Part One Trenton and Princeton
Chapter 1 - The Taking of Trenton
Corporal Georg Engelhard was exhausted, worn down by the incessant rounds of night sentry duty, shivering in small huts and makeshift outposts, and the daytime patrols through the snow-covered fields and thick forests where they could be ambushed by the Rebellers at any moment. On Christmas Eve there was no respite. They were awake all night under arms and ready to muster at any alarm.
Even when the Hessians of the Seckendorf Company were officially on relief duty in their barracks, the soldiers were ordered to sleep in their uniforms with their cartridge belts strapped on. The old three story stone building was almost as cold inside as out. At breakfast in the common room on the ground floor, the fire barely warming those fortunate enough to sit close by, the men were only permitted to unbutton their jackets. Their muskets, bayonets affixed, were at the ready, stacked on worn wooden racks, near the entrance door. Georg longed to undo his knee high black gaiters but it was forbidden. They pinched his calves as he sat on the rough-hewn bench, next to his friend Christoph.
“This has truly been the worst Christmas week, I have ever spent,” Georg said. “Since we buried Andreas I sleep fitfully. I see his face before he died as we carried him to the wagon.”
Christoph nodded. They both remained silent, thinking of their last patrol with their friend, the rifle ball coming from the murky dark woods, Andreas crumpling to the ground, his white waist-coat quickly soaked red with his blood, and dying slowly in agony from his stomach wound.
Andreas had often expressed his desire to be captured or to desert in the confusion of battle. He had encouraged Georg and Christoph to join him. Georg refused. It offended his sense of honor and jeopardized his remittances to his parents. He wanted to win the war and go home. All it would take would be to cross the frozen Delaware, a half a day’s march to Philadelphia, capture the Rebeller’s capital, gather up loot and plunder and return to Hesse, richer than his family could imagine. No, he would not leave his comrades and desert to the ragged, ill-disciplined mob of farmers and tradesmen who ran when the Hessians charged them, bayonets at the ready.
“Shh,” Christoph hissed, quickly glancing at the other soldiers bent over, seated around the table eagerly spooning porridge from their bowls to their mouths.
Georg was so tired, he was unaware he had spoken. He tried to remember what he had said.
“Georg. You must. . .”
Christoph’s words were interrupted by the sound of musket volleys in the distance. The soldiers looked at each other confused, awaiting orders. There were shouts in the street.
“Heraus! Heraus! The Rebellers. The Rebellers. Turn out. To the alarm posts. Hurry, hurry.”
The men scrambled to their feet and ran for their muskets. The kettledrums beat urgently for them to form up. Outside, it was sleeting. The wind, gusting down from the top of the town, picked up already fallen snow and swirled it around them in clouds, obstructing their vision. Georg, as the Corporal in charge of the first two lines, got his files of men in order. His Company, led by Lieutenant Reuter, quick marched in ranks on the snow- covered lane from the barracks to the bottom of King Street. It was one of two broad and long cobblestoned streets that sloped the length of Trenton, down to the bridge at the bottom where the road led south to Bordentown. Their alarm position was less than a hundred yards away, in the field past the Presbyterian Church and below the apple orchard. As they crossed King Street, Georg looked to his left. The men of Colonel Rall’s Regiment, distinctive in their mustard colored breeches, were falling in midway up the street, outside the brick buildings that served as their barracks.
At the top of the hill, where King Street met the Pennington Road, through the wind blown sleet and snow and the smoke of musket fire, Georg could barely see figures of soldiers. They seemed to him to be an indistinct mass of blue-coated troops. His Company turned on to Queen Street. From here, Georg could more clearly see the Rebellers at the top and some at the junction with the Princeton Road. Georg thought there were too many of the enemy for a harassing raid. He heard the volume of musket fire increase but whether it was the Rall Regiment returning fire or the rebel force, he could not tell.
“Will. Bring the gun over here,” Lieutenant Hadley cried, pointing with his arm to a level area among the soldiers. Will urged Big Red forward. He leaped off the horse and ran to detach the traces. Isaiah, Levi and Baldwin, unlimbered the six-pounder and together they turned it around. Will joined them as they rolled the gun forward through the soft snow. They were at the top of a wide street. Below them was the town. Some of the troops formed up around them, and fired a volley toward the Hessians midway down the street. Others raced through the snow-covered fields behind the buildings seeking to get closer and fire into the enemy’s flanks.
