_The Lion Turns Fox_
The Quaker road led southeast from Trenton until it reached the village
of Sandtown, where it turned to the northwest again, and it was not
until that point was reached that the surprised soldiers realized the
daring nature of the manoeuvre, and the character of that night march,
which they had at first considered another hopeless retreat. It was
astonishing, then, with what spirit and zeal the soldiers tramped
silently over the frozen roads; the raw, green militia vied with the
veterans, in the fortitude with which they sustained the dreadful
fatigue of the severe march. The long distance to be traversed, on
account of the detour to be made, rendered it necessary that the men be
moved at the highest possible speed. The road itself being a new one,
lately cleared, the stumps and roots of trees not yet grubbed up, made
it difficult to transport the artillery and the wagons: but the tired
men cheerfully assisted the tired horses, and the little army made
great progress. The morning of Friday, January the 5th, dawned clear
and cold, with the ground covered with hoar frost. About sunrise the
army, with Washington again in the lead, reached the bridge over Stony
Brook about three miles from the village of Princeton. Leading the
main body across the bridge, they struck off from the main highway
through a by-road which was concealed by a grove of trees in the lower
ground, and afforded a short cut to the town.
General Mercer was an old friend and comrade of the commander-in-chief;
he had been a companion of Prince Charles Edward in his romantic
invasion of England in '45, a member of Braddock's unfortunate
expedition, and wounded when that general's army was annihilated; and
sometime commander of Fort Du Quesne, after its capture by General
Forbes. He was detailed, with a small advance party comprising the
remnants of Smallwood's Marylanders, Haslet's Delawareans, and
Fleming's Virginians, and a small body of young men from the first
families of Philadelphia, to the total number of three hundred, to
continue up the road along the brook until he reached the main road,
where he was to try and hold the bridge in order to intercept fugitives
from Princeton, or check any retrograde movement of the troops which
might have advanced toward Trenton. The little band had proceeded but
a short distance on their way, when they unexpectedly came in sight of
a column of the enemy.
It was the advance of the British, a part of Von Donop's leading
brigade, _en route_ for Trenton to assist Cornwallis in bagging the
"old fox" according to orders,--the Seventeenth Regiment, under Colonel
Mawhood. Mercer's troops being screened by the wood, their character
was not visible to Mawhood, who conjectured that they must be a body of
fugitives from the front. Under this impression, and never dreaming of
the true situation, Mawhood promptly deployed his regiment and moved
off to the left to intercept Mercer, at the same time despatching
messengers to bring up the other two regiments, the Fortieth and
Fifty-fifth, which had not yet left Princeton. Both parties rushed for
a little rising ground on the edge of a cleared field, near the house
of a peaceful Quaker named Clark. The Americans were nearer the goal
than their opponents, and reached it first. Hastily deploying his
column, Mercer sought shelter behind a hedge fence which crowned the
eminence, and immediately opened up a destructive fire from his
riflemen, which temporarily checked the advancing enemy. The British,
excellently led, returned the fire with great spirit, and with such
good effect that, after a few volleys, Mercer's horse was wounded in
the leg and his rider thrown violently to the ground, Talbot's was
killed under him, and several of the officers and men fell,--among them
the brave Colonel Haslet, who was mortally wounded. In the confusion
thus unfortunately caused, the Americans could hear sharp commands of
the English officers, then the rattling of steel on the gun-barrels,
and the next moment the red-coated men broke out of the smoke and,
unchecked by a scattering fire from the Americans, gallantly rushed up
at them with fixed bayonets. There were unfortunately no bayonets in
this small brigade of the Continental army. A few of the men clubbed
their muskets resolutely as the two lines met, and made a stout
resistance; but the on-coming British would not be denied, and, as the
charge was pressed home, the Americans wavered, broke, and fell back in
some disorder before the vigorous onslaught of the veteran troops.
Mercer, filled with shame, strove in vain to rally his men. Disdaining
himself to retreat, and gallantly calling upon them to advance, he
threw himself upon the advancing British line, sword in hand, followed
by his officers, and for a brief space there was an exciting mêlée on
the hill. A blow from the butt end of a musket felled the general to
the ground. Talbot sprang to his side, and swept the bayonet away from
his heart by a blow of his sword delivered with a quick movement of his
powerful arm. Mercer profited by the moment's respite to leap to his
feet.
