rahl and the regiment Von Lossburg at once began retreating to an apple orchard back of the town; firing ineffectively in their excitement, as they ran, from behind the houses, at the head of the column, which had now appeared in the street; while the regiment Von Knyphausen, under the command of Major Von Dechow, the second in command of the brigade, separated from the two others and made for the bridge over the Assunpink.
King and Queen streets run together at the east end of the town. There Washington stationed himself, on the left of Forest's battery, which was immediately unlimbered and opened up a hot fire. The general's position was much exposed, and after his horse had been wounded, his officers repeatedly requested him to fall back to a safer point, which he peremptorily refused to do. The joy of battle sparkled in his eyes; he had instinctively chosen that position on the field from whence he could best see and direct the conflict, and nothing but a successful charge of the enemy upon them could have moved him to retire.
A few of the cooler-headed men among the Hessians had rallied some of the Lossburg regiment, and two guns had been run out into the street and pointed up toward the place where Washington stood, to form a battery, which might, could it have been served, have held the American army in check until such time as the startled Germans could recover their wits and make a stand. General Washington pointed them out to the officer of the advance guard, which had already done such good service, with a wave of his sword. The little handful of men, led by Captain Washington and Lieutenant Monroe, charged down upon the guns, which the party had not had time to load. A scattering volley received them. Captain Washington and Monroe and one of the men were wounded, another fell dead; the men hesitated. Talbot sprang to the head of the column, in obedience to the general's nod, and they rallied, advanced on the run, and the guns were immediately captured.
Meanwhile the fire of Stark's riflemen could be heard at the other end of the town. St. Clair's brigade held the bridge; the regiment Von Knyphausen lost a few precious moments endeavoring to extricate its guns, which had become mired in the morass near the bridge, and then charged upon St. Clair. But it was too late; Von Dechow was seriously wounded, and when the regiment saw itself taken in the flank by Sargeant's brigade, it retired in disorder, though some few men escaped by the fords.
At this juncture Rahl re-formed his scattered troops in the apple orchard. He seems to have had an idea of retreating toward Princeton at first, with the two regiments still under his command; at any rate, he also lost precious moments by hesitation. It was even then too late to effect a successful retreat, for Washington, foreseeing the possibility, had promptly sent Hand's Pennsylvania riflemen along the Pennington road back of the town to check any move in that direction. As fast as the other brigades of Greene's column came up, they were sent down through the streets of the town, until Stirling, in the lead, joined Sullivan's men. Rahl's brigade was practically surrounded, though he did not know it. The commander completely lost his head, though he was a courageous man, brave to rashness, and a veteran soldier who had hitherto distinguished himself in this and many other wars. The town was full of plunder gathered by the troops, the Hessians having been looting the country for weeks; and he could not abandon it without a struggle. The idea of flying from a band of ragged rebels whom he had scouted, was intolerable. He had been, he now felt, more than culpable in neglecting many warnings of attack, and had lamentably failed in his duty as a soldier, in refraining from taking the commonest precautions against surprise. He had refused to heed the urgent representations of Von Dechow, and other of his high officers. Now his honor was at stake; so he rashly made up his mind to charge.
"We will retake the town. All who are my grenadiers—forward!" he cried intrepidly.
The men, with fixed bayonets, advanced bravely, and he led them gallantly forward, sword in hand. The Americans fired a volley; Forest's battery, which enfiladed them, poured in a deadly fire. Rahl in the advance, upon his horse, received a fatal wound and fell to the ground. The Continentals, cheering madly, charged forward with fixed bayonets. The Hessians stopped—hesitated—wavered—their chief was gone—the battle was lost—they broke and fled! Disregarding the commands and appeals of their officers, they turned quickly to the right, and ran off into the face of Hand's riflemen, who received them with another volley. Many of them fell. A body of Virginia troops led by Talbot now gained their left flank, the Philadelphia City Troop encircled their rear. The helpless men stopped, completely bewildered, huddled together in a confused mass. Washington, seeing imperfectly, and thinking they were forming again, ordered the guns from Forest's battery, which had been loaded with canister, to be discharged upon them at once.
"Sir, they have struck!" cried Seymour the keen-eyed, preventing the men from firing.
"Struck!" cried the general, in surprise.
"Yes, sir; their colors are down."
