George Washington's Surprise Attack

by Phillip Thomas Tucker

  A recent newcomer, Hamilton had first migrated to America in 1772 to start life anew at age seventeen, fulfilling his burning ambition of leaving the Caribbean’s restrictive confines and lack of opportunities far behind. Consequently, this fiery, young captain—a rising star early (before Washington) recognized by Greene—of so much potential was yet haunted by the fact that he had been “a bastard [and] an orphaned immigrant.” A hard-fighting Presbyterian warrior like so many of Knox’s Irish and Scotch-Irish gunners at Trenton, Hamilton began his military career in St. Croix, where the threat of slave revolts on the sugar island were omnipresent.

  Reflecting his lowly origins and free, but disciplined, spirit, he had early developed a hatred of arbitrary authority, monarchy, and the corrupt British upper class ruling elite, first in the British Caribbean and then in America. Hamilton also detested the Church of England’s abuses and hypocrisy with a passion while warmly embracing John Locke’s liberal Enlightenment ideals. Therefore, he became an early and leading spirit of the Sons of Liberty in New York City when not attending to his classical studies at King’s College, founded by royal charter in 1754, the future Columbia University. Thanks to his writing skills, this bright, natural revolutionary, who enjoyed lengthy periods of quiet time to read and study like an ancient Greek scholar, evolved into “the darling of New York’s radicals,” winning for him early high-level personal and political support because of his radical pamphlets that galvanized opposition to the Crown. Most of all, Hamilton was a diehard nationalist who believed, in his own words, “in the future grandeur and glory of America.”

  No dreamy, inactive bookworm, Hamilton had early organized a volunteer company, known as the Hearts of Oak, of mostly King’s College students. Hour after hour, he drilled these “young gentleman” soldiers, including a number of friends, in green uniforms before classes. Along with his school boy volunteers, who were nicknamed the “Corsicans” for these freedom-fighters’ rebellion against Italy, he proudly wore a stylish leather cap embroidered with the revolutionary slogan, “Freedom or Death.” Despite his youth (and he looked younger than his years) that guaranteed no urgent need of a razor, the ambitious Hamilton had already declined an offer to serve in the prestigious position as an aide on the personal staffs of both Lord Stirling and General Greene, just to have an opportunity at independent command so that he could distinguish himself in combat.

  In March 1776, he finally garnered an artillery officer’s rank from the State of New York and then set out to make a name for himself. Captain Hamilton recruited his own artillery company of English, Irish, Scottish, Scotch-Irish, and some German, including a prized first sergeant and zealous, young cannoneers of the “Provincial Company of Artillery” from New York. After studying everything about artillery that he could get his hands on, young Hamilton early gained an exceptionally high level of expertise in commanding the “sole” artillery company of New York. Because he was an immigrant and knew hard times in the Caribbean, Hamilton felt no prejudice for foreigners, including the German sergeant that he advocated his promotion to lieutenant, which was granted despite violation of hierarchical and traditional class customs. Here, along the high ground north of Trenton, Hamilton’s young Teutonic gunners, including immigrants who identified with their West Indian commander, very likely now contemplated the irony of hurling death and destruction upon their fellow countrymen on the low ground below them.

  Yet basking in the renown that garnered early recognition, Hamilton had been one of the first Americans of the revolution to unlimber a cannon in liberty’s defense. Early rising to the fore, he covered the army’s rear during the withdrawal north from New York City, after the disastrous defeat on Long Island. Hamilton’s steadfast battlefield performances, including at Harlem Heights and White Plains, early attracted Washington’s attention, who bestowed greater challenges upon the impetuous West Indian. Hamilton was an able drillmaster, transforming his artillery command into a well-trained and disciplined unit, which had caught first Greene’s and then Washington’s eye.

