The Young Continentals at Trenton

The smoke of the pistol was drifting toward the ceiling as George wheeled toward the portrait. But the blank spaces were now filled by the painted eyes; there was no trace of anything being amiss. For a space after the crash of the shot died away there was complete silence. Then a hum grew through the mansion; doors began to open and shut, voices were lifted in anxious and frightened inquiry.

But George Prentiss paid little heed. He stood in the center of the room gazing into the heavy face of the old burgomaster, incredulity, fear, astonishment mingled into one expression. Peggy had tried to take his life, was the horrid thought that filled his mind; to save her brother she had attempted to shoot his fancied pursuer in the back.

Up and down outside his door hurried unshod feet; the voice of the stout old merchant could be heard demanding, threatening, raging. But what his words were, George did not gather; indeed, his brain seemed numbed by what had happened; he felt as though it were moving in a sort of haze and could grasp no fact save the one.

Then a knock sounded upon his door; dully he turned and opened it; Mr. Camp stood there, and at his back were a couple of frightened servants bearing lighted candles.

“Master Prentiss,” said the merchant, “we were startled a few moments ago by what sounded much like a musket or pistol shot, in or near this room.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“You will pardon me, but I am going over the house to make sure that all is well.”

George smiled faintly.

“There has been no harm done me, as you can see.”

“I am delighted to hear it. But it’s most strange. It sounded much as though it were within the house, and yet it scarcely could be. Pardon me again for disturbing you.”

All night long George sat in the empty chair by the hearth; the rain ceased, the clouds drifted away and both moon and stars looked serenely down upon the drenched earth. And when morning came he descended to find the servants already loading the household valuables into covered wagons. He ate breakfast with his host.

“I’ve always kept this place intact against my infrequent visits,” said he to George. “But nothing will be safe, now that a war is upon us, and I’m taking away all I may.”

“Have Major Hyde and Captain Henderson not yet arisen?” asked the young man.

“An hour ago,” was the answer. “They could not await you, and begged me to mention their regrets. And my niece is discommoded with a headache, a thing uncommon with her. So I will be forced to say good-bye for her,” added the honest old gentleman a few moments later when George arose to take his leave. “But believe me, we were all pleased to see you and will be again when it is possible. Should you ever cross the Jerseys, lad, don’t fail to hunt us out. The Elms, we call the place, and it’s less than a dozen miles out of the town of Trenton.”

“I shall be glad to do so, sir,” said the youth.

The old gentleman lowered his voice so that none of the bustling servants might hear.

“I understand that you are now engaged with the undertakings of this man Washington. And to one of your opinions this can only mean one thing. You are spying on them.” The distaste in the merchant’s voice was plain, and he added: “If you will be advised by me, you will give it up. It is not to my liking, and should not be to yours. Take service with Lord Howe. Fight the rebels for all that’s in you—but fight them fairly.”

And so George left the mansion in Crown Street to take up his duties; and the next time he rode that way the place was closed and deserted. What his thoughts were, he kept to himself; but that they were unpleasant was clearly evident. But it was no time for wandering thoughts. There was scarcely a day that history of a more or less important degree was not in the making.

While New York was slowly being encompassed by foes, great things were being done some little distance south. At Philadelphia, Congress was discussing a question which John Adams referred to as “great as ever was or will be debated among men.” On the second of July a resolution passed the body declaring the colonies free and independent; on the fourth, the Declaration of Independence, as drafted by Mr. Jefferson, was adopted.

Riders were sent scurrying in all directions with fair copies of this; and on the evening of July 9th, Washington caused it to be read at the head of each brigade of the army.

“I hope,” he said in his orders, “that this important event will serve as a fresh incentive to every officer and soldier to act with fidelity and courage, as knowing that now the peace and safety of his country depend, under God, solely on the success of our arms; and that he is now in the service of a state, possessed of sufficient power to reward his merit and advance him to the highest honors of a free country.”

Bells were rung, guns sounded, bonfires gleamed at every street corner. An excited throng gathered in the yard of the “King’s Arms” and planned an escapade which they felt would fittingly crown the moment.

A man well known as an enthusiastic member of the Sons of Liberty sprang up and addressed those present.

