The Young Continentals at Monmouth

Having had no proper rest on the previous night, Ben slept well on that night of the first of January; early in the morning, however, he was up and had snatched his breakfast and was in the saddle.

Washington had selected a position for his main body on the east side of the Assanpink and, as the young artilleryman had said the night before, the batteries were so planted as to sweep the stone bridge over that stream, and the fords. Word came in by Ezra and George Prentiss, who had taken horse in the small hours of the morning, that the main body of Lord Cornwallis was advancing. At once strong parties were sent out under General Greene; these met and engaged advance parties of British, or hung upon the flanks of the main body like terriers, and so greatly impeded their progress.

It was noon, therefore, when Cornwallis reached the north bank of the Shabbakong, where he halted for a time; then he crossed to the other side, when the light parties of Americans once more began to worry him with their rifle fire. Made angry by this, the British charged into the woods and dislodged their annoyers; afterward they pushed on with little or no interference until they reached the high ground outside Trenton. Here Colonel Hand’s body of riflemen poured out such a warm greeting that the British were for the time checked. But in a little while orders were sent to Hand to fall back, as the ground was not thought to be one upon which the struggle could be undertaken with advantage.

When the riflemen retreated upon the main body of the American force, it was almost sunset; in a fury at being so delayed, Cornwallis rushed his troops through the town of Trenton, formed them into columns and attempted to cross the Assanpink by the stone bridge and the fords.

But a storm of bullets and solid shot drove him back; again and again the gallant Briton hurled his force at the crossings, but each time the batteries sent them reeling back. Washington, mounted upon his white horse, was stationed at the American end of the bridge giving his orders in person; and each time the enemy was repulsed the lines of his soldiers roared their approval.

During all this time the British cannon were by no means silent; they thundered and smoked and hurled their missiles with all the skill of their handlers, but with little damage to the Americans. Then, as the night had closed in, Cornwallis hushed their anger, ceased his attempts to cross the creek, and went into camp.

Ben Cooper and his friends stood watching the fires of the enemy gleaming in the darkness.

“Put off until another day,” said Ben, soberly.

“I thought, by the way it began, that we’d know victory or defeat by this,” remarked George Prentiss.

“How long do you think we’ll be able to hold them?” asked Nat Brewster of Ezra Prentiss.

“Cornwallis is a general of resource and enterprise,” replied Ezra. “To-day he has tried a direct forcing of our front; to-morrow he will adopt different measures.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Ben Cooper, still more soberly than before. “And that means that he’ll begin flanking movements and other things in which his veteran troops will have a tremendous advantage over our untrained militia.”

To guard against a surprise, or to be ready to receive the enemy in the early morning should he wait so long before attacking, the Americans kept their weapons beside them. Washington patrolled his camp with care and anxiety; it was a night of terrible suspense; never before since the beginning of the war had the Americans risked so much upon the outcome of a single struggle; defeat meant annihilation.

The commander-in-chief, accompanied by a few officers, paused in his rounds at no great distance from where the boys stood. Sitting erect in his saddle, he examined the fires of Cornwallis with speculative eye.

“They sleep as though feeling their prey secure,” said General Greene.

“Our discipline is not great enough to hold him back,” said Washington, his gaze still upon the watch-fires of the enemy; “a front to front engagement is out of the question.”

The boys saw Greene turn a look upon his fellow officers; it was plain that, from this, he expected something more. And he was not disappointed.

“By this time,” said General Washington, in a quiet way and with the manner of a man who is weighing something of vital import, “the greater part of the enemy must be on its way to Trenton, to assist in crushing us.”

“I think there is scarcely any doubt of that,” answered Greene. “We have given my Lord Cornwallis a taste of our mettle lately, and he’ll not trifle with us, you may depend.”

“They will be drawn from Princeton,” said Washington, “in detachments of no great strength. If encountered, a competent force could beat them in detail. And then Brunswick, where all their baggage and stores lie, would be left practically undefended.”

General Greene drew in his breath sharply; the other officers stirred in their saddles, their eyes gleaming expectantly in the firelight. Washington, who had made no sign that he had noted the proximity of his young riders, now surprised them by suddenly facing them.

“Prentiss,” said he, singling out Ezra; and the latter at once advanced to the side of the great white horse. The commander-in-chief said: “When you brought in your information as to the movements of the enemy, this morning, did you not say that a force was left behind a little way out of Trenton, as a rear guard?”

“About six miles, or half-way to Princeton, general,” answered Ezra promptly. “It is under command of General Leslie; I saw him plainly.”

“And they were on the direct road between Trenton and Princeton?”