  Before the showdown at Trenton, the young captain’s finest day as a battery commander had come in protecting the rear of Washington’s withdrawing army with a defiant stand on elevated terrain opposite the Raritan River crossing, where the wooden bridge had been destroyed by the retiring Americans, at New Brunswick on November 29, 1776. Here, in ensuring Howe’s forces were unable to cross the fordable river, the spunky Hamilton held the pursuing British and Hessians, including killing of Captain Friedrich Karl von Weitershausen of the Knyphausen Regiment, which he now faced once again at Trenton, at bay. Deployed in good firing positions on the elevated south bank, Hamilton’s cannon roared defiance across the Raritan River, buying precious time for Washington’s army to retreat safely to Trenton and then to escape across the Delaware.

  The boyish-looking captain, embodying an odd mix of wise philosopher and youthful daredevil, who always relished the thrill of combat as much as lively philosophical debate with the brightest and most enlightened minds, had played the Continental Army’s vital role as Horatio at the bridge on the sluggish Raritan, an Algonquian name. Most importantly, by the time of the dramatic showdown at Trenton to decide America’s fate, Hamilton had molded his artillery unit into a model of discipline and an elite command that Washington could depend upon in a crisis situation.

  Despite his intense, scholarly ways, this young West Indian, ever an enigma, was also a carefree dandy and a dashing ladies’ man. Hamilton’s free-wheeling dancing for three hours with General Greene’s pretty, vivacious wife Catharine (Caty), who was fourteen years younger than her husband, was eventually destined to raise a good many eyebrows and rumors at headquarters. This brazen, open flirtation certainly was no way to endear the ever-opportunistic young man (then on Washington’s staff) to her sensitive, non-dancing, and former Quaker husband, who now had Hamilton and his New York artillery unit in his Second Division. Nevertheless, Hamilton’s widespread appeal stemmed from a blend of audacity and courage, bordering on recklessness, both on and off the battlefield. His ardent, simultaneous pursuit of glory and pretty ladies, married or not, earned him a mixture of envy and jealousy among his many less romantically skilled peers. For a host of noteworthy personal qualities and in consideration of his youthful appearance, chestnut-colored hair, and slender build, Hamilton was widely known throughout the Continental Army by the endearing sobriquet “The Little Lion.”23

  Demonstrating wisdom beyond his years in regard to his strategic thinking and in striking contrast to most army leaders, Hamilton early advocated the wisdom of waging guerrilla warfare, which was now represented in the strike on Trenton: “The circumstances of our country put it in our power to evade a pitched battle [and] It would be better policy to harass and exhaust the soldiery by frequent skirmishes and incursions. . . .”24 Symbolically, even in Trenton’s blowing snows, Hamilton was yet inspired by ancient military heroics made famous in Plutarch’s classic Lives of Noble Grecians and Romans, including Caesar.25

  Washington’s hardworking secretary on his headquarters staff, Lieutenant Tench Tilghman, a wealthy Philadelphia merchant and another young bachelor and ladies’ man who could never keep up (like most others) with Hamilton’s frantic pace of bedroom conquests and smitten admirers, sarcastically referred to the energetic, fun-loving New Yorker as “the little saint,” which had nothing to do with the West Indian’s Presbyterian faith that reflected his Scottish heritage. Now with his New York six-pounders deployed for action on the high ground at the head of Queen Street, “The Little Lion” was about to enjoy his finest day.26

  In a dramatic meeting between two natural leaders on the field of strife, Colonel Rall, age fifty, was about to taste the artillery wrath of this young “Little Lion,” who was an ever-aggressive, new generation warrior. Ironically, Rall was also known as “The Lion” for his sheer ferocity and courage in vanquishing American rebels with his bayonet-wielding Grenadiers, who never had been beaten. Here at Trenton, despite their
age differences and in mutually battling for what they believed was right, Rall and Hamilton were very much kindred spirits in the searing heat of combat.27

  Captain Hamilton’s earlier—although seemingly premature at the time—astute analysis about the inner resolve of America’s homespun revolutionaries (now the key to Washington’s success) was now fully demonstrated all around him on the snowy field of Trenton: “there is a certain enthusiasm in liberty, that makes human nature rise above itself in acts of bravery and heroism.”28

  After Captain Hamilton and his thirty-six New York artillerymen quickly deployed their two six-pounders across the high ground at Queen Street’s head, these Empire State guns were soon ready for immediate firing because all touch holes on cannon barrels had been well protected by the gunners and were now dry. Consequently, these New York cannon were now moisture-free only because of the use of metal plugs (tompions) which would not expand to get stuck in barrel vents, like wooden ones, during inclement weather conditions.

