But the events of the past weeks had taken Washington beyond what he called “this fatal idea.” Though pushed from Westchester, and subjected to betrayal that resulted in the loss of Fort Washington before Fort Lee also fell to an attack by General Cornwallis, he continued to resist even under pursuit by Cornwallis across the flatlands of New Jersey. (He had withdrawn from Fort Lee with Generals Putnam, Mercer, and Greene just half an hour before the enemy surrounded the fort.)
Urgently and repeatedly he sent word to General Charles Lee to reinforce him; but Lee was convinced that he was the better commander—and perhaps was—and was sufficiently engaged in trying to convince other generals of this fact that he continued to ignore the requests of his Commander in Chief. Joseph Reed, Washington’s adjutant general, had also become embroiled in the intrigue and, based on the recent withdrawals, was suggesting a change in the high command.
By December 8, with only three thousand men, Washington retreated to Trenton and crossed the Delaware to escape, the last boat embarking just as the British arrived. Of Lee there was no sign—though he would be captured five days later by a British patrol while attempting to subvert General Gates via Gates’s aide. Shortly thereafter Washington shifted his headquarters to the Keith house, about ten miles from Trenton, to be nearer the headquarters of Generals Greene and Knox while he pondered what to do next.
By then, because of British pressure, Congress had adjourned and fled to Baltimore. As the weather turned bitter, promising worse to come, General Howe ordered a chain of manned outposts set from Trenton to Hackensack and withdrew to set up winter quarters in New York. Mostly Hessian units would be left to hold the chain, with command headquarters based at Brunswick. A garrison of three Hessian regiments was posted to Trenton, under a German colonel called Johann Rall, who had distinguished himself at White Plains and Fort Washington.
Howe’s withdrawal did little to reassure Washington, who could not yet afford the luxury of taking up winter quarters. If the Delaware River froze over, he was still fearful that Howe would march troops across the ice and move on Philadelphia. Furthermore, he was again facing the evaporation of his army when their enlistments expired at the end of the year. As he had written to John Hancock on December 20, “Ten more days will put an end to the existence of our army.”
What was desperately needed was some semblance of success, to bolster morale and offset the series of defeats and near disasters that had followed Washington across New Jersey. The British seemed convinced that the American Army was in no condition to launch an attack and were settling in confidently to await its collapse, further lulled into a sense of security by the approaching winter. What Washington had that the British did not was boats with which to cross the Delaware while it remained unfrozen. But could he come up with a plan to use those boats that had any hope of success?
Late on the afternoon of December 22 he was still pondering his slender options, poring over maps with Simon and half a dozen other members of his staff, when a commotion in the hallway outside his office interrupted their deliberations. Simon was sent to ascertain the cause of the commotion: two cavalrymen with a muddy, sullen-looking prisoner, hands trussed behind his back and a pistol held to his head by one of his captors.
“Says he’s a cattle dealer, sir,” one of the troopers said to the lieutenant on duty, lowering the pistol and uncocking it as two sentries took up posts just inside the door to the outside. “We caught him down by the river. Says he was looking for one of his cows, but he ran when we tried to question him. I expect he’s a Tory spy.”
Simon had left the office door ajar as he stepped into the hallway to hear the circumstances of the capture. To his surprise Washington himself now emerged, nodding his thanks to the two cavalrymen.
“Excellent work, gentlemen. I’ll question him privately, in my office. Shoot him if he tries to escape,” he told the watching sentries. “Colonel Wallace, perhaps you’ll be so good as to move the staff meeting to another room.”
The office was quickly vacated, the prisoner was ushered in, and Washington closed the door. Bewildered speculation superseded military discussion for several minutes before the staff meeting resumed, but after half an hour Washington emerged, turned the prisoner over to the guards, and ordered him locked up. He volunteered no explanation as his staff trooped back into his office, resuming the meeting as if there had been no interruption. But when he adjourned for supper, another hour later, he asked Simon to remain, waiting until all the others had gone out and the last one had closed the door.
“That fellow in the guardhouse—I want him to escape later tonight,” he said quietly as he drew Simon as far as possible from the door.
“He’s your agent, then?”
“Aye. And he’s brought me some very useful information. Can you get him out?”
Simon nodded grimly. “I think so.”
“You think so?”
“Leave it to me.”
They went on to supper after that, and the General and his staff retired at their usual times thereafter. But later that night fire broke out in some hay piled near the guardhouse. The sentry at the guardhouse was among those who came running to help put it out, but on returning to his post he discovered that the guardhouse somehow had been unlocked and his prisoner had escaped. Though he roused other guards, and a figure seen fleeing into the woods was fired at, the prisoner was neither hit nor apprehended. When told of the escape the next morning, Washington appeared to be furious, but he became increasingly preoccupied as the day wore on, closeting himself in his office with one and another of his staff and scribbling on scraps of paper as he fleshed out a plan.