"Thank you, my lad," he said.
"Do you get to the rear and rally the men, general," cried Talbot,
firing a pistol at short range into the midst of the crowding enemy.
"I 'll hold these men in play." But the fighting blood of the old
Scotchman was up, and for answer he struck boldly at the man opposite
him.
"Surrender, you damned rebels!" cried an officer near them.
"Never!" replied Mercer, cutting down the man with whom he was engaged,
while Talbot did the like to the one next him. With a roar of rage the
British sprang on the two men. In a trice one of the bayonets got past
Mercer's guard and grazed his arm, another buried itself in his bosom,
a third struck him in the breast. The old man struck out weakly,
dropped his sword and fell, pierced by a dozen wounds, but still
breathing. Talbot, who was as yet unharmed, though covered with blood
and dust, his hat gone, stepped across his body.
He might have retreated, being young and active; but that was not the
custom of his family, neither would he abandon the body of his brave
commander; besides, every moment of delay was precious. Surely they
would be reinforced and rallied; he knew the promptness of Washington
too well to doubt it for a moment; and, last of all, what was life
without Kate? One glance he cast to the bright sky, flushed with the
first rays of the rising sun, and then he stood on guard. The young
man's eyes were burning with the intoxication of the fight, and his
soul filled with great resolve; but his sword-play was as cool and as
rapid as it had been in the Salle des Armes at Paris, where few could
be found to master him. The little group of British paused a moment in
admiration of his courage.
"One at a time, gentlemen," he cried, smiling, and warding off a
vicious bayonet thrust. "Are there none here who will cross swords
with me, for the honor of their flag?"
The young lieutenant in command of that part of the line promptly
sprang forward and engaged; the two blades rang fiercely together, and
grated along each other a moment later. The men stepped back. But the
brave lieutenant had met his match, and, with set lips and iron arm,
Talbot drove home his blade in the other's heart. Ere he could recover
himself or withdraw his sword, he was beaten to his knees by a blow
from a gun-barrel; the blood ran down over his face.
"Surrender! surrender!" they cried to him, "and we will spare your
life."
For answer his hand sought his remaining pistol. The first one of his
opponents fell dead with a bullet through his heart, and the next
moment the deadly steel of a bayonet was buried in Talbot's throat.
"Kate--Kate!" he cried in agony, the blood bubbling from his lips, and
then another bayonet found his gallant heart; and he sank down on his
face, at the foot of the dying officer, his lips kissing the soil of
that country in defence of whose liberties he had fallen.
As was customary with his family, he had died on the field, grimly
facing fearful odds to the last. The last of his line, he had made a
good ending, not unworthy his distinguished ancestry; for none of the
proud and gallant race had ever died in the service of a better cause,
be it that of king or Parliament, than this young soldier who had just
laid down his life for love of his country!
The slight check afforded by the interposition of the Americans was
over. The British were sweeping everything before them, when Colonel
Mawhood, the cool-headed officer, who had been sitting on a little
brown pony, with a small switch in his hand, directing the combat,
became aware of a large body of men coming up on his right flank
through the wood. With the readiness of a practised soldier, he
instantly stopped the advance of his men, wheeled them about, brought
up his guns, and prepared to open fire. The American officers had time
to mark with admiration the skill with which the manoeuvre was
effected, and the beautiful precision with which the men carried out
their orders. Then the force, a large body of Pennsylvania militia
which Washington had despatched at the first sound of firing in the
direction of Mercer, broke out of the wood, and advanced rapidly. The
muskets of the redcoats were quickly brought to the shoulder, and at
the word of command the British line was suddenly tipped with fire and
then covered with smoke. Many of the militia fell at this volley
delivered at close range; some of the fallen lay still and motionless,
while others groaned with pain; the raw troops fired hastily into the
smoke, then hesitated and stopped uncertainly as the volley was
repeated. It was another critical moment, and the hour brought the man.
Washington himself had most opportunely arrived on the field in advance
of the troops, attended by Seymour. One glance showed him Mercer's
broken retreating column and the hesitating Pennsylvania militia!
