By 3:00 a.m., it is done. There has been no loss of life so far, but Washington has no way of knowing that the other two crossing attempts at other points on the river have failed. Because of the harsh weather and increasing ice floes, only Washington’s portion of the three-pronged attack could establish itself on the banks of the river.
The storm grows in intensity, yet Washington pushes his men forward, desperate to ensure the element of surprise so vital to a successful attack. The road to Trenton is pitch-black, and the pace no more than a frozen shuffle. Some of the men see their way by lighting slow-burning lengths of rope designed to be used as cannon fuses. Most wrap rags around their shoes for additional warmth, while many men have no shoes at all—the rags are their only protection from the winter cold.
Throughout, Washington rides tall in the saddle, his unmistakable height and profile looming at the side of the men when they least expect it. “For God’s sake, keep with your officers,” he encourages those men who slow down or stop. Soldiers who stop will most likely fall asleep and die before they can awaken. In fact, two rebels freeze to death on the march.
Washington himself almost slips off the road when his horse loses its footing on the icy lane and appears about to roll down a steep embankment. Quickly, the general grabs the animal’s mane and twists its neck hard, forcing the horse back onto the road and maintaining his own balance and that of his horse.
The general is tense and uncharacteristically angry. There can be no mistakes tonight. A lesser commander would have remained behind, leading the action from the safety of a warm farmhouse. Yet Washington knows that his men are watching. The future of America hangs on the leadership skills he now must display in the dark and cold.
The weather is causing other problems, rendering many of the muskets unusable. The warfare, then, will pit American bayonets against those bayonets used so ruthlessly by the Hessians on Long Island. But even then, the rebels will be at a disadvantage—for every five now-useless muskets, the Americans possess just one bayonet. Those men without a blade must make do with gun butts or fists.
First light arrives shortly after 7:00 a.m.
Sunrise is ten minutes later.
Still, the rebel soldiers remain undetected. Their movements obscured by the thick snow, the colonial fighters march quietly toward Trenton. It is a small city of just a few taverns, shops, a church, and about seventy homes. It did contain a large permanent barracks building constructed by the British in the 1760s, making it one of the few places in New Jersey suitable for a winter garrison.
The Americans have been on their feet for the entire night. They have not slept at all, and despite carrying three days’ rations, they have little food or drink left. Yet, a new burst of energy surges as the men come upon Trenton. Washington calmly orders the attack, telling his 2,400 troops to race quickly into town before the Hessians can respond to any alarms.
Reaching the outskirts of Trenton, Washington orders the artillery to fire, formally ending the surprise. As shells rain down on the town, the rebels race through the streets, thrusting their bayonets into the surprised Hessians, whose training ensures a calm professionalism under fire. The two forces, in fact, are a study in military bearing—exhausted, undernourished, poorly armed rebels versus polished and efficient German mercenary warriors. The Hessians are fond of donning fierce peaked copper helmets in battle. Those able to do so, grow fierce black mustaches.
There will later be rumors that the Hessians were drunk or hungover that day, from too much Christmas cheer, but eyewitnesses will state that is not the case. Career soldiers who have spent their whole lives training for this moment, the Hessians have seen the rebels on the battlefield before and do not respect or fear them. The Americans are simply a nuisance, nothing more, and the Hessians’ plan is repeatedly to run them through with their seventeen-inch-long bayonets.
At first, the battle goes well for Washington’s troops. His men enter the city before those in the Germans garrison can rouse themselves from their holiday beds. Six American cannon fire down King and Queen Streets, their barrels strafing any living being who crosses those thoroughfares. The Hessians call upon their military training and instinctively form into two lines, but the instant they fire upon the rebels and attempt to reload, the Americans swarm their position, coming hard at the Hessians with bayonets, hunting knives, musket butts, and fists.
Other American soldiers, seeking the momentary warmth of a fireplace, use the attack as an excuse to break into homes currently occupied by Hessians. They flush the Germans into alleys and side streets, where still more Americans pounce upon them. Blood stains the snow as soldiers are speared and left to die where they fall.