"So they are," said Washington, clasping his hands and raising his eyes to heaven; then, putting spurs to his horse, he galloped over toward the men. The firing had ceased in every direction, and the day was his own; the three regiments were surrendering at discretion, two to him and the other to Lord Stirling. As Major Wilkinson galloped up from the lower division for instructions, Colonel Rahl, pale and bleeding, and supported by two sergeants, presented his sword, which Washington courteously declined to receive. The general then gave orders that every care and assistance should be afforded the unfortunate soldier, who died the next day in a room in Potts' Tavern.
"This is indeed a glorious day for our country," said the general to
Seymour.
It was in fact the turning-point in the history of the nation. The captives numbered nearly one thousand men, with twelve hundred stand of arms, six field-pieces, twelve drums, and four colors, including the gorgeous banner of the Anspachers, the Von Lossburg regiment.
Of the Continentals, only two were killed and four wounded, while upward of one hundred of the Hessians were killed and wounded, among the killed being Rahl and Von Dechow, the first and second in command. The whole of this brilliant affair scarcely occupied an hour.
As none of the other divisions had got across, it was scarcely safe for Washington to remain on the east side of the river in the presence of the vastly superior forces of the enemy, which would be concentrated upon him without delay. So that, after giving the men a much needed rest, securing their booty, and burying the dead, the evening found the little army, with its prisoners, retracing its steps toward the ford and its former camping-ground.
But with what different feelings the hungry, worn-out, tattered mass of men marched along in the bitter night! The contrast between the well-clothed and well-fed Hessians and their captors was surprising, but not less striking than that between their going out and coming in. Little recked the frozen men of the hardships of the way. They had shown the world that they possessed other capabilities than facility in retreating, and no American army, however small or feeble, would ever again be despised by any foe.
The return passage was made without incident, save that just on the crest of the hills leading down to the Ford, the general, who was in advance again, noticed a suspicious-looking, snow-covered mound by the roadside. Riding up to it, one of his aids dismounted and uncovered the body of a man, a Continental soldier, frozen to death. The cold weapon was grasped tightly in the colder hand. A little farther on there was another body asleep in the snow,—another soldier! The last was that man of the headquarters guard who had spoken of his little children at home on Christmas day. They would wait a long time before they saw him again. He had been willing to fight the whole English army! Ah, well, a sterner foe than any who marched beneath the red flag of Great Britain had grappled with him, and he had been defeated,—but he had won his freedom!
For forty hours now that little band of men had marched and fought, and when it reached its camp at midnight the whole army was exhausted. The only man among them all who preserved his even calmness, and was apparently unaffected by the hardships of the day, was the commander himself,—the iron man. Late into the night he dictated and wrote letters and orders, to be despatched in every direction in the morning. The successful issue of his daring adventure entailed yet further responsibilities, and the campaign was only just begun. As for himself, the world now knew him for a soldier. And a withered old man in the palace of the Sans Souci in Berlin, who had himself known victories and defeats, who had himself stood at bay, facing a world in arms so successfully that men called him "The Great," called this and the subsequent campaign the finest military exploit of the age!
CHAPTER XXVI
My Lord Cornwallis
And so the departure of my Lord Cornwallis was necessarily deferred. The packet upon which he had engaged passage, and which had actually received his baggage, sailed without him. It would be some days before he would grace the court of St. James with his handsome person, and a long time would elapse before he would once more rejoice in the sight of his beloved hills; when he next returned it would not be with the laurels of a conqueror either! He was to try conclusions once and again with the gentleman he had so assiduously pursued through the Jerseys; and this time, ay, and in the end too, the honors were to be with his antagonist. The Star and Order of the Bath, which his gracious and generous Britannic majesty had sent over to the new Caesar, General Howe, with so much laudation and so many words of congratulation, was to have a little of its lustre diminished, and was destined to appear not quite so glorious as it had after Long Island; in fact, it was soon to be seen that it was only a pyrotechnic star after all, and not in the order of heaven! Both of these gentlemen were to learn that an army—almost any kind of an army—is always dangerous until it is wiped out; and it is not to be considered as wiped out as long as it has any coherent existence at all, even if the coherent existence only depends upon the iron will of one man,—which is another way of saying the game is never won until it is ended.