Everything was at stake. It was not a time for strategic manoeuvres
now, but for men--nay, there were men there as good as ever fought--but
for a man then. Providentially one was at hand. Putting spurs to his
gallant white horse, he rode down the line in front of the Pennsylvania
militia, waving his hat and cheering them on.
"An old-fashioned Virginia fox-hunt, gentlemen!" he cried gayly, giving
the view halloo! Galloping forward under the fire of the British
battery, he called to Mercer's shattered men. They halted and faced
about; the Seventh Virginia broke through the wood on the flank of the
British; Hitchcock's New Englanders came up on the run with fixed
bayonets; Moulder's Philadelphia battery opened fire from the hill on
the opposing guns.
The fire of a warrior had now supplanted the coolness of a general.
Dashing boldly forward, reckless of the storm of bullets, to within
thirty yards of the British line, and smiling with stern pleasure in
the crisis which seemed to develop and bring out every fibre of his
deep nature, he called upon his men to come on. Recovering themselves,
they responded with the utmost gallantry. Mawhood was surrounded and
outnumbered, his victory suddenly changed to defeat; but, excellent
soldier that he was, he fought on with desperate resolution, and the
conflict was exceedingly hot. Washington was in the thick of it.
Seymour, who had followed him closely until the general broke away in
the smoke to lead the charge, lost sight of him for a moment, enveloped
as he was in the dust and smoke of the battle. When he saw him emerge
from the cloud, waving his sword, and beheld the enemy giving way on
every side, he spurred up to him.
"Thank God!" he said; "your excellency is safe."
"Away! away! my dear Seymour," he cried, "and bring up the troops. The
day is our own!"
To the day of his death Seymour never lost the splendid impression of
that heroic figure, the ruddy face streaked with smoke and dust, the
eyes blazing with the joy of battle, the excitement of the charge, the
mighty sweep of the mighty arm! Mawhood's men were, indeed, routed in
every direction; most of them laid down their arms. A small party
only, under that intrepid leader, succeeded in forcing its way through
the American ranks with the bayonet, and ran at full speed toward
Trenton under the stimulus of a hot pursuit.
Meanwhile the Fifty-fifth Regiment had been vigorously attacked by St.
Clair's brigade, and, after a short action, those who could get away
were in full retreat towards New Brunswick. The last regiment, the
Fortieth, had not been able to get into action at all; a part of it
fled in a panic, with the remains of the Fifty-fifth, towards New
Brunswick, hotly pursued by Washington with the Philadelphia City Troop
and what cavalry he could muster, and the rest took refuge in the
college building in Princeton, from which they were dislodged by
artillery and compelled to surrender. The British loss was about five
hundred in killed and wounded and prisoners, the American less than one
hundred; but among the latter were many valuable officers,--Colonels
Haslet and Potter, Major Morris, Captains Shippen, Fleming, Talbot,
Neal, and General Mercer.
After following the retiring and demoralized British for a few miles,
Washington determined to abandon the pursuit. The men were exhausted
by their long and fatiguing marches, and were in no condition to make
the long march to New Brunswick; most of them were still ill equipped
and entirely unfitted for the fatigue and exposure of a further winter
campaign,--even those iron men must have rest at last. The flying
British must have informed Leslie's troops, six miles away, of the
situation; they would soon be upon them, and they might expect
Cornwallis with his whole force at any time. He drew off his troops,
therefore, and, leaving a strong party to break down the bridge over
Stony Brook and impede the advance of the English as much as possible,
he pushed on towards Pluckamin and Morristown, officers and men
thoroughly satisfied with their brilliant achievements.
Early in the morning the pickets of Cornwallis' army discovered that
something was wrong in the American camp; the guard had been withdrawn,
the fires had been allowed to die away, and the place was as still as
death. A few adventurous spirits, cautiously crossing the bridge,
found that the guns mounted in front of it were only "quakers," and
that the whole camp was empty,--the army had decamped silently, and
stolen away before their eyes! My Lord Cornwallis, rudely disturbed
from those rosy dreams of conquest with which a mocking spirit had
beguiled his slumber, would not credit the first report of his
astonished officers; but investigation showed him that the "old fox"
was gone, and he would not be bagged that morning--nor on any other
morning, either! But where had he gone? For a time the perplexed and
chagrined commander could not ascertain.