“Friends,” he cried, “a word with you.” By the expression of his face they knew he had something of interest to propose; and so all conversation was hushed. “We are done with kingly government and with kings,” proceeded the speaker. “And this being the case, we have left something undone. On Bowling Green, near the fort, is a statue of King George——”

An instant roar went up.

“Shall it remain longer than it takes us to make our way there?” demanded the man.

“No,” answered the throng, as one man.

“Then let us start at once. But remember one thing. This statue is made of lead. And lead is the metal that bullets are made of. What more fitting than that the presentiment of a king be run into bullets to be used against his hirelings!”

Delighted with this, they streamed into Broadway and toward the fort; amid the shouts of hundreds who gathered to see the sport, the statue was pulled down and broken up. And legend has it that it was indeed run into bullets for use against Lord Howe and his army.

A few days after this the city was struck with panic. Two ships of war got under way and headed up toward the battery. One was found to be the “Phœnix,” forty guns; the other was the “Rose,” a vessel of twenty, and commanded by Captain Wallace. Alarms were sounded; the Americans flocked to their posts. With wind and tide behind them the British ships swept up the bay with three tenders following, all shaping their course for the Hudson. The batteries from both the city and Paulus Hook opened upon them. The war-ships answered with broadsides, but kept on their way. The fleet made no attempt to ascend, holding to their anchors; and seeing this and drawing from it that there were no prospects of an immediate general attack, the townspeople breathed freely.

The troops at the Highlands were made ready; river sloops and all boats of any size for miles along the Hudson were requisitioned; the forts and batteries were manned; as far as might be, all was prepared for anything that might come.

On the evening of the day that the “Rose” and the “Phœnix” made their dash there was a great booming of cannon from the enemy’s shipping off Staten Island. A ship of the line had just come in from sea; at her foretop streamed the British ensign, and her sister ships thundered a smoking welcome. And an increased feeling of dread ran through the city when it was learned that Admiral Lord Howe had arrived.

The crisis was now at hand, and all disaffected persons were removed from the city. General Lord Howe immediately opened negotiations. While military diplomats wrangled over forms, the militia along the Hudson kept up a constant bickering with the two ships that had forced their way up the river and were now within six miles of Fort Montgomery. Brushwood was piled at intervals, so that beacons could be lighted to give warning in time of danger; fire ships were made ready to float down against the war vessels, and General Putnam was proceeding with a plan for the obstruction of the channel, his notion being to prevent the passage of hostile vessels up or down the river.

Watchful eyes then made out another incoming fleet. It was of a hundred sail, and carried huge reinforcements to the British land force; one thousand of the already detested Hessians were among them. These disembarked on Staten Island and threw up earthworks. Scotch, English and German mercenary troops continued to arrive; then came the army under Sir Henry Clinton, which had only lately been rather soundly beaten at Charleston.

The British land force now numbered some thirty thousand experienced men; that under Washington was less than twenty thousand. And these latter were raw, undisciplined troops for the most part; they were badly armed, and most of all they were torn with sectional animosities. Bilious and other fevers were rampant among them; one-quarter of their number were on the hospital list; and the remainder were compelled to cover a defense fifteen miles in length.

The watchful Washington missed few of his opponent’s movements. Through spies and deserters he learned that many of the British regiments had reëmbarked, three days’ provisions had been cooked, and every indication pointed to some large movement being at hand. Then General Putnam brought word that one-quarter of the ships had sailed, probably around Long Island.

The American general stood ready with his force to meet the movement of Howe as soon as it should develop sufficiently to be intelligible. The movement, so he reasoned, would be to land a force to attempt Brooklyn Heights, which commanded the city of New York.

General Greene and his army held Brooklyn, a strong line of works stretched across the peninsula, upon which the town stood, running from Wallabout Bay on the north to Gowanus Cove on the south. A battery was mounted on Red Hook to protect the rear from the shipping of the British; a fort occupied the lower point of Governor’s Island.

A range of hills stretched away before Greene’s intrenchments; it was densely wooded and cut by three passes. One of these led to Bedford in the east, the second opened to the southeast toward Flatbush, while a road ran through the third that led directly south by Gowanus Cove and Gravesend Bay. It was undoubtedly General Greene’s purpose to man the hills and defend these passes; but as fate would have it, he was taken down with a violent fever, and General Sullivan was placed in temporary command.

