Of her rent and tattered wreck,
Like the rats from garner burning,
Fastly flee;
Ah, no more before the gale
Will that gallant vessel sail;
Nevermore, the billows spurning,
Wave her white wings o’er the sea!
Ere they fled, with spiteful ire
They devoted her to fire,
With her red-cross ensign proudly
Floating free;
But we boarded with a crew,
Down the flying colors drew,
While our cheers rang long and loudly
To the fortress from the sea.
[Illustration: CHARLESTON IN 1780.]
Then her small-arms all we took,
And her bell and signal-book;
Fired her cannon thrice, in honor
Of the day;
Bore her colors ensign down,
In defiance of the crown;
And to heap more scorn upon her,
Jeering, trailed them o’er the bay.
Then we fired her as before,
And, exulting, from the shore
Saw the flaming serpents creeping
Up the shrouds;
Saw them dance upon the deck,
Saw them lick and gnaw the wreck,
Saw them to the mast-heads leaping
Through the rolling, smoking clouds.
Then, while gleamed the sparks like stars,
Snapped and fell the blazing spars,
While the fire was moaning dirges,
Came a roar;
Upward sprang a pillared flame,
And to fragments rent her frame,
With a shock that drove the surges,
White with terror, to the shore.
Time since then has travelled on:
Moultrie, Thomson, Jasper, gone!
Few survive who shared the glory
Of the scene;
But their names in light shall blaze
To the very latter days,
And our sons, in song and story,
Keep their memory ever green.
_A TURN OF THE TIDE._
[Illustration: TRENTON -1777-]
During the latter part of 1776, affairs looked gloomy for the new
Confederacy of the States. The affair at White Plains, the fall of
Fort Washington, and the evacuation of Fort Lee, followed by the
retreat across New Jersey, had reduced the forces of Washington
to less than three thousand men. The enemy occupied Newark, New
Brunswick, Princeton, Trenton, and Bordentown. They were thus
scattered in detachments on a long line. When Washington crossed
the river Delaware—which he did after securing every available boat
on the shore—his force had dwindled to twenty-two hundred men; and
this number was still further reduced by the expiration of the term
of enlistment of a large portion. Congress had fled to Baltimore,
and Cornwallis was about to seize Philadelphia.
Congress now ordered increased pay to the troops, with liberal
bounties, and by indefatigable exertions the ranks began to fill
again. On the twenty-fourth of December, Washington’s army amounted
to over ten thousand men, of which about half were effective.
With these he determined to make a simultaneous attack upon the
detached British posts on the New Jersey side. The main force, led
by Washington in person, was to cross at M’Conkey’s Ferry, and fall
upon the Hessians, under Rahl, at Trenton. Cadwallader was to cross
near Bristol, and Ewing below Trenton Falls, to attack Mount Holly,
Black Horse, Bordentown, and Burlington. He was aided unexpectedly
by General Putnam, who commanded at Philadelphia. Learning of the
design to attack Trenton, Putnam sent a small body of militia,
under Colonel Griffin, to Mount Holly, where he was not to fight,
but to retreat before the enemy. Count Donop, at Bordentown, fell
into the trap, followed Griffin, and was not at hand to support
Rahl at the critical moment. Neither Ewing nor Cadwallader could
effect a crossing. The latter got a battalion of foot over the
river, but not being able to cross the artillery, these had to
return.
[Illustration: RAHL’S HEAD-QUARTERS.]
The incidents of the surprise are correctly given in the ballad.
The loss of the Americans was only four—two frozen to death and
two killed in battle. The loss of the Hessians amounted to six
officers and over twenty men killed, and twenty-three officers and
eight hundred and eighty-six privates made prisoners. Six brass
field-pieces, four colors, and a thousand stand of arms were also
taken.
The effect of this movement was inspiriting, and gave great hope
and encouragement to the Americans. The English commander, who
had thought the war was at an end, now learned that his task had
begun again. Numbers of Americans whose term of service had expired
re-enlisted, and the militia were eager to turn out whenever their
services were demanded.
_THE SURPRISE AT TRENTON._
SCENE.—A Pennsylvania farm-house on the Delaware. TIME.—December 25,
1836. REUBEN COMFORT _loquitur_.
Ruth, help Friend English to a chair. Thee’s welcome. Thee would know
The ferry where they crossed the stream, now sixty years ago,
To take the Hessians under Rahl? There’s nothing now to see.