The Hessian soldiers first registered for military life at the age of seven. For most, their actual service began at the age of sixteen. They have trained under one of the most rigorous systems of discipline in the military world. A simple violation of rules results in thirty lashes, while something more severe, such as leaving one’s post, results in hanging. The penalties are so harsh that even family members can be punished if a Hessian soldier misbehaves. Most of all, the Hessians’ commitment to physical conditioning and drill is rigorous and ongoing, all in an attempt to produce not just the best soldier possible, but a mercenary force beyond compare.
There is no reason to believe that the impoverished and barely trained American Army stands a chance against such fighting men.
Yet, that is just what is now happening.
As the hostilities turn to hand-to-hand combat, the men smell one another’s stale breaths, body odors, tobacco, and last night’s alcohol. They scream guttural warnings and commands in different languages, not understanding one another’s words but sensing the meaning. It is kill or be killed, with neither side having time to fire or reload a weapon. In the end, it will not be military prowess that turns the tide, but desperation.
The Hessians begin to flee.
The Princeton Road, which represents the primary path to escape, is quickly blocked by Washington’s force. Another avenue of flight is the Assunpink Creek, south of town, but the bridge from one side to the other is now in American hands. Two Hessian gun crews attempt to stem the rebel advance, but they are thwarted as well: Americans capture their position and quickly turn their guns on the Germans.
For the Hessians, so comfortable with precision and drill, the scene of confusion is like a vision of hell. Finally, the Hessian commander, Colonel Rall, who ate a long Christmas dinner at the Green Tree Tavern and then drank well into the night, assembles himself and climbs into the saddle. Rall now knows he was foolish to ignore warnings that the American attack was coming. Rall, the son of an army officer, became an officer cadet himself at the age of fourteen and has spent his entire life in the military. Throughout his thirty-six-year career, Rall has defeated opponents on battlefields in Europe, Asia, and America. He is far more experienced in battle than George Washington. Rall believes that he can rout the rebels if he can personally rally his troops. Thus, the charismatic German commander hastily coordinates a charge into the American lines. From a nearby hill, George Washington watches the battle. His view is often blocked by the snow and smoke, so he cannot tell whether Rall is succeeding.
He is not.
Colonel Rall is soon shot twice in the abdomen. Mortally wounded, he falls from his mount and is evacuated to a nearby home, where he dies a few hours later. Found in his waistcoat is the warning passed to him earlier in the night from Loyalist spies.
The Hessians continue to sprint out of the city, racing through snow and frigid streams to the safety of the thick woods and orchards on Trenton’s outskirts. A few hundred escape. Those who remain are soon surrounded by the Americans and taken prisoner. The stunned Germans look on as the rebels plunder their storehouses, steal their wagons, and cart off hundreds of pounds of vital supplies, ammunition, and cannon. Frightened Hessian grenadiers, attempting to endear themselves to their captors, offer up their brass-fronted helmets as sou
venirs.
Leaving his observation post, Washington now rides into Trenton to assess the victory. He plans to raise morale and encourage reenlistment by giving each of his soldiers a cash payout for his bravery, based upon the value of the plundered material.
He wastes no time. Forty-five minutes after the battle begins, it is over. He then orders his soldiers to return, with their prisoners and the new cache of weaponry, to McKonkey’s Ferry and once again to cross the Delaware to avoid any counterattack by the remaining British and German forces in the area.
The return journey is even more perilous than the initial crossing. The logistics of transporting the Hessian prisoners, captured artillery guns, and looted food stores require several trips back and forth through the icy waters for the weary boatmen. The flatboats are half-flooded from rain and snow, subjecting soldiers and prisoners alike to the onset of frostbite as they stand up to their knees in freezing water. Ice floes dotting the river’s surface have become more numerous and now stick to the boats, joining with the current to force some of the vessels downriver. The most effective way of freeing a boat from the ice is for the passengers to jump up and down repeatedly—which they do, taking great care not to fall overboard.