From the American camp of Livingston on the Jersey side, much British preparation was discerned. Word was sent to New York that thirty thousand troops had been crowded into the transports riding at anchor off Staten Island; these were to attack Long Island, and the remaining regiments were to be launched against other points at the same time.

The day after this news was received, the dull roar of cannon was heard from the south of Brooklyn; Washington instantly sent a reinforcement of six battalions across the river; more would have gone, but it was not yet known where the attack would really center.

With these battalions went George Prentiss, his friends Brewster and Cooper and his brother Ezra. Next day the latter, who had been riding for Sullivan to the south of the town, made known to his friends what had occurred.

“Colonel Hand was stationed with his Pennsylvania riflemen to guard the landing-places; a force of artillery and light horse crossed and drove him back. Sir Henry Clinton commanded this landing in person; but under cover of a smart rifle fire, Hand took possession of the hills commanding the Flatbush pass. Some light infantry, and Donop’s Hessians, came on to seize this; but seeing that the riflemen were capable of making a stubborn and bloody resistance, they halted and rested for the night at Flatbush.

“The remainder of Clinton’s force is laid out from the Narrows, where they landed, to Flatbush, which is almost a straight line to the east.”

On August 24th, Washington crossed the river and carefully inspected the scene of the coming struggle; Greene’s plans were at hand, but the gallant Rhode Islander was too desperately ill to explain them. As yet, nothing but skirmishing was indulged in, and it was fortunate for the Americans that this was so. If the British had plunged forward, the rout of the patriot army would have been complete; for, because of the absence of Greene from the lines, things were in a bad way.

“The conditions are even worse here than they were before Boston at the beginning of the siege,” Ezra Prentiss said to his friends, as they stood awaiting orders in front of Sullivan’s headquarters. “Confusion and disorder are everywhere.”

“Each man is his own law,” agreed young Cooper. “They don’t wait for instructions if they feel inclined to take action against the enemy; and if they are not so inclined, they refuse to move, no matter what the orders are.”

But when Putnam took command, this condition was to a large extent altered, for that doughty warrior called the officers together and in plain terms told them what was expected of them; stern measures after this effected something of a change.

British preparations continued. At length, two more brigades of Hessians under De Heister crossed the Narrows; and when Washington noted this he was convinced that now indeed the blow was to be struck; accordingly what troops he could spare were sent to join Putnam’s force on the east side of the river.

On the evening of August 26th, Clinton began a movement with a body of picked troops toward Flatbush Flatlands; after him, trailing through the darkness, came Percy with the artillery, grenadiers and dragoons; and close to Percy’s heels marched Cornwallis with the heavy ordnance. Like ghosts the silent columns changed their course at Flatlands and flitted across the New Lots. A Tory who knew every inch of the ground was at their head, and he brought them safely through the marsh to the Jamaica Road. To Clinton’s astonishment, the Bedford pass was undefended, and through it he went, followed by Percy and Cornwallis; at daylight they breakfasted within three miles of Bedford; and the Americans never dreamed of their being anywhere at hand.

Three hours after Clinton began his movement, the British general, Grant, according to plan, started with the left wing of the enemy’s force from Gravesend Bay. Some New York and Pennsylvania militia retired before him, keeping up a brisk rifle fire. A party of scouts brought the news of this advance to Putnam; and at once General Sterling was rushed forward to hold Grant in check.

The scouts rode ahead, testing every doubtful point.

“Daylight will soon be upon us,” said George Prentiss, “and that will give us some idea of what force we will have to contend with.”

“These fellows behind us are the pick of Putnam’s force,” said Ezra. “Indeed, they are the only well-trained regiments I’ve seen here, and should be able to give a good account of themselves.”

When Sterling reached the Gowanus pass he found his scouts mingling with the militia in the graying dawn.

“The report is, sir,” said George, saluting the general, “that the enemy is close at hand.”

Through the indifferent light, Lord Sterling selected the points of vantage. To the commander of the militia he said:

“Draw your men up in that orchard on the left of the road; we may manage to have them walk into an ambush.”

While this was being done, Sterling formed his own men along a ridge that ran from the road to a hilltop. Under a steady fire the British came along; but they avoided the ambush by throwing forward some light troops; and at broad day these, from behind hedges and trees, were facing the Americans at a distance of some hundred and fifty yards.

