For Love of Country: A Story of Land and Sea in the Days of the Revolution, Brady [acx book reading .TXT] 📗

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.

CHAPTER XXVII

The Lion Turns Fox

The Quaker road led southeast from Trenton until it reached the village of Sandtown, where it turned to the northwest again, and it was not until that point was reached that the surprised soldiers realized the daring nature of the manoeuvre, and the character of that night march, which they had at first considered another hopeless retreat. It was astonishing, then, with what spirit and zeal the soldiers tramped silently over the frozen roads; the raw, green militia vied with the veterans, in the fortitude with which they sustained the dreadful fatigue of the severe march. The long distance to be traversed, on account of the detour to be made, rendered it necessary that the men be moved at the highest possible speed. The road itself being a new one, lately cleared, the stumps and roots of trees not yet grubbed up, made it difficult to transport the artillery and the wagons: but the tired men cheerfully assisted the tired horses, and the little army made great progress. The morning of Friday, January the 5th, dawned clear and cold, with the ground covered with hoar frost. About sunrise the army, with Washington again in the lead, reached the bridge over Stony Brook about three miles from the village of Princeton. Leading the main body across the bridge, they struck off from the main highway through a by-road which was concealed by a grove of trees in the lower ground, and afforded a short cut to the town.

General Mercer was an old friend and comrade of the commander-in-chief; he had been a companion of Prince Charles Edward in his romantic invasion of England in '45, a member of Braddock's unfortunate expedition, and wounded when that general's army was annihilated; and sometime commander of Fort Du Quesne, after its capture by General Forbes. He was detailed, with a small advance party comprising the remnants of Smallwood's Marylanders, Haslet's Delawareans, and Fleming's Virginians, and a small body of young men from the first families of Philadelphia, to the total number of three hundred, to continue up the road along the brook until he reached the main road, where he was to try and hold the bridge in order to intercept fugitives from Princeton, or check any retrograde movement of the troops which might have advanced toward Trenton. The little band had proceeded but a short distance on their way, when they unexpectedly came in sight of a column of the enemy.

It was the advance of the British, a part of Von Donop's leading brigade, en route for Trenton to assist Cornwallis in bagging the "old fox" according to orders,—the Seventeenth Regiment, under Colonel Mawhood. Mercer's troops being screened by the wood, their character was not visible to Mawhood, who conjectured that they must be a body of fugitives from the front. Under this impression, and never dreaming of the true situation, Mawhood promptly deployed his regiment and moved off to the left to intercept Mercer, at the same time despatching messengers to bring up the other two regiments, the Fortieth and Fifty-fifth, which had not yet left Princeton. Both parties rushed for a little rising ground on the edge of a cleared field, near the house of a peaceful Quaker named Clark. The Americans were nearer the goal than their opponents, and reached it first. Hastily deploying his column, Mercer sought shelter behind a hedge fence which crowned the eminence, and immediately opened up a destructive fire from his riflemen, which temporarily checked the advancing enemy. The British, excellently led, returned the fire with great spirit, and with such good effect that, after a few volleys, Mercer's horse was wounded in the leg and his rider thrown violently to the ground, Talbot's was killed under him, and several of the officers and men fell,—among them the brave Colonel Haslet, who was mortally wounded. In the confusion thus unfortunately caused, the Americans could hear sharp commands of the English officers, then the rattling of steel on the gun-barrels, and the next moment the red-coated men broke out of the smoke and, unchecked by a scattering fire from the Americans, gallantly rushed up at them with fixed bayonets. There were unfortunately no bayonets in this small brigade of the Continental army. A few of the men clubbed their muskets resolutely as the two lines met, and made a stout resistance; but the on-coming British would not be denied, and, as the charge was pressed home, the Americans wavered, broke, and fell back in some disorder before the vigorous onslaught of the veteran troops. Mercer, filled with shame, strove in vain to rally his men. Disdaining himself to retreat, and gallantly calling upon them to advance, he threw himself upon the advancing British line, sword in hand, followed by his officers, and for a brief space there was an exciting mêlée on the hill. A blow from the butt end of a musket felled the general to the ground. Talbot sprang to his side, and