There was mounting in hot haste in New York, and couriers and orders streamed over the frozen roads, and Lord Cornwallis himself galloped at full speed for Princeton. The calculations of a certain number of his majesty's faithful troops were to be rudely disturbed, and the comfortable quarters in which they had ensconced themselves were to be vacated forthwith. Concentration, aggregation, synthesis, were the words; and this time the reassembled army was not to disintegrate into winter quarters until this pestilent Mr. Washington was attended to, and attended to so effectually that they could enjoy the enforced hospitality of the surly but substantial Jerseymen through the long winter nights undisturbed. For his part, Mr. Washington, having tasted success, the first real brilliant offensive success of the campaign, was quite willing to be attended to. In fact, in a manner which in another sex might be called coquettish, he seemed to court attention. Having successfully attacked with his frost-bitten ragged regiments a detachment, he was now to demonstrate to the world that not even the presence of an army could stop him.
Things were not quiet on the Pennsylvania side of the river either; there were such comings and goings in Newtown as that staid and conservative village had never before seen. Our two friends, the sad-hearted, were both busily employed. Talbot had galloped over the familiar road, and had electrified the good people of Philadelphia with his news, and then had hastened on to Baltimore to reassure the spirits of the frightened Congress. Honest Robert Morris was trotting around from door to door upon New Year's morning, hat in hand, begging for dollars to assist his friend George Washington, and the cause of liberty, and the suffering army; and Seymour, become as it were a soldier, and with Philip for esquire, was waiting to take what he could get, be the amount ever so little, back to General Washington. The sailor had been granted a further leave of absence by the naval committee, at the general's urgent request, and was glad to learn that he should soon have command of the promised ship of war, which was even then making ready in the Delaware. Honest Bentley—beloved of the soldiery in spite of his genuinely expressed contempt for land warriors—was lending what aid he could in keeping up the spirits of the men, and in other material ways in the camp. Some of the clothing, some of the guns from the Mellish, some of the material captured from the Hessians had gone into the hands and over the backs and upon the feet of the men. But the clothed and the naked were equally happy, for had they not done something at last? Ay! they had given assurance that they were men to be reckoned with.
Fired by the example set them by the Continentals, the Pennsylvania militia, under Cadwalader and Ewing and Mifflin, had at last crossed the Delaware and joined Griffin's men. Washington had followed them, and the twenty-ninth of December found him established in new headquarters at Trenton. A number of mounds in the fields, covered with snow, some bitter recollections and sad stories of plunder, robbery, rapine, and worse, told with gnashing teeth or breaking heart by the firesides, were all that remained of their strange antagonists in the town. But the little town and the little valley were to be once more the scene of war. The great game was to be played again, and the little creek of the Assunpink was to run red under its ice and between its banks.
On the twenty-ninth, Washington's troops began to cross the river again. Two parties of light dragoons were sent on in advance under Colonel Reed, assisted by parties of Pennsylvania riflemen despatched by Cadwalader. They clung tenaciously to the flanks of Von Donop. That unfortunate commander had been led away from his camp at Burlington in pursuit of Griffin's gallant six hundred. When he returned, unsuccessful, the news from Trenton had so alarmed him that he fled precipitately, abandoning his heavy baggage and some of his artillery. It was a work of joy for the pursued to pursue, a reversal of conditions which put the heavy German veterans at a strange disadvantage compared with their alert and active pursuers. They had marched through that country with a high hand, plundering and abusing its inhabitants in a frightful way, and they were now being made to experience the hatred they themselves had enkindled. The country people rose against them, and cut them off without mercy.
It took two days to get the troops across, on account of the ice in the river. And now came another difficulty. The time of the major part of the Americans had expired on the last day of the year, but Washington had them paraded and had ridden up and addressed them in a brilliant, soldier-like fashion, and they had to a man volunteered to remain with him for six weeks longer, or as much more time as was necessary to enable him to complete his campaign before he went into winter quarters. He was at last able to pay them their long deferred salary out of the fifty thousand dollars sent him by Robert Morris, which Seymour and Talbot that day had brought him; and for their future reward he cheerfully pledged his own vast estate, an example of self-sacrifice which Greene, Stark, Talbot, Seymour, and others of the officers who possessed property, at once emulated. The men were put in good spirits by a promise of ten dollars' bounty also, and they were ready and eager for a fight.