There had been that to stir thee much, had thee been there with me:
For I, though but a stripling then, trained ever to abhor
All force and strife, that raging flood crossed with the men of war.
Thee stares! Thee doubtless wonders much a Friend should have to say
That his communication had been more than yea or nay;
That he had been in battle where his fellow-men were slain,
And, favored to escape all harm, came back in peace again.
’Twas very wrong to violate peace principles of Friends.
Well, well! The Meeting dealt with me, and there the matter ends.
Tell thee about it? Yes, although ’twas little of a fight.
Abner, thee put up this friend’s beast; he’ll tarry here to-night.
And thee must take into thee mind, those who in battle stand
Know little of what’s going on, save just on either hand;
And much of my recital thee will find much better told
In some well-written chronicle made in the days of old.
[Illustration: BATTLE OF TRENTON.]
But I could tell thee all about the crossing ere the day,
The marching up to Birmingham, the silence by the way,
The rushing into Trenton with friend Sullivan and those;
And how when first we saw the foe a mighty shouting rose;
And I can tell thee something more which no one else could do—
Can name to thee the very man who Rahl the Hessian slew.
Thee knows where Newbold’s Island stands? Thee ought. Yes, that is true;
The English Farm has nigh it stood since sixteen-eighty-two.
Thee knows the old stone farm-house looking out upon the tide
Slantwise across the river on the Pennsylvany side?
In that house I was born and bred, and lived till twenty-one,
As all the Comforts had for years, from father unto son.
That year my father rode up here and bought this farm for me;
For Issachar he lived at home, and we could not agree.
He leaned too much on his birthright, so father to us said,
“Two farms had better hold ye!” and he got me this instead;
And I came here to work it. ’Twas a goodly start in life:
The place had been well tilled, and all I needed was a wife.
I went among the women folk, as usual with a youth,
And soon I fell in love with one, Friend Scudder’s daughter, Ruth;
And straightway found the damsel moved, and in her spirit free
Before the Friends in meeting to stand up along with me.
And we would be united, if our people’s minds were clear,
On Fourth-day of the first week of the First-month in next year.
The weeks that came were pleasant weeks, the world was all in tune;
The stars were always bright at night, the month was fair as June.
Dear Ruth! whose eyes were mild as doves’, whose tones were sweet as birds’—
More pleasant was the maid to me than gold or land or herds.
Sweet Ruth! at eighty-two my ears find music in the name;
But human bliss must reach its end, and bleak December came.
Meanwhile the people round us fought, the country was one camp;
Sometimes, far in the dead of night, I’d hear the soldiers’ tramp.
The Friends were loyal? Nay, not all; if loyalty be such
As favors fraud and winks at wrong, then few were loyal—much;
Yet few felt free to go to war—they dwelt upon the word
Which says that they who take the sword shall perish by the sword.
It was a chilly morning when, foreboding naught of harm,
I crossed the river in my skiff, and sought the Scudder farm:
About the hour when Ruth would have her household work all through,
And ready be to take a walk, the scene around to view.
The trees were leafless, and the ground was covered half with snow;
But what is that to human hearts with youth and love aglow!
We wandered up and down the road like children, hand in hand,
And talked about the future, and the life before us planned;
But while we spake the sound of hoofs upon the ground we heard—
Somehow my spirit to its depth by that same sound was stirred;
And closer Ruth towards me drew that slender form of hers,
As came the clanking of a sword whose scabbard clinked with spurs.
We turned. A horseman was at hand, in gay apparel clad,
Upon his dark-green coat much braid and golden lace he had;
A man of goodly presence. He gazed curiously at each,
Then spake (thee knows we understand round here the German speech):
“Ah! Sie ist deine Schwester, Mann?”—at which I shook my head.
“So! deine Frau vielleicht? ’ne Braut! Sehr gut! Ein Schmatz!” he said.
“There, that will do, friend officer,” in wrath was my reply;
“I feel not free, when thus thee speaks, to stand in silence by.
Pray go thy ways; we’re peaceful folk, nor meddle thee nor thine.”
“Dat’s zafe,” he said, “in dimes like dese; gleichwohl der Kuss ist mein!”
With that he bent to where she stood; but ere her lips he found,
I dragged him headlong from his horse, and hurled him