“Aim low. Keep your muskets low. Leg them. Leg them,” an officer nearby shouted to his men before they fired another volley. The smoke from their muskets blew down the street, blending into the nearly horizontal sheets of sleet and snow.
“Sergeant Merriam. Hurry, man. Bring your gun to bear,” Hadley shouted. Will and Levi unloaded grape canister from the side box. With the cannon aimed down the street and the wind behind them, there was no danger of snow going down the muzzle. Sergeant Merriam pried the touch-hole cover off with a knife and immediately covered it with his thumb.
“Baldwin. Come here,” Merriam shouted over the wind. Baldwin ran to the left side of the cannon and thrust his leather thumbstall over the touch-hole. Will kept the lid on the powder box until he sensed Chandler was about to withdraw the sponge. He flipped open the hinged lid, grabbed a charge, slammed the lid down with his boot and handed the canvas bag of gunpowder to Levi. Will stood near the muzzle ready with the cylindrical bag of grape shot. Chandler rammed the load home. Merriam inserted the quill in the touchhole. Lieutenant Hadley, his sword drawn, pointed down the street and shouted “Fire.” Merriam leaned over the touch-hole, lit the quill and made sure it had caught. “Give Fire,” he shouted and took two quick steps back, stumbling as his bad ankle turned beneath him. The grape shot tore through the clustered ranks and several of the Hessians fell. More went down as the second cannon in the battery fired.
“Quickly now, men,” Merriam called, as Baldwin sealed the vent with his thumbstall to block air from escaping and prevent the hole from getting wet. They rapidly loaded and got off another round as the Hessians retreated. The noise of musket and rifle fire increased as the Americans broke into buildings lining the street. Once inside they dried their flintlocks and fired at the Hessians from behind windows and doorways. The Hessians, having discharged a few volleys, now found their muskets misfiring due to the snow and sleet.
“It is cannon balls now lads,” Hadley cried, pointing at a group of Hessians unlimbering two guns midway in the street below them. Will handed the smooth ball to Levi and heard the metal sphere rolling down the barrel. Isaiah rammed it home, the gun was primed and their shot struck in front of the Hessians and plowed into a horse still attached to the gun. Even with the wind blowing from behind them, the wounded animal’s piercing cry of pain carried up to their position.
“Again.” Hadley shouted. “Have at them again. Before they set up.” The other two cannons in the battery fired. Will heard a horse neighing, perhaps it was the same one, or another. It didn’t matter. He had to keep the powder dry, timing taking it out of the powder box to give the canvas the least exposure to the driving sleet and snow. He knew Baldwin would protect the touch-hole. The danger of a misfire was greatest when Merriam ignited the quill. If the slow match was blown out by the wind they would have a live charge in the barrel and no way of knowing if a spark was working its way down the quill to the
powder bag.
Will heard a boom and was surprised by the whooshing sound of a cannon ball passing their battery. The Hessians were firing up at the Americans, although blinded by the wind whipped sleet and snow swirling down upon them. The Hessian’s aim was wide but next time they would sight in on the American’s muzzle flash. If their gun crews lasted that long. More and more troops were inside homes on both sides of the street, firing from close range at the Hessians massed in ranks in the middle. Other troops, running through the fields behind the brick houses on King Street, would soon be behind the Hessians.
Tyler finished worming, turned and took the charge from Will, brushed the snow flakes from the top of the canvas, and shoved it down the muzzle. Chandler rammed it home, waited for the cannon ball to roll down and leaned on the rammer again.
“Give fire,” Merriam shouted, Will heard the blast of their gun. Seconds later, a Hessian cannon ball struck the ground in front of them and bounced past their emplacement.
Something was terribly wrong. Their cannon was off kilter and lower to the ground. At first, Will thought the Hessian ball had hit them. He looked frantically around to see if anyone was bleeding or decapitated. Isaiah and Levi had dropped to the ground behind the six-pounder. Will feared they had been wounded.