And it was an audacious one: to cross the ice-clogged Delaware River under cover of night and take Trenton. The night he selected was Christmas, when the Hessian garrison might be expected to be less vigilant, for the Germans were known to make much of their Christmas celebrations. Before embarking upon this ambitious endeavor, and as a winter storm blew up that Christmas night of 1776, the Commander in Chief assembled his troops and caused to be read to them a message published not a week before by Thomas Paine:
“These are the times that try men’s souls,” Paine had written. “The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. ’Tis dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to set a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as Freedom should not be highly rated.…”
Washington’s troops rose to the challenge. The password for the night was “Victory or death.” Ferried across the ice-choked Delaware by the Marblehead men who had evacuated them from Long Island, in sleet and bitter cold, they landed above and below Trenton by four in the morning. Henry Knox supervised the moving of eighteen vital artillery field pieces. The crossing had taken nine hours instead of the expected five, and few men had managed to keep their powder dry.
“Then we must rely on the bayonet,” Washington ordered. “The town must be taken, and I am determined to take it.”
The delay meant a brief rest might be allowed for food before they moved out. The General took his own meal on horseback, then rallied his men to their feet and pressed onward, for dawn was approaching. They had no other option but to go on, for if they lost the element of surprise, retreat would be cut off by the river at their backs.
Despite several last-minute setbacks, the Americans still managed to surprise the British garrison at dawn, in a blinding storm, killing or wounding about thirty and capturing a thousand, without loss of American lives. Colonel Rall, the German commander, was among the casualties.
Withdrawing across the Delaware to recover, Washington dined with some of the captured Hessian officers the follow
ing day before sending them on to Philadelphia with the rest of the Hessian prisoners, and two days later was recrossing the Delaware to occupy Trenton. Besides the badly needed victory, he had taken spoils that included a thousand weapons, three wagons of ammunition and four of baggage, six brass cannons, forty horses, and twelve drums.
On the thirtieth, with the enlistments of all but a handful of his men set to expire, the Commander in Chief assembled his ragged troops and begged them to stay for just six more weeks, praising their success at Trenton and lauding them as the soldiers of whom Thomas Paine had written—not sunshine patriots, but the men who were carrying the revolution forward while others stayed at home. It took two appeals, and the inducement of a bounty that Washington had no authority to offer, but in the end some twelve hundred men agreed to extend their enlistments for another month—long enough, Washington hoped, to see hostilities all but suspended for the winter, and to await the arrival of new recruits with the spring.
His audacity was vindicated the following evening when an express arrived from Baltimore with new instructions from Congress. After reading them the General withdrew into the room serving as his office and shortly called Simon in.
“It appears that I was only a day early in offering bounties for extending reenlistment,” he said, waving Simon to a chair, “though God alone knows where we shall find the hard money to pay them. Furthermore, I have leave to raise a formidable force for the new year: sixteen additional battalions of infantry, three thousand light horse, three regiments of artillery, and a corps of engineers.”
“This should be welcome news,” Simon replied, noting the General’s somewhat strained demeanor. “Or is there more you wish to tell me?”
Washington grimaced and handed the dispatch to Simon. “They have given me the powers of a military dictator.”
Simon’s gaze flicked over the catalog of powers, not only to muster the troops already mentioned but to decide on their rate of pay and for what duration, to appoint their officers, to appeal directly to the states for additional militia as required, and to take “whatever he may want for the use of the army”—and to arrest those who refused to sell.
“These are far-reaching powers,” Simon agreed, “but clearly Congress realizes how desperate are our straits, if the war is to be carried to a successful conclusion. And with Congress several days’ ride away, you cannot always afford the time to consult with them every time a decision must be made. ’Tis clear that you have their utter trust.” He consulted the document and selected an illustrative sentence. “ ‘Happy is it for this country that the General of their forces can safely be entrusted with the most unlimited power, and neither personal security, liberty, nor property be in the least degree endangered thereby.’ They do limit this power to a period of six months,” Simon added with a smile, “unless sooner determined by Congress.”
“Still, a formidable responsibility,” Washington said bleakly.
“Is it that you fear you may misuse those powers?” Simon asked. “They have given you the authority to do what you must to see this venture through. I know of no man better suited to the task. And I believe Providence will confirm that, in the end.”
Washington closed his eyes hard, then looked back at Simon.
“Do you really believe that?” he whispered.
“I do, with all my heart, and unto death.” When Washington only looked away, Simon added, “I hope and pray that you may receive confirmation of this destiny in the very near future, but meanwhile, you must trust that you are doing the right thing.”
“Am I?” Sighing, Washington rose and moved to the curtained window, twitching it briefly aside to gaze out at the snow-covered yard. Another sigh escaped his lips as he leaned heavily against the window casement to bury his face in one hand, rubbing wearily at the bridge of his nose.
“Dear Lord, I am weary!” he murmured. “We have respite now, but Howe will not wait long to respond to what we have done here. Will I have the men to answer him? Can we continue to stand against such opposition?”