But the blow was to be dealt on the Flatbush Road. While darkness hung over all, the Hessian, De Heister, opened with his guns on Hand’s riflemen, who defended the pass under the direction of General Sullivan. Some ships of the line attempted to get into action; but heavy head winds drove them back. The “Roebuck,” a rather small vessel, managed to beat up against the wind, however, and she opened upon the fort at Red Hook.

During all this, Washington was in Manhattan; the people of the city were wild with terror, for it was still believed that the real attack would be leveled at them. But in a little time the commander-in-chief saw that this was not to be the case, so he had his barge manned and crossed to Brooklyn. And he arrived in time to see the first blows struck.

Clinton, having comfortably breakfasted, now brought forward his artillery; the guns thundered the awaited signal. At once De Heister knew that the American left had been turned; and he hurled his Hessians under Count Donop upon the Flatbush pass. Sullivan also caught the sound of Clinton’s guns; they were in his rear, and the truth struck home instantly.

“Fall back!” he cried.

As the German troops pressed forward, no one remained to resist them; down the opposite side of the hill rushed the Americans, hoping to escape being surrounded. But when they reached the plain, Sullivan saw that he was too late. Clinton’s light infantry and dragoons were upon them like cats. Back the patriots rushed into the pass, only to be greeted with a stream of lead from the mercenaries’ muskets.

“We have them!” shouted Count Donop in his hoarse German. “At them, my children!”

The Americans recoiled from the sleet of bullets, but only to fall upon the sabers of the British dragoons. Backward and forward like shuttlecocks they were driven; first the British would send them reeling toward the Hessians, then the latter would, in turn, hurl them back upon the British. But not for a moment did the patriots cease fighting; their rifles belched in the faces of the foe, their bayonets ran red with blood. The pass roared with conflict; mercy was not asked nor given; above the barking of muskets, horses neighed and trumpets shrilled their high-voiced commands.

At length Sullivan was taken prisoner, and with him a large body of his men; another section of the command broke through the mass of the British and gained their own lines, but by far the greater number of the brave fellows lay dead among the stones of the pass.

Before this dreadful blow was dealt the colonial hopes, Lord Sterling was exchanging shots with the British under Grant at the Gowanus pass. When the heavy guns of Clinton announced his presence at Bedford, Grant began a determined advance; with one rush he crushed and took the raw militia.

It was here that George Prentiss’ knowledge of the country, gained in his long rides and his sketching, was brought into play. Sterling, with his officers grouped about him, was endeavoring to hit upon a way out of a desperate situation. For desperate it was. Cornwallis, while Sterling was facing Grant, had rapidly brought the British reserve from Bedford by a narrow road; and he was now directly in Sterling’s rear. As Sullivan had been between the fires of Clinton and De Heister, so Sterling was between those of Cornwallis and Grant.

As George pressed toward the group about Sterling, an officer whispered something in the general’s ear. Instantly the latter’s glance went to the young New Englander.

“Prentiss,” said he, “I’m told that you’re familiar with this section.”

George lifted his hand in a salute.

“Yes, general.”

“Our only hope seems to be to the west and north of us. What is the ground like in that direction?”

“There is a creek, sir, which flows into Gowanus Cove; it is fordable at low water.”

“Do you know the state of the tide now?”

“It happens that I do. It’s coming in at this hour, but should still be low enough to pass.”

At once Sterling’s orders were given; part of his force was left to face Grant; the remainder marched at a double quick for the creek. They had sighted it when a cry from Ezra drew the attention of his superiors. His finger was pointing to a growth of bush between them and the coveted stream. Above this could be seen the head-pieces of the British grenadiers and the cold gleam of their bayonets.

Only one commander in a thousand would have thought of resistance now. But Sterling was that one man. Calmly he gave his orders. With a part of one battalion of Maryland men, he boldly threw himself upon the grenadiers; and while he so engaged them the rest of the command crossed the creek.

With these latter were George Prentiss and the party of scouts; it would have pleased them more to have stayed; but their orders were imperative; a swamp stretched from the creek almost to the American lines, and some one must guide the Delaware men, or they would be caught like rats.

