by Ron Carter
The Americans held. They reloaded and kept firing, ducking when the British cannister came whistling, picking their targets, firing quickly, reloading frantically. The British edged forward slowly, dodging from tree to tree, firing blindly when they could not see an American for a target.
The sun slipped behind the western skyline while the cannon and rifles and muskets blasted. The distance between the American line and the advancing British was seventy yards when Hand again shouted the order to fall back. The Americans began a stubborn, dogged retreat—firing, moving back, firing—as the sun set. They reached the junction with King and Queen Streets, and the American cannon fired their last volley before starting down King Street. From behind houses and buildings, alleys and doorways, the Americans maintained their steady stream of rifle fire, refusing to run, determined to stall the British until full dark.
Suddenly the unmistakable sound of a cannonball whistling overhead stopped Hand in his tracks. Instantly he heard the blasting boom from behind, towards the Delaware River, and it flashed in his mind.
That was our cannon! Washington! He’s coming—giving us cover!
The British and their cannon had reached the gentle rise on the north end of Trenton, and the American cannon under Washington’s command were dug in on the rise on the south side of the Assunpink Creek. With the gray of dusk falling, the big guns traded shot for shot, volley for volley, the cannonballs whistling over the town.
From behind Hand’s command came a surging battle cry from five hundred voices as Americans from Washington’s command came pounding up the muddy streets, muskets blasting. They reached Hand, and with his small command in their midst, the Americans all began a slow, steady retreat, back towards the Queen Street bridge. The British followed, musket and rifle fire hot from both sides.
Two mounted riders appeared among the men, shouting encouragement, and Eli glanced to see Generals Nathanael Greene and Henry Knox mix among the men, shouting them on. They backed onto the Queen Street bridge with musket balls whistling, and Billy and Eli went to one knee to aim and fire while the remainder of Hand’s command crossed. Billy and Eli jerked out their ramrods to reload as they backed across the bridge when Billy turned to peer into the dusky shadows behind, and his eyes widened.
In the fading light he saw the tall form of General George Washington sitting on his white horse at the other end of the bridge, waiting for the last man to clear. British musket balls were singing everywhere, and cannonballs were blasting mud and brush all up and down the Assunpink Creek bank. Yet, Washington was sitting as calm and erect as though on a summer’s evening horseback ride.
Eli saw Billy’s stare, and glanced backwards, then stopped to look before the two of them backed across the bridge, past the general, to the safety of the American trenches and breastworks. They joined Colonel Hand with his command and waited for further orders when the sounds of heavy gunfire reached them from up the Delaware to the west. They waited and listened, and thirty seconds later a rider came charging into camp.
“They tried to cross up there on one of the fords. We stopped ‘em.”
Hand said quietly, “This isn’t over yet. I think they’ll try the Assunpink bridge one more time before dark.”
No sooner had he spoken than the sounds of British infantry running through Trenton reached them, and in the dwindling light they saw the red-coated regulars of the advance command swarm towards the bridge. Sergeant Joseph White, with the cannon he had repaired and saved after the battle of Trenton, was on a rise overlooking the bridge. With fifteen other cannon crews, he brought his gun to bear pointblank on the bridge.
From beside him came a calm, high, nasal voice. “All right, you lovelies, hold your fire until I say.”
Sergeant Alvin Turlock watched the red-coated infantry reach the bridge, shouting as they came. He waited until the leaders reached the south edge of the heavy wooden structure before he shouted, “Fire!”
Wood shards, mud, and water flew. When the smoke cleared, not one British soldier was standing on the bridge.
“Reload,” shouted Turlock, and sixteen gun crews scrambled as the second wave of British infantry came swarming. They leaped over their own dead in their second attempt to take the bridge, and again Turlock let them reach the near edge.
“Fire!”