  These protective devices had been kept tightly in place by Hamilton’s New Yorkers during the treacherous crossing and the long march south toward the stormy unknown. And with ample ammunition, which had been kept dry in sturdy artillery ammunition carts, Washington was able to place six guns, commanded by two of his most promising artillery officers, Forrest and Hamilton, in excellent firing positions at the heads of both King and Queen Streets, respectively. Ignoring the steady cascade of snow flurries driven by a harsh northeast wind, New York artillerymen hurriedly rammed down charges of black powder, and then solid iron shot down cannon barrels. Working briskly, they then primed their powder charges. Eager New York gunners lit matches for firing and stood beside their cannon in pre-assigned position, waiting for the word to open up. Either Washington or Knox gave the eagerly awaited order to Hamilton to fire down into the valley below.

  Situated in ideal firing positions, Forrest and Hamilton’s cannon, aligned close together from right to left, or west to east, now blasted away as one. Both fast-working batteries, one from Pennsylvania and New York fired down both King and Queen Streets, respectively, from their high ground perches with authority. Each well-directed blast from Forrest’s cannon, hurling iron balls down King Street, and Hamilton’s artillery, sending shells down Queen Street, caused more confusion among the Hessians, still disorganized and half-stunned from the first shock of Washington’s surprise attack, who were attempting to rally as best they could. Firing rapidly at targets of opportunity, the row of American cannon bucked and roared in quick succession with a rapidity that must have caused Washington and Knox to smile to themselves with a comforting satisfaction.

  Most effective against infantrymen forming in Trenton’s snowy streets were the exploding shells from Forrest’s five and a half-inch howitzers. These projectiles dispersed a hail of iron fragments after exploding in midair. Raining death from above, these overhead shell-bursts were demoralizing to the Hessians exposed in the open. Just as Hamilton had been “one of the first Americans of the War of Independence to unlimber a cannon,” so he now fired the first cannon shot to scream down Queen Street toward Trenton, heading for members of Major Dechow’s Knyphausen Regiment. All the while, Forrest’s and Hamilton’s cannon thundered as one, then were quickly reloaded once they were rolled back into place by strong-armed artillerymen, after the guns recoiled with each fiery blast. Whistling cannonballs and iron fragments from exploding shells showered over Trenton’s center and above the Hessians, issuing death from above.

  In essence by early securing the strategic heights north of town, Washington had already outflanked the Hessian position at Trenton with the upper, or left, arm of his pincer movement not only because he had gained the high ground, but also, and more importantly, because so much of Knox’s artillery had been so quickly unlimbered in excellent firing positions perpendicular to the two parallel arteries that led north-south through Trenton’s length. And consequently, the only way that the Hessians now could possibly win today was by counterattacking north up the main thoroughfares to push the Americans off their commanding perch and capture Forrest and Hamilton’s artillery, which now roared unimpeded from the head of King and Queen Streets.29 All the while and with calm assurance as if he was back reading military books in his beloved London Book Shop in Boston, Knox continued to demonstrate America’s good fortune that he from “the very first campaign [had been] entrusted with the command of the artillery, and it has turned out that it could not have been placed in better hands,” penned one officer.30

  As important as the fact that Hamilton’s and Forrest’s guns now blazed away as one from the head of King and Queen Streets, Washington had positioned his veteran infantry strike force—the right-center of Stirling’s brigade and the right-rear of Stephen’s Virginia brigade—at the key location on the high ground at King Street’s head. Stirling’s veteran Pennsylvania, Delaware, and Virginia troops were now in a good position not only to protect Forrest’s blazing cannons, at the head of King Street, but also to charge down the sprawling length of King Street, the main artery leading through Trenton, into the town’s heart and smash into the center of the Hessian position, if unleashed by Washington. To hit the Hessians on the left, or western, flank in the town’s center, Washington ordered Greene’s rightmost brigade, Mercer’s Maryland, Connecticut, and Massachusetts troops, to undertake a wide enveloping movement. Mercer, consequently, led his thoroughly chilled troops farther south across the open fields of snow to King Street’s west.