Reed, attended by six young gentlemen of the Philadelphia Troop, had been sent out to reconnoitre. Up toward Princeton they had surprised a British outpost composed of a sergeant and twelve dragoons; the sergeant escaped, but the twelve dragoons, panic-stricken, were captured after a short resistance; and Reed and his gallant young cavaliers returned in triumph to headquarters. Valuable information was gained from this party. Cornwallis had joined Grant at Princeton, and with seven or eight thousand men was assembling wagons and transportation, preparing for a dash on Trenton. Confirmation of this not unexpected news came by a student from the college, who had escaped to Cadwalader and been sent up to General Washington. The situation of Washington was now critical, but he took prompt measures to relieve it. Cadwalader from the Crosswicks, and Mifflin from Bordentown, with thirty-six hundred men, were ordered forward at once. They promptly obeyed orders, and by another desperate night march reached Trenton on the morning of the first day of the year.
There was heavy skirmishing all day on the second. Cornwallis, advancing in hot haste from Princeton with eight thousand men, was checked, and lost precious time, by a hot rifle fire from the wood on the banks of the Shabbakong Creek, near the road he followed in his advance. The skirmishers under Greene, seconded by Hand, after doing gallant service and covering themselves with glory by delaying the advance for several hours, giving Washington ample time to withdraw his army across the Assunpink and post it in a strong defensive position, had retired in good order beyond the American line. In the skirmish Lieutenant Von Grothausen, he who had galloped away with the dragoons at Trenton and had been under suspicion of cowardice ever since, had somewhat redeemed his reputation in that he had boldly ridden down upon the riflemen, and had been killed. It was late in the evening when the advance parties crossed the bridge over the creek and sought safety behind the lines. Indefatigable General Knox had concentrated thirty pieces of cannon at the bridge—"A very pretty battery," he called it.
It was dusk when the eager Americans saw the head of the British army coming through the streets. They remained silent while the enemy formed, and advanced to attack the bridge and the fords in heavy columns at the same time. The men came on in a solid mass for the bridge head, cheering gallantly. They were met by Knox's artillery and a steady fire from the riflemen. Three times they crashed on that bridge like a mighty wave, and three times like a wave broken they fell back before an awful storm of fire. General Washington himself, sitting on his white horse, gave the orders at the bridge, and the brave enemy were repulsed. The position was too strong to be taken by direct assault without great loss; besides, it was not vital after all—so reasoned Cornwallis. The British soldiery were weary, they had marched all day at a hot pace and were exhausted. They had not lived in a chronic state of exhaustion for so long that they never gave it a thought; they were not used to it, as were the Continentals, and when the British were tired they had to rest. They would be in better spirit on the morrow. The creek was fordable in a dozen places, but Cornwallis resisted the importunities of some of his officers, who wished to ford it and attack at once; he sent urgent messengers off to Princeton to bring up the two thousand men left there with Von Donop, and to hurry up Leslie with the rear guard, six miles away; when they arrived they could turn the right flank of the Americans, and it would be all up with them then. He thought he had Washington at such a disadvantage that he could not escape, though the small advantage of position might enable him to make a desperate resistance, even with his inferior forces.
"We will wait," he said to Erskine, "until Von Donop comes up, and
Leslie, and then we 'll bag the 'old fox' in the morning!"
So, after brisk firing on both sides until night closed down, the camp-fires were lighted on both sides of the creek; and the British officer went to sleep, calmly confident that he had held the winning cards, and all that was necessary was that the hand should be played out in the morning, to enable him to take the game again. He did indeed hold the higher cards, but the "old fox" showed himself the better player.
On the other side of the creek, in the house of good Mistress Dagworthy, anxious hearts were debating. General Washington had summoned a council of war, which expressed the usual diversity of opinion on all subjects, except an unwillingness to fight, upon which, like every other council of war, it was agreed. Indeed the odds were fearful! Ten thousand seasoned, well-equipped, well-trained, veteran troops, ably led, and smarting with the late defeat and the check of the day against five thousand or six thousand wretchedly provided soldiers, three-fifths of whom were raw militiamen, who had never heard a shot fired in anger!