In the deep twilight, orange flame leaped fifteen feet from the muzzle of every American cannon, and again the British on the bridge were lost in a cloud of wood splinters, mud, and creek water. When it settled, the British dead were stacked two deep on the bridge and more than twenty were in the water, not moving. Their regimental colors and their Union Jack, which had fluttered so bravely in the shimmering light of sunrise, were shredded, their poles splintered. They lay stained, trampled in the mud.
“Reload,” shouted Turlock one more time as the British made their last charge. When the smoke cleared, the bridge was heaped with the dead. Bodies were scattered on the creek banks and in the water. The groans of the dying could be heard for a hundred yards. The British remaining on the north side were retreating to disappear into the dark streets of Trenton.
For a few seconds, Turlock watched and listened, then turned to the cannon crews. “Cease fire. It’s over for now.”
Notes
On January 2, 1777, General Charles Cornwallis marched out of Princeton with 8,000 men, among them some of the best British and German soldiers in the world. With orders to retake Trenton and eliminate the Continental army, Cornwallis left Colonel Charles Mawhood with 1,000 troops as a rear guard for Princeton, and another 1,500 men under the command of General Alexander Leslie at Maidenhead for reserves. Both Mawhood and Leslie were to bring their commands to Trenton the following day (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, pp. 286-87).
Cornwallis’s efforts to march to Trenton were seriously hampered by an unexpected turn in the weather. The previous day had warmed well above freezing and a warm rain had fallen, turning the dirt roads and the countryside into deep mud. Horses, wagons, cannon, and men were mired down and unable to find solid footing (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, pp. 286-87).
General Washington had anticipated the move by Cornwallis, and had sent about six hundred men under the command of General de Fermoy to meet the British at Five Mile Run and delay them until nightfall. However, de Fermoy abandoned his command without notice or explanation and returned alone to Trenton, leaving Colonel Edward Hand in command of the trained Pennsylvania riflemen to engage the British column at Five Mile Run. The first shot knocked a Hessian officer from his horse. General Cornwallis ordered out an advance guard of 1,500 men to clear the Americans from the woods. Though the novel portrays an advance guard constantly totaling 1,500 men, historically there was only one command of 1,500 soldiers, whose losses ranged from 100 to 500 men (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, p. 290). Hand, highly skilled in fighting in the woods, laid ambush after ambush at Shabbokonk Creek and Stockton Hollow, was slowly forced to give ground as the vastly superior British force struggled on (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, p. 289).
At dusk, General Washinton’s cannon south of Trenton commenced firing over the town and into the oncoming British, giving Hand and his men cover while they stubbornly held their ground as the dusk deepened. Amid whistling musket and cannon fire, Washington sat on his horse by the Assunpink bridge until all of Hand’s men had reached safety (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, pp. 289-90).
Three times the advance British guard attempted to cross the bridge, and each time the American cannon and musket fire stopped them. Sergeant Joseph White recorded, “such destruction it made, you cannot conceive. The bridge looked red as blood, with their killed and wounded, and their red coats” (as quoted in Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, p. 290).
It was full dark when Cornwallis’s main column finally reached Trenton. Unwilling to make a night attack, the British and Hessians were forced to make camp and wait for morning (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, p. 291).
Banks of the Delaware,
Trenton, New Jersey
January 2, 1777
CHAPTER XVI
The deep gloom gave way to the black of night as the big guns fell silent. The weary, hungry American army gathered wood for fires and sat on rocks and logs in small groups to heat coffee and salt beef, and gnaw on hardtack. Sounds drifted from Trenton across the Assunpink Creek, where British soldiers were roaming the streets, working systematically through the wreckage of the shattered and burned buildings, taking what they wanted.
North, towards the bridge, they heard General Henry Knox call orders to three cannon crews. “Fire a volley into Trenton every few minutes until further orders. Keep those redcoats jumping!” Thirty seconds later, flame leaped fifteen feet from the cannon muzzles. The flash lighted the creek’s banks for a hundred yards, and the exhausted soldiers turned their faces away while the concussion rolled past and the echo faded in the night.
A young soldier seated across the fire from Billy held his steaming coffee cup with both hands, nursing it as he sipped. In the firelight, Billy could see the deep doubt and concern in his eyes as he spoke.