  Most importantly, Washington had already made two key tactical decisions that would eventually pay high dividends: placing Stirling’s hard-fighting Continental brigade astride King Street and one of his best regiments, the Third Virginia, on the brigade’s right-center; and the right-rear of Stephen’s Old Dominion brigade at the exact location on the snow-covered high ground at King Street’s head to inflict the most damage in either defending the elevated terrain, or if Washington ordered an attack down King Street.

  Despite the aristocratic title of lord that was not only a rare but also paradoxical distinction in Washington’s Army, thoroughly infused with lofty republican ideology and sentiment, Lord Stirling was as combative as he was controversial in part because of his inflated claims to nobility and an earldom in Scotland. Demonstrating his high level of trust on other battlefields, Washington had previously relied upon Stirling in both independent and main army roles, including flank maneuvers. And most recently, Washington had occasionally employed Stirling and his Virginia, Delaware, and Pennsylvania veterans with complete confidence as the dependable rear-guard during the long withdrawal through New Jersey.

  Although he knew that Stirling often found considerable “relief in [a good] toddy” which was understandable under the war’s pressures and horrors, Washington possessed ample good reason to place his faith in this hard-fighting, transplanted aristocrat, who was a natural leader of men. Stirling first gained widespread recognition for his defiant actions at the battle of Long Island. When nearly surrounded after hundreds of Hessians and British soldiers gained his command’s rear, at no tactical fault of his own, Stirling led half of the well-trained Marylanders of Colonel Smallwood’s Maryland Continental battalion, consisting of “men of honour, family, and fortune,” in a bold attack up the dusty Gowanus Road with fixed bayonets that sparkled in the summer sunshine.

  With trademark audacity, he hurled around four hundred hardy Marylanders, wearing fringed “hunting shirts” mostly of linen, in a series of charges in a desperate attempt to break through Cornwallis’s dense formations around the Vechte-Cortelyou House. More importantly, Stirling’s “forlorn hope [and] suicide mission” bought precious time for thousands of Washington’s trapped soldiers to escape to the safety of the high ground Brooklyn defenses. In battling against the odds, Smallwood’s Maryland soldiers had “fought and fell like Romans,” with more than 250 Marylanders killed on bloody August 27, 1776, and more than a hundred men wounded and captured. Stirling’s unforgettable c
ombat performance in fighting “like a wolf” against the odds garnered Washington’s admiration for such “brave fellows.” On December 26 at Trenton, Stirling no longer possessed these tough Maryland survivors, because Lieutenant Colonel Ware’s First Maryland Continental Regiment now served in Mercer’s brigade. However, he yet retained his tenacious fighting qualities which Washington so admired.31

  Because of his own personal humiliation with his capture at Long Island, Lord Stirling felt an urgent desire to redeem his personal honor on the battlefield. He, therefore, was now determined to inflict upon the Hessians of Trenton a thorough “drubbing.”32 The handsome Stirling, at a vigorous fifty-one and almost Colonel Rall’s age, now possessed only around 670 fighting men of his seasoned brigade. Stirling’s command consisted of the Third Virginia Continental Infantry, under Colonel “Old Joe Gourd” Weedon, the First Pennsylvania Rifle Regiment, now led capably by Colonel Ennion Williams, First Virginia Continental Regiment, and the First Delaware Continental Regiment under Ireland-born Colonel John Haslet. Basking in this representative role, Haslet now commanded the only Delaware Continental troops, the legendary “Delaware Blues” because of the color of their uniforms, in Washington’s Army. This feisty Son of Erin had led these Delaware Continentals, with consummate skill and “conspicuous gallantry” since the battle of Long Island, where they were among Washington’s few uniformed troops when they fought beside Smallwood’s Marylanders. Haslet then gained additional recognition for having played a key protective role in recently covering the army’s rear during Washington’s withdrawal to Trenton.