The Americans had vanished--disappeared--leaving absolutely no trace
behind them, and it was not until he heard the heavy booming of cannon
from the northeast, borne upon the frosty air of the cold morning about
sunrise, that he divined the brilliant plan of his wily antagonist and
discovered his whereabouts. He had been outfought, outmanoeuvred,
outflanked, and outgeneralled! The disgusted British were sent back
over the familiar road to Princeton, now in hotter haste than before.
His rear-guard menaced, perhaps overwhelmed, his stores and supplies in
danger, Cornwallis pushed on for life this time. The English officer
conceived a healthy respect for Washington at this juncture which did
not leave him thereafter.
The short distance between Trenton and Princeton on the direct road was
passed in a remarkably short time by the now thoroughly aroused and
anxious British. A little party under command of Seymour and Kelly,
which had been assiduously engaged in breaking down the bridge over
Stony Brook, was observed and driven away by two field-pieces, which
had been halted and unlimbered on a commanding hill, and which opened
fire while the troops advanced on a run; but the damage had been done,
and the bridge was already impassable. After a futile attempt to
repair it, in which much time was lost, the indefatigable earl sent his
troops through the icy water of the turbulent stream, which rose
breast-high upon the eager men, and the hasty pursuit was once more
resumed. A mile or so beyond the bridge the whole army was brought to
a stand by a sudden discharge from a heavy gun, which did some
execution; it was mounted in a breastwork some distance ahead. The
army was halted, men were sent ahead to reconnoitre, and a strong
column deployed to storm what was supposed to be a heavy battery. When
the storming party reached the works, there was no one there! A lone
thirty-two-pounder, too unwieldy to accompany the rapid march of the
Americans, had been left behind, and Philip Wilton had volunteered to
remain, after Seymour's party had passed, and further delay the British
by firing it at their army as soon as they came in range. These delays
had given Washington so much of a start that Cornwallis, despairing of
ever overtaking him, finally gave up the pursuit, and pushed on in
great anxiety to New Brunswick, to save, if possible, his magazines,
which he had the satisfaction in the end of finding intact.
To complete this brief _résumé_ of one of the remarkable campaigns of
history, Washington strongly fortified himself on Cornwallis' flank at
Morristown, menacing each of the three depots held by the British
outside New York; Putnam advanced from Philadelphia to Trenton, with
the militia; and Heath moved down to the highlands of the Hudson. The
country people of New Jersey rose and cut off scattered detachments of
the British in every direction, until the whole of the field was
eventually abandoned by them, except Amboy, Newark, and New Brunswick.
The world witnessed the singular spectacle of a large, well-appointed
army of veteran soldiery, under able leaders, shut up in practically
one spot, New York and a few near-by villages, and held there
inexorably by a phantom army which never was more than half the size of
that it held in check! The results of the six months' campaign were to
be seen in the possession of the city of New York by the British army.
That army, which had won, practically, all the battles in which it had
engaged, which had followed the Americans through six months of
disastrous defeat and retreat, and had overrun two colonies, now had
nothing to show for all its efforts but the ground upon which it stood!
And this was the result of the genius, the courage, the audacity of one
man,--George Washington! The world was astounded, and he took an
assured place thenceforward among the first soldiers of that or any age.
Even the English themselves could not withhold their admiration. The
gallant and brave Cornwallis, a soldier of no mean ability himself, and
well able to estimate what could be done with a small and feeble force,
never forgot his surprise at the Assunpink; and when he congratulated
Washington, at the surrender of Yorktown years after, upon the
brilliant combination which had resulted in the capture of the army, he
added these words: "But, after all, your excellency's achievements in
the Jerseys were such that nothing could surpass them!" And the witty
and wise old cynic, Mr. Horace Walpole, with his usual discrimination,
wrote to a friend, Sir Horace Mann, when he heard of the affair at
Trenton, the night march to Princeton, and the successful attack there:
"Washington, the dictator, has shown himself both a Fabius and a
Camillus. His march through our lines is allowed to have been a
prodigy of generalship!"