“The axle tree is broken,” Levi said, crawling out from behind a carriage wheel. The cannon lay in the cradle created by the vee shape of the oak beam. “It must have cracked in one of the ravines right after we crossed the river.” The two other cannons in the battery fired down the street and Will heard a cheer from one of their crews. The grape shot had downed the Hessian gun commander and several of the men, leaving only a few survivors to man their cannon.
“There is the gun for us,” Hadley shouted, pointing with his sword down the street to the Hessians, forty yards away. “Capture it men. Forward. Now.” Will leaped over the powder box and rushed down hill, behind the Lieutenant. He lost his footing on the sleet slick cobblestones, slipped but caught himself as one hand touched the icy ground. He ran low in a crouch straight toward the small malevolent looking mouth of the Hessian three- pounder. Hadley was in front of him waving his sword and shouting words that were lost in the gale. Soldiers in blue coats emerged from the side streets and rushed toward the Hessian gun. Everyone was screaming, shouting in fury. Will yelled too, unaware of what he was screaming, only that his throat was raw. The sound of his own voice filled his ears.
They were almost there. Seven or eight Hessians struggled to load the gun. In a panic, Will suddenly realized, he was unarmed. He had no sword, musket or bayonet. He was charging an enemy gun battery empty handed. Desperately, he looked for anything to use, saw a half shattered wooden bucket, grabbed at it and wielding it like a hammer, he jumped up on the side box and swung it at a Hessian, knocking aside his musket with its long, evil looking bayonet. Hadley slashed at a gunner with his sword, opening a large bloody gash on his shoulder. One of the Americans, an officer, short, slight framed, looking more like a young boy, fired a pistol point blank into the face of one of the Hessians, who threw up his hands and fell backwards. Musket fire from the adjacent buildings hit another soldier who fell on to the snow bleeding from a neck wound, and the rest fled down the street.
“Turn the gun around,” Hadley shouted. Will grabbed the tiller of the carriage and together with Tyler and Chandler positioned the cannon facing the fleeing Hessians. The gun weighed half of their sixpounder and felt like a toy. Will opened the powder box. Inside, it had a leather flap over the canvas charges to keep them dry. He left it in place as Levi rolled the sponge in the snow to get it wet and then plunged the pole down the barrel. The cannon ball felt light. Almost no weight to it at all. Will handed it to Levi, Isaiah rammed it home and they were ready. Down the street, Hessian troops had emerged from between buildings and had formed up in ranks facing the cannon.
“Where is Sergeant Merriam?” Hadley cried, looking around. Will looked back up King Street and saw the Sergeant limping and hobbling as best he could to join them. Will dashed back, put Merriam’s arm around his shoulder and together on three good legs they scurried forward to the Hessian gun. Will glanced down the street. The Hessians were marching toward them, braving the heavy fire from the adjoining buildings.
Merriam removed a quill, inserted it in the touch-hole and lit it. “Give fire,” he shouted. Will involuntarily flinched, moving away from the gun. Nothing happened. For a split second he thought the Hessian cannon would misfire. The sudden blast sent the ball down the cobblestones, bouncing into the three deep massed ranks, leaving a gap in their line. They hesitated. Will saw a Hessian officer raise his sword and point toward their gun. There was a volley of musket and rifle fire from the buildings and the officer and several others fell. The Hessians broke and retreated rapidly down the street.
“Follow them, men,” Hadley yelled, pointing with his sword. “Take the cannon and follow them.”
Will was surprised how maneuverable the three-pounder was, even with the side boxes. He pushed against the studded carriage wheel with his shoulder. Baldwin and Levi manhandled the tongue and two more were on the other side. The cannon bounced over the cobblestones as they descended into the lower part of town. They careened down the slope past the wounded Hessian troops, some still alive and moaning in pain, others missing limbs, lying dead in the pools of their own blood staining the snow around them. The cannon wheel rolled over a severed leg, crunching the bone underneath. Will shuddered as his bare hands touched the pieces of flesh and bone on the wheel when it rotated into his grasp. Quickly, he wiped his hands on his breeches. The next time the wheel came around, he consciously grabbed the spokes instead.