“Yes, general.”

“That will be all.”

Ezra fell back to his friends; the commander turned to his officers.

“There is another way to Princeton—a more circuitous one, known as the Quaker Road,” said Washington. “Do you think, Mercer,” to the Virginian officer who was in the group, “that a movement could be successfully made in that direction?”

“I am sure of it,” declared General Mercer, enthusiastically. “A quick march, a blow when they least expect it at Princeton, destroy what baggage they’ve left there—and then a rush upon Brunswick, where we can deal them a blow that will cripple them.”

There was a chorus of voices raised in praise of the proposition. But Washington’s hand went up.

“First,” said he, “we will discuss the matter in detail. And as your quarters are the nearest, Mercer,” to his friend, “we will go there.”

At once the party of general officers turned their horses’ heads toward the house where Mercer was lodged. What took place there the lads never knew, but that the plan which Washington had so sketched was finally agreed upon in detail was evident before an hour had passed.

Swiftly the order was given; the teamsters and the baggage were soon silently on their way to Burlington. Intrenching tools were brought forward with great bustle, and numbers of men were set vigorously to work near the bridge and each ford, throwing up earthworks. With much clatter and loud talking this work went forward in the hearing of the British sentinels across the creek. Camp-fires were kept burning, and from time to time guards were relieved in such a manner that the enemy could not help being aware of it.

And while this was going forward, the main body of the army noiselessly slipped away toward Princeton. The progress was slow at first, because the roads were soft; but suddenly the direction of the wind altered, the cold became intense, and the wagon way froze to the hardness of iron.

The orders were that the men left behind to deceive the enemy were to continue on the Assanpink until daybreak, when they were to abandon their pretense and hasten after the army. General Mercer commanded the advance party along the Quaker Road which, being new and encumbered with stumps, made slow traveling.

It was about sunrise when the army reached the bridge at Stony Brook, three miles from Princeton. Ben Cooper and his friends, who were detailed with Mercer’s advance party, heard that officer say to one of his aides:

“We should have been entering the town by this. I’m afraid that daylight will expose our movements.”

Mercer, under orders, took up his course along the brook; Washington led the main body into a by-road which his guides claimed was a short cut into Princeton. It was Mercer’s intent to seize or destroy a bridge on the main road, so as to prevent the flight of the British when Washington attacked them.

Along trailed Mercer, following the stream, and away marched Washington by the side road; they had gone some little way toward their objective points, and still the enemy had not perceived them. However, before Mercer reached the bridge, the British 17th, under Colonel Mawhood, crossed it on the way to Trenton, where they had been ordered. The glitter of the rifle barrels of Mercer’s men attracted the attention of some one in the 17th, and Mawhood was instantly on the alert. It was impossible for the British to make out the full strength of the Americans, owing to the thick woods; but probably the British leader fancied them a detachment flying from a possible defeat at Trenton; and so made up his mind to capture them.

Swift riders were sent spurring back to Princeton to inform two additional regiments, also under marching orders, of the condition of affairs; once these were on the ground, so Mawhood reasoned, the Americans could be surrounded.

The van of Mercer’s brigade was nearing the desired bridge when Ben Cooper, riding ahead, made out the scarlet of the British through the naked trees. Instantly his holster pistol was out and he had fired a shot of warning; whirling about his mount he dashed back to the companions he had left a little while before. The alarm shot had startled the American officers into instant action; Mercer galloped up and at once saw the task before him. Like a trained soldier he glanced about for a natural advantage; some high ground to the right attracted him and he ordered his men to make for it. The regiment of Mawhood noted the vantage point about the same time and also rushed to occupy it.

But the Americans were the first to reach the high ground and formed behind a hedge fence. Their rifles at once opened upon the British, who returned the fire with deadly accuracy. Mercer’s horse was killed under him, and several of his officers fell. A confusion struck the American troops, and, noting this, with comprehensive eye, Mawhood met the situation like a master.

“With bayonet—charge!” he commanded.

With leveled muskets, each bayonet-tipped, the British 17th rushed up the sides of the elevation.

“Meet them, lads,” shouted the brave Mercer, who had freed himself from his dead horse and was now upon his feet, sword in hand. “Club your pieces! Meet them like men!”

But the clubbed muskets were of little use against the bristling steel of the onrushing veterans; at the first onset the Americans broke; Mercer tried to rally them, but was struck down; with flashing blade he arose and defended himself—but was pierced by a half dozen bayonets, and the rush of the enemy passed over his brave body.

To the crest of the hill charged the 17th, cheered on by Mawhood and his officers; once there they came to a sudden halt, however, for they saw a heavy body of troops emerging from the woods and advancing toward them.