Not even a leader like Washington, and officers to second him like
Greene, Sullivan, Knox, St. Clair, Stephen, Stirling, Cadwalader,
Sargeant, Mercer, Mifflin, Reed, Stark, Hand, Glover, and the others,
could overcome such a disparity and inequality.
Cornwallis had only to outflank them, crumple them up, roll them back on the impassable Delaware, and then—God help them all!
There was no disguising the critical nature of their situation, and the army had never before been in so desperate a position. It needed no great skill to see the danger now to be faced, but the mistake of Cornwallis gave them a brief respite, of which they promptly availed themselves. Washington was not a man before whom it was ever safe to indulge in mistakes, and the more difficult his position, the more dangerous he became. Trial, danger, hazard, seemed to bring out all of the most remarkable qualities of the man in the highest degree. Nothing alarmed him, nothing dismayed him, nothing daunted him; the hotter the conflict, the more pressing the danger, the cooler he became. No man on earth was ever more ready and quick to avail himself of time and opportunity, once he had determined upon a course of action. This campaign was the most signal illustration, among many others, which his wonderful career affords. Action, prompt, bold, decisive, was as the breath of life to him; but before coming to a decision, contrary to the custom of great commanders generally, he usually called a council of war, which, on account of his excessive modesty, he sometimes allowed to overrule his own better judgment, to the great detriment of the cause. Alone he was superb! Given equal resources, the world has not seen a general with whom he could not successfully be matched. In this particular juncture, fortunately for the country, he insisted upon having his own way.
There were apparently but three alternatives before the council. The first was a retreat with all speed down the river, leaving the heavy baggage and artillery, and then crossing at Philadelphia if they could get there in time. But this would be to abandon the whole colony of New Jersey, to lose the results of the whole campaign, and leave the enemy in fine position to begin again in the spring; and if this were the end, they might better have stayed on the west side of the river. Besides, successes were vital and must be had. Another retreat meant disintegration and ruin, in spite of the lucky stroke at Trenton. The second alternative was a battle where they stood, and that meant total defeat,—a thing not to be considered a moment. The army must win or die; and as dying could do no good, it had to win. A brilliant idea, however, had occurred to the commander-in-chief, the man of brilliant ideas. He communicated it to the council, where it instantly found adherents, and objectors, too. It was the third alternative. A circuitous road called the Quaker road, recently surveyed and just made, led in a roundabout way from the rear of the camp toward the Princeton road, which it entered two miles from that town. Washington's plan was to steal silently away in the night by this road, leaving bright fires burning to deceive the confident enemy, and press with all speed toward Princeton, strike Cornwallis' rear-guard there at daybreak with overwhelming force, crush it before that general could retrace his steps, and then make a dash for the British supplies at New Brunswick. If it were not practicable to reach that point, Washington could take a position on the hills above Morristown, on the flank of the British, and, by threatening their communications, force the superior army to retreat and abandon the field, or else attack the Americans in their intrenchments in the hills, with a probable result even more disastrous to the attacking party than at Bunker Hill. It was a conception as simple and beautiful as it was bold, brilliant, and practicable.
But now the objectors began; it had been snowing, sleeting, and raining for several days; the roads were impassable, they had no bottom. Objections were made on all sides: the artillery could not possibly be moved, no horses could pull the wagons through the mud, the troops could not march in it. But Washington, with true instincts, held to his carefully devised plan with an unusual resolution. Arguing, explaining, suggesting, convincing, persuading, the hours slipped away, until at ten o'clock at night there came a sudden change in the weather, perceptible even to those in the house. Washington ran eagerly to the door and opened it. Followed by the general officers, he stepped out into the night. It was dark and cloudy, no moon or stars even, and growing colder every moment under the rising northeast wind.
"Gentlemen," he cried gayly, "Providence has decided for us. The wind has shifted. The army will move in two hours."
At the time specified by the commander, the muddy roads were frozen hard. The heavy baggage was sent down to Burlington, and a strong party of active men was left to keep bright fires burning, and charged to show themselves as much as possible and make a great commotion by throwing up fortifications and loud talking, with instructions to slip away and join the main body early next day as best they could. At one o'clock in the morning the astonished army started out upon their adventurous journey,—another long cold night march. The untravelled roads were as smooth and hard as iron. With muffled wheels they succeeded in stealing away undetected.