As more and more of the riverbanks freeze over, it becomes impossible for some boats to reach the shore. Soldiers from both sides must step out and walk on the ice, many times breaking through and falling into the bitterly cold water.
But most men make it, exhausted and battered, into Pennsylvania. Waiting for them is General Washington, who is analyzing the amazing victory. Twenty-one Hessians are now dead, and 918 Germans are being held prisoner. Soon, these mercenaries will be turned over to the Pennsylvania militia, to ensure they do not fall back into British hands.
In addition, six brass Hessian cannon, one thousand stands of arms, fifteen prized Hessian battle flags, and forty horses have been brought back to Pennsylvania.7
Incredibly, only four American soldiers were wounded in the fight.8 None was killed.
Seeking to memorialize his victory, an exhausted George Washington turns to Major Wilkinson and says, “[T]his is a glorious day for our country.”
But he knows it is far more than that. The victory at Trenton saved the entire rebellion from a ghastly defeat.
Of that, there is no doubt.
13
ASSUNPINK CREEK
OUTSIDE TRENTON, NEW JERSEY
JANUARY 2, 1777
3:00 P.M.
For George Washington, there is no rest.
Just seven days after his stunning victory at Trenton, the general once again looks out over that besieged city. Rain falls on the colonial positions as nearly six thousand rebel soldiers prepare themselves for another battle. Washington has led his men across the frozen Delaware yet again, seeking to hold on to the momentum gained in last week’s stunning victory. Morale is high among the colonial troops, despite rampant dysentery and a shortage of shoes.1 Sensing victory, many men have reenlisted, and a new complement of untrained militia has joined Washington’s veteran corps. His army has once again made the treacherous journey across the frozen river—the general believes that controlling Trenton and the nearby city of Princeton might make it possible to push the British completely out of New Jersey.
However, Trenton is indefensible. Washington has seen this for himself. So, rather than take up positions in the heart of town and suffer the same fate as Colonel Rall and his Hessian garrison, Washington is setting a trap for the British, who he believes will counterattack shortly.
The general’s army holds the high ground overlooking Trenton. The steep banks of the Assunpink Creek lie before them, the ice-choked Delaware flows to the left, and a thick swamp adds protection to the right. Washington’s cannon are sighted on King and Queen Streets and on the vital bridge spanning the creek.
Washington’s infantrymen have dug in behind protective earthworks, their bodies shielded from musket fire and grape. There is no attempt to hide their presence—tents have been positioned, and campfire smoke curls into the sky. This is the battle George Washington wants, in the location he has chosen.
Spies have alerted His Excellency to the advance of English commander Charles Cornwallis. The lieutenant general’s winter leave was abruptly canceled due to the recent colonial victories. Instead of sailing home to see his wife, Cornwallis celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday on New Year’s Eve, then the next morning galloped fifty miles from New York to Princeton. There, he immediately assumed command of the eight-thousand-man British and Hessian garrison.
Cornwallis believes that speed is vital to combat, so he does not delay in marching on Trenton. This morning, after leaving a small force behind to hold Princeton, his army began a ten-mile trip. The trek has been neither quick nor easy: thick mud has slowed the twenty-eight cannon and the supply wagons. American snipers, shooting from the cover of snowy woods, have further hindered the British advance.
But now, as the winter sky grows dark, Cornwallis finally reaches the outskirts of Trenton. His men and horses are filthy, the red clay of the muddy road from Princeton coating man and beast alike.
George Washington hears the unmistakable sound of an approaching army—whinnying horses, creaking caisson wheels, the bawl of commands. Soon after, he sees the first columns of redcoats. It is a much larger force than he anticipated. He quickly realizes that not only is the Continental Army outnumbered, but the British and Hessian lines are comprised entirely of professional soldiers while Washington’s army is overwhelmingly inexperienced. Many of his soldiers were making their livings as shopkeepers and farmers just a week ago.