Rising, Simon came to stand beside the General, daring to lay a hand lightly on a blue-clad elbow.
“You should get some rest, General,” he murmured, nodding toward the camp bed set in a corner of the room. “A little sleep will help you gain a little perspective.”
Washington shook his head, but it was halfhearted. “I must respond to Congress.”
“Sleep first,” Simon urged. “I shall wake you in a few hours and help you deal with the necessary correspondence. Please, General. Without sleep you will be no good to any cause, no matter how honest your intentions.”
That argument produced the desired response. Sighing, Washington removed his sword belt, handed it to Simon, and sank down onto the bed, not minding his boots as he shifted his long legs up and reclined. His eyes closed as soon as his head had settled on the pillow.
Briefly setting aside the sword, Simon shook out a blanket and draped it over Washington, who was already deeply asleep, then settled down on a chair near the door with the sword across his lap. He had tried before to gain some psychic impression from the sword, and tonight’s attempt was no more successful than the previous tries. But he did dream of Washington when he lapsed into sleep for an hour. More strongly than ever before, he saw the General with a laurel wreath across his brow. When he snapped back to wakefulness, and then shortly roused the Commander in Chief, he hoped it was a portent for the days to come.
Rain ushered in the first day of January, 1777, far milder than the previous week. By the next day, in preparation to meet the British riposte he knew must come, Washington had reinforced Trenton with nearly five thousand men. However, more than two thirds of them, though fresh, were untried and untrained militia.
Cornwallis meanwhile had reinforced nearby Princeton with sufficient numbers to bring his strength to about six thousand crack British and Hessian troops, and began to move on Trenton. As intelligence came in from Washington’s scouts and spies, it soon became clear that he dared not give direct battle or even remain in Trenton; but perhaps another encounter on terms of his own choosing stood some chance of success. A cache of British supplies lay at Princeton, relatively unprotected—a most tempting target.
While a detachment of Pennsylvania riflemen fought a delaying action along the road from Princeton to Trenton, holding Cornwallis until dark, Washington withdrew his troops and artillery to a strong position across the Assumpink. Then, in another of his typically innovative desperation moves, he left decoy watch fires and a token force in his assumed campsite and attempted to bypass the British defenses in Princeton by marching his forces around Cornwallis’s flank, along a little-known alternative route reported by one of his spies.
But the British got wind of the plan before Washington was ready to engage, nearly routing the Americans until their Commander in Chief took personal command, mustering an American attack and riding out between the two battle lines on a white horse. As he dashed to within thirty yards of the enemy, waving his hat to urge his militiamen forward, a volley was fired from the enemy line, and several of his officers covered their faces with their hats, for they could not bear to see him shot.
But he was still there when they dared to look again, still motioning them to advance; and his reckless exposure again inspired his men to wrest victory from defeat, in what soon would be acknowledged a military masterpiece. Demoralized, and with a substantial portion of his command shattered, Cornwallis withdrew from western New Jersey to take up winter quarters, though desultory skirmishes would continue for another week.
Only then did Washington dare to withdraw to the shelter of Morristown, New Jersey, where he would set up his own winter headquarters. Whether by Divine Providence, blind luck, or his own military savvy, he somehow had managed to survive his first full year of campaigning and now could hope to use the winter to reorganize and to remedy some of the glaring inadequacies of his battered army.
Chapter Seventeen
Ju
stin and the prince arrived in Paris in time for Christmas, following a stormy Atlantic crossing and a wet slog across France from Brest, while Washington’s assault on Trenton was still in its planning stages. Lodgings appropriate to the prince’s station had already been engaged in their behalf, apparently by Saint-Germain, but Justin was learning not to question the Master’s ability to anticipate events.
Actual instructions arrived shortly after they did, addressed to the prince, along with invitations to a succession of gala Christmas and New Year’s celebrations to be held at court in the coming weeks. Justin soon found himself moving in somewhat more exalted circles than he had expected—though the prince advised him not to wear his American uniform.
He soon discovered why. The Declaration of Independence had reached Europe in early October, to general approval by most of England’s traditional enemies, and Deane’s first shipment of supplies had gone out very shortly: thirty thousand guns, one hundred thousand balls, two hundred cannons with full trains, twenty-seven mortars, three thousand tents, and a large consignment of much-needed gunpowder, all of which would be greatly welcomed back at Morristown.
But since then had come the news of Washington’s defeats in and around New York, and his subsequent withdrawal, tempered but little by the minor successes he had managed to wrest from mounting disasters. Franklin and Lee had arrived on the heels of this news, only days before Justin and the prince, to learn that the King’s ministers had forbidden French officers to join the insurgents—though Franklin pointed out several who were determined to go anyway.
“The Marquis de Lafayette is the highest ranking of them,” Franklin confided to Justin and the prince at a New Year’s fete at Versailles. “He’s over there, pumping my grandson for information about Washington.”
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