“Seems to me we got ourselves in a fix,” he said. “The British army’s just over the creek. We can’t back up because of the river and we can’t move up or down the river ’cause they’ll be right on top of us. Yes, sir, we got ourselves in a fix.” He turned troubled eyes to his lieutenant. “Lieutenant Bridges, sir, isn’t that so? We’re in a bad fix?”
The eleven men in the circle stopped all motion, all talk, and turned their eyes to Lieutenant Bridges. Young Stephen Olney had voiced the single question that was riding each of them like a great black cloud.
Had General Washington led them into a trap from which none of them would escape?
Lieutenant Bridges looked at the anxious, young eyes of Stephen Olney for several moments, aware of the silence as the men waited for his reply. He stared into the fire, searching for words, then said thoughtfully, “I don’t know.” He raised his eyes and quickly glanced around, face calm, voice steady as he finished. “The Lord will help us.”
The unexpected answer caught everyone by surprise, and for a few moments a hush held them. Then the cannon by the bridge blasted out a second volley and all the men flinched, recovered, and continued sipping at their scalding coffee.
Billy broke the silence. “General Washington won’t let us get trapped here.”
Eli raised his eyes. “Did you see him? At the bridge? Sitting that white horse until we were all across? British musket balls and cannon shot all around, and none hit him?”
Billy turned towards Eli. “I saw.”
Eli sipped gingerly at his steaming cup. “That Indian might have been right, back there about twenty-two years ago. Maybe Washington can’t be killed by musket or cannon. Maybe he will live to be the father of a new country.”
The men raised surprised eyes and Turlock asked, “What Indian?”
“Back when Washington was with the British, and Braddock got killed. An old Indian chief saw his best warriors try to shoot Washington so close they couldn’t miss, but they did. He said Washington couldn’t be killed by a bullet or cannonball, and he would live to become the father of a great nation.”
Turlock’s eyebrows arched. “First I heard of it. Who was the Indian?”
Eli shook his head. “I never heard. But the Indians remember it. I wanted to see Washington, to judge whether the story is true. That’s partly why I came to join his army.”
Turlock squinted one eye and sipped at his coffee. “What do you think now?”
Eli pondered for a moment. “After what I saw at that bridge, it might be true. If it is, he’s special. Time will tell.”
An involuntary shiver ran through Turlock and he murmured, “Chill coming in.”
Eli said, “It was too warm today. The thaw sure slowed down the British. Looks like a freeze might set in just in time to let Washington move the army out.”
Olney’s head swung around towards Eli. “You figure the Lord’s doing things with the weather?”
Eli sipped at his coffee. “The weather’s been acting unnatural, in our favor. That old Indian I mentioned might say the Almighty was watching over the general. Bridges, what do you think?”
Bridges stared into the fire and repeated himself. “The Lord will take care of us.”
The cannon by the bridge roared again, and all eyes turned northwest to watch the orange flashes as the cannonballs exploded in the streets of Trenton.
Billy lowered his coffee cup for a moment. “Cornwallis is over there somewhere. I wonder what he’s thinking by now.”
Eli wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “After that mauling his column took today from Hand, I imagine he’s a little vexed. He’s likely getting his entire army ready for one big push to get us all.”
Turlock raised his eyes to stare thoughtfully into the darkness across the Assunpink Creek. “If he comes with a night attack …” He didn’t finish the sentence. All eyes in the circle turned northwest for a moment, then the men resumed working on their steaming coffee cups.
“Weems and Stroud.” The call came loud in the dark. Billy and Eli both turned to peer up the creek bank. A mounted rider was coming, shadowy in the low cook fires on the sloped creek bank.
Billy and Eli both set their coffee cups on a log and stood, and Billy called, “Here. Weems and Stroud are here.” They watched him come in, a small, wiry man, riding a jaded bay mare with vapor trailing from her nostrils. Her eyes glowed wine red in the firelight as he reined her to a stop. The flames reflected from the gold on his tricornered hat and his shoulder epaulets.