Washington knows he is in trouble. Such a large army can easily surround his men and slowly tighten the noose. The rebel position, which just moments ago seemed ideal, now feels tenuous.
Quickly, George Washington strategizes a new, bold plan.
Moments later, the first wave of British troops opens fire.
* * *
The differences between George Washington and Charles Cornwallis could not be greater. Washington was raised as a middle-class Virginia planter. His fortune was earned through marriage, ambition, and a knack for achieving great success through hard work. Indeed, from farming to diplomacy to leading men into combat, Washington excels at all. That’s why the Second Continental Congress named him commander in chief, and, even after the horrific setbacks in New York just a few months ago, his men continue to fight hard for him.
Washington is meticulous in his paperwork and correspondence, a fussy trait that seems at odds with his physical appearance. The general’s rugged stature also conceals his two ongoing sources of pain: his wife Martha’s inability to bear a child and the terrible anguish that comes from his deteriorating teeth.
Right now, the situation with Martha cannot be helped. Their eighteenth wedding anniversary is just days away, but the general long ago sent her back to Mount Vernon to be away from the fighting. Despite the physical distance, theirs is a devoted and affectionate partnership. And as a man of honor and deep integrity, Washington realizes that straying from the marital bed can only undermine his moral stature as a leader of men.
“I retain an unalterable affection for you, which neither time nor distance can change,” he wrote to Martha earlier in the war, signing the letter “Your Entire George Washington.”2
Washington’s other cause of personal pain is not so easily hidden: he has almost no teeth. The general blames a childhood habit of cracking walnuts with his molars for the dentures he now wears. The false teeth are made of hippopotamus ivory held in his mouth by strands of gold wire affixed to his few remaining real teeth. Thus, Washington smiles little, and lives with the constant pain of inflamed gums from the ill-fitting dentures. He grumbles about the way the fake teeth make his lips puff outward, and he is obsessed with all manner of dental gadgetry—spending a regular portion of his income on teeth scrapers, tooth powder, dental files, and medication to ease the pain.
His stoic countenan
ce has added to the heroic stature in which his soldiers view him. In his refusal to smile or unduly celebrate, they see a brave and humble leader.
There is no such adulation of Lt. Gen. Charles Cornwallis. Six years younger than Washington, Cornwallis is an outstanding officer, having shown his prowess at the Battle of New York and the British victory at Fort Washington.
Yet, Cornwallis also has the unfortunate task of taking orders from Gen. William Howe. The wealthy and educated Cornwallis, who has spent his entire adult life fighting Britain’s wars around the world, considers Howe a timid playboy. Cornwallis favors a strategy of rapid assaults designed to surprise and ultimately crush an opponent. He chafes at Howe’s preference for more patient, methodical plans of attack.
Yet, as Howe’s subordinate, the chubby Cornwallis has no choice but to carry out his commands. The rank and file will follow him into battle just as they would any other British general, for that is their duty. Cornwallis is not the sort to ride into the thick of the fray aboard a white charger, risking his life in the manner of George Washington. Instead, the British general stays to the rear of the action, issuing commands as information comes in from his frontline officers.
Lt. Gen. Charles Cornwallis
Like Washington, Cornwallis is happily married. He and his wife have a son and daughter, now safely ensconced at their family estate in Kent. There was a time when Cornwallis was uncomfortable fighting the American rebels, for he voted in favor of their cause while serving in the House of Lords. But while he admires and considers George Washington an “old fox” for his ability to use deception, the British commander is also keen to crush the rebels and go home.
* * *
With the sun quickly sinking, the British charge the bridge over Assunpink Creek—three times trying to penetrate Washington’s lines, and three times being pushed back by colonial cannon. “We let them come on some ways,” American sergeant Joseph White will remember. “Then by a signal given, we all fired together.”
Killing England Page 13