The Hessians retreated from King Street, marching left off to the side and disappeared behind the brick buildings. At the bottom of the street American troops swarmed after them. Hadley ordered the gun crew to halt. 1
Georg heard the Regimental drummers and haute boys sound the advance. They marched up Queen Street, the heavy snow accumulating on their brass caps and shoulders. The Rall and Von Lossberg Regiments were ahead of them, flags blowing stiffly in the strong winds. The three Regiments would counterattack into the center of Trenton. The Rebeller riffraff would not withstand their disciplined bayonet charge. He was glad his powder was wet. There would be no pausing for musket volleys. They would use the bayonet and drive these inexperienced shopkeepers and farmers before them, back to the river and then annihilate them. He saw the two Regiments disappear through the back lots and lanes of the town toward King Street. To Georg’s surprise, they did not follow. Led by their Major, the Knyphausen Regiment stomped through a snowy field paralleling Queen Street. Georg thought they would veer left and hit the Rebellers higher up, trapping them between the three Regiments.
Instead, they marched through the snow-covered fields, passing behind the Friends Meeting House and clambering over the stone wall below an apple orchard. To his left, from the center of town, Georg heard the booming of cannons and musket and rifle fire. They headed uphill. The storm had intensified with the wind blowing directly into their faces. He couldn’t see it but he knew the Princeton Road was less than a quarter of a mile up the slope. As they advanced, a few men in the front ranks fell, downed by rebel marksmen. Georg grimaced. The Rebellers aimed for the officers, then the Sergeants and Corporals. No matter. Once they got close enough, they would spit these cowardly riflemen on the end of their bayonets before they could reload.
Suddenly, ahead of them, from behind the buildings lining Queen Street, the men of the Rall and Von Lossberg regiments burst into the orchard. Georg could see from their depleted ranks they had sustained substantial casualties. He heard the drums signaling them to reform and the troops wheeled and marched back toward Queen Street. He had no time to think about them. Muzzle flashes from enemy rifles winked at them from the stone wall marking the high end of the orchard. The company ahead of them, knelt and fired a volley at the Rebellers. The sound of only a few muskets blew back to
Georg. Their powder and flint were wet and most of the guns had misfired. Georg knew the same was true with the men of his Company. He waited for the order to charge and use the bayonet. That would be the only way to fight in this snowstorm. Several men around him fell, wounded from flanking fire on their left. Georg turned toward the buildings, in time to see a rebel rifleman in the first floor rear window withdraw his long barreled gun to reload.
“Retain your ranks,” a Sergeant bellowed as the men halted their advance. A riderless horse, panicked by the battle, raced down the hill, plowing through the soldiers in its path. “The Major has been shot,” someone yelled. The drums sounded the retreat. Despite the confusion, the men retained their discipline, and as if on a parade ground, wheeled and turned back toward the lower part of town.
Georg’s company was the last to leave the frozen orchard. Above them, the survivors of the Rall and Von Lossberg Regiments, beaten back for a second time from the center of town, were surrounded in the apple orchard. Rebel troops kept up a steady fire from the back of buildings off Queen Street, as did the troops protected by the stone wall at the top of the orchard. Georg thought he heard shouts in German of “Throw down your arms, throw down your arms,” but with the howling of the wind, he wasn’t sure. How could the Rebellers be speaking German? Then, he remembered, Andreas had told them he had met a farm family in New Jersey and had conversed with them. He shook his head, still thinking the wind was playing tricks with his hearing. 2
They marched downhill, this time with the wind at their backs, taking sporadic fire from homes at the lower part of town. Georg knew from previous patrols, there was a millpond and creek at the southern end of Trenton, a narrow bridge and then the road to Bordentown. If they made it to that road they could escape.
Lieutenant Holmes led his company past a stone bridge and along the creek bank until he found a place where they could cross below the east side of Trenton. Behind them, other Mariners together with General Sullivan’s troops held the narrow bridge across the creek. Any retreat by the Hessians down King Street was blocked by another regiment of Sullivan’s division.
Blood Upon The Snow Page 1