This was a regiment of Pennsylvania militia which had been sent forward by Washington upon the first volley from Mercer’s brigade.

“Give them the artillery,” directed the businesslike Mawhood, as he watched the Pennsylvanians pushing upon him.

In a moment the pieces of cannon which he carried with him were brought into play, and in the face of their heavy discharge, the Americans, who were but recruits, halted and began to waver. For a moment the situation was strong with peril, and then Nat Brewster, who stood with the Prentiss twins, Ben and some score of the hardier spirits, behind a fringe of trees, loading and firing like machines, suddenly uttered a shout of joy.

“It’s not over yet,” said he, pointing to the brow of a neighboring hill. There stood a great white horse and upon it was a powerful, erect rider, who surveyed the situation with eagle glance.

“It’s General Washington!” shouted Ben Cooper.

As he spoke the commander-in-chief dashed down the side of the hill, the white charger moving like the wind; with voice ringing with confidence, he called up Mercer’s broken force.

“Turn and at them, my brave fellows. Shall it be said that you ran with arms in your hands?”

Here and there a man paused; and no sooner had he done so than some others joined him; in a few moments the breathless officers were reforming them into lines and gasping out words of encouragement. Through a flight of bullets, Washington swept up and down, giving orders, shouting encouragement, waving his sword in circles of light. Never was there a plainer mark for the stray bullet which usually brings greatness down; but, as Providence willed, none found it then.

The Pennsylvanians, wavering under the cannon shot of Mawhood, saw this act of daring on the part of their chief, and steadied instantly. A battery of artillery now opened upon the British from a hilltop, and the grape-shot began to cut them down. And, as though this were not enough, a Virginia regiment broke from out the woods and charged furiously upon them.

Almost in a single moment Mawhood was plunged from the height of success to a situation of desperate danger. But he was skilful and brave, and not the sort to fail in any kind of action; with high courage he drove his men at the ring that had all but closed him in and fought his way back to the Trenton road.

Washington, as he dashed to and fro, as much endangered by the fire of his own men as that of the British, witnessed this gallant effort of Mawhood’s with admiration; nevertheless he sent a detachment of the Pennsylvanians in pursuit with directions to break down the bridge upon their return, in order that General Leslie, of Cornwallis’ rear guard, might be delayed should he advance to attack them before their task was done.

While this sharp encounter was in progress, another British regiment, the 55th, was met nearer Princeton by the American general St. Clair; a steep ravine was the scene of this struggle, which was brief but desperate; the British broke and fled across the fields toward Brunswick; seeing them in flight, the remaining regiment, which had not come up in time to be of assistance to their fellows, also broke; a part of them hurried in the direction of Brunswick, but a strong body threw themselves into the college building at Princeton and began a stubborn resistance.

They were firing from windows and from protected parts of the roof when Ben Cooper, bearing a dispatch from Washington to St. Clair, rode up. As St. Clair tore open the dispatch, he said grimly to one of his colonels:

“Bring up the guns; we’ll try if this student body can stand before a row of such schoolmasters.”

The artillery wheeled into place and began hurling their shot into the college. It took but a few moments of this to bring the cry for quarter from within. The doors were flung open, and the Americans rushed into the building, where the British had thrown down their arms.

But some of them, apparently, had not agreed to giving up so readily; and as the victors rushed in at one end, they dashed for the windows at the other, leaped through and went racing away. A party was dispatched in pursuit, but later returned with only a handful; the others had escaped in the woods.

Washington pursued the routed regiments as far as Kingston; here, with his officers, he held a council of war. It was decided that the men were too worn out to push on to Brunswick with any speed, and that Cornwallis would be upon them before they could reach there. The word was therefore given, and the army, destroying bridges behind them, marched away toward the wooded and frowning heights about Morristown.

And as they went, Ben Cooper rode at the side of Nat Brewster, his face thoughtful and his manner strangely still. At length Nat noticed it.

“What has happened?” he asked, anxiously.

“Nothing,” replied Ben. “That is,” he added, “nothing as yet. But I fear that something—a something that neither you nor I can put hands upon—will happen, and perhaps at no distant time.”

Nat looked at him in surprise.

“I don’t understand,” said he.

“Nor I, if it comes to that,” returned Ben. Then after a short pause, he inquired: “Do you recall my saying, last night, that I fancied I heard, in conversation with General Mifflin, the voice of a stranger whom I had encountered in Philadelphia?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Ben, and there was an odd foreboding in his tone, “this morning, at one of the windows of Princeton College, while the British were escaping, I thought I saw his face.”