No more desperate fighters than the five companies which Sterling retained were in the American army; they flew at the stalwart grenadiers like game-cocks; repeatedly they were broken, but each time they rallied and renewed the fight. Once, indeed, they crushed the solid formation of Cornwallis, and started the grenadiers on the run; but as fate would have it, bodies of British reinforcements came up, and the brave fellows were forced to retreat. Even then, Sterling, with a part of what was left, held his ground long enough to permit another detachment of his force to cross the creek to safety.

Broken and desperate, they made their last stand in a clump of trees. Washington, who was watching the fight through his glass from a high hill within the American lines, grew sick at heart as he witnessed the gallantry of this little band and saw the fate that must overtake them.

“Alas!” he exclaimed to some of his staff who stood near. “What brave fellows I must lose this day.”

And lose them he did. They were borne down and bayoneted in a corn-field, or shot as they endeavored to escape across a marsh. To the very last, Lord Sterling encouraged them by presence and word and deed; and when all was lost he gave up his sword to the Hessian general De Heister.

Then came the moments that meant much to the colonies; mad with victory, the British massed before the American redoubts; within musket shot they poised for the charge that would end the fight. Washington prepared for a desperate defense of Brooklyn; his cannon played upon the massed columns fiercely, and seeing that he was resolved to hold his position at all hazards, Clinton gave orders that his eager troops be held in check. To storm the American works would have been the quicker and more spectacular way; but hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives must pay for it; and this crafty tactician was not given to wasting his force. So he drew off his men and they encamped out of musket shot for the night.

But it was no night of rest for George Prentiss and his fellow riders. Through the darkness they tore, never heeding life nor limb; the length and breadth of Manhattan was crossed, and the dispatches they bore set troops in motion all over the island.

Day broke dismal and lowering after a fearful night behind the colonial works. Twenty thousand of the enemy were encamped in plain sight. Then through a drenching rain, the American reinforcements arrived. Among these were Glover’s hardy New England seamen, Shee’s crack Philadelphia regiment, and Magan’s Pennsylvanians; also Mifflin’s troops from Kingsbridge and Fort Washington.

The downpour seemed to dampen the spirits of the British; they ceased their artillery fire and took to their tents; only some desultory rifle shooting between the advanced posts was indulged in. Late in the afternoon, when the rain slackened, they began to intrench, their idea being to advance by regular approaches, each protected by an earthwork.

Next day there was a heavy fog. George Prentiss, scouting in the neighborhood of Red Hook, saw an unusual activity among the British shipping off Staten Island, during a moment when a trifling breeze had lifted the mist from the waters.

“Look there!” he cried to his friends. They had but a glimpse of the war-ships before the fog settled once more.

“There seems to be something going on,” said Ezra.

“I think I caught a glimpse of small boats plying between the ships and this side,” added Brewster.

“No doubt you did,” said George. “Twice the other day the British caught us between two fires. And not satisfied with that,” confidentially, “they are going to try again.”

“What! Do you mean that——”

“That they are coming up with the next wind and tide. This battery,” pointing to the Red Hook defense, “can’t hope to keep them back, and the Governor’s Island and city batteries are not much better. Let them once anchor in the East River and Washington’s army is lost. His retreat will be cut off.”

They put their tired horses at a gallop back to the lines. To some staff officers they imparted their news, and the commander-in-chief at once called a council of war. Other hostile craft were known to have rounded Long Island and gained Flushing Bay; should these land troops east of the Harlem they might take Kingsbridge, which all knew to be the key to Manhattan.

A retreat was decided upon that very night!

Again the fleet horsemen were in the saddle. This time they bore orders for the requisition of all craft between Spuyten Duyvil on the Hudson and Hell Gate on the Sound; and by evening a huge fleet of all sizes and trims were gathered at the Brooklyn side of the river.

The enemy was so close that the sound of their sentries’ voices could be heard, and to move an army of nine thousand men from under their very noses was an appalling military task. And yet it was done. Company by company, regiment by regiment they embarked and under cover of the fog which still prevailed, they slipped across to New York. Horses, wagons, ammunition, provisions and artillery were also transported. By daybreak General Mifflin’s covering party also entered the boats; and in the last of these could be seen the tall figure of Washington, gazing back through the gray light of the morning toward the heights.

“It is what he feared from the first,” whispered George Prentiss to his brother. “They will mount the guns there that will drive him from Manhattan.”