“You’re Corporal Weems and Private Stroud?”
Billy answered. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m Major Harrison. General Washington wants you at the command post. Do you know where General St. Clair made his headquarters?”
Billy nodded. “Yes, sir. That big house west of here.”
“That’s the place. You’re to come now.”
“Yes, sir.” Billy reached for his musket as Eli picked up his rifle. Before they started along the creek bank, both men paused for one moment to look northwest, across the creek at Trenton, deserted and quiet except for the British soldiers still lingering in the dark streets, lighted only by the smoldering fires started by Knox’s cannonballs.
“He’s over there,” Eli said quietly. “Corwallis and his army. I’d like to know what they got in mind.”
Across the Assunpink, on the low hill just past the major road junction at the north end of Trenton, General Cornwallis silently cursed the mud as his aide held back the flap of a hastily erected tent. Cornwallis ducked to enter, and his staff of general officers immediately rose and came to attention until he was seated.
His jowls shook slightly as he spoke. “Be seated. Gentlemen, we have little time to make a difficult choice. The best information I have is that most of Washington’s forces are just south and east of Trenton throwing up breastworks and entrenchments along the banks of the Assunpink Creek. They have about thirty cannon. Their force is composed of perhaps four thousand six hundred troops, of which threequarters are absolutely green militia. The decision which we must make immediately is whether we conduct a night attack or wait until dawn. I am open to suggestions.”
Sir William Erskine, the quartermaster general of Cornwallis’s command, spoke instantly. “Sir, in my opinion, the decision is obvious. At this moment, the rebels are still set back on their heels in an entirely defensive posture. The critical momentum is all in our favor. We cannot allow them to recover and regroup.”
General James Grant, taciturn, stubborn, still filled with nothing but contempt for the entire Continental army, shook his head violently. “I disagree. Our forces have just concluded a ten-hour march through mud—under fire most of the way—and they need time to gather strength. We are on unfamiliar ground. How do we cross the Assunpink? Ford it? It’s swollen from this cursed thaw. And what lies across the Assunpink? How far east do Washington’s l
ines go? How well entrenched are they? How many men will we lose needlessly if we try to storm their breastworks in the dark, on ground they know and we do not?” He shook his head again. “Wait until morning.”
Erskine dropped his palm smacking on the table. His face flushed as he turned hot eyes towards Grant. “Are you certain he will be there in the morning? Have we forgotten his overnight evacuation from Brooklyn across the East River, when General Howe was certain he had him trapped? And again at White Plains? If Washington is the general I take him to be, his army will not be found there in the morning!”
Grant grunted. “Nonsense. He’s trapped. He has no boats to cross the Delaware to the south, and if he moves his army east or west, they’ll be strung out for miles, and at our mercy when we catch them. He has to stand and fight where he is, and that will be the end of him.”
Erskine’s voice was brittle, his eyes glowing like flecks of obsidian. “Mark my word. He will not be there if we wait until morning.”
Cornwallis intervened. “Thank you, gentlemen. Taking circumstances as they now exist, it appears to me we will experience fewer losses if we storm the rebel positions in daylight. Our troops are exhausted. They need rest. I can see no way out for Washington. He has no boats to cross the river, and he cannot march his army east or west and fight at the same time.” He leaned forward in his chair and said matter-of-factly, “We’ve got the old fox safe now. We’ll go over and bag him in the morning.”
Von Donop raised a cautionary hand. “Sir, may I recommend that patrols be sent east to probe Washington’s right flank throughout the night? We need to know his location, and where the rebels are moving.”
Cornwallis eased his back against his chair to consider. “We’ll keep patrols on the southern limits of Trenton to be certain he does not move during the night. That should be sufficient.” He waited while von Donop settled before he finished. “I will send written orders by special runners to both General Leslie and Colonel Mawhood to bring their troops to join us immediately. With their added strength the battle should be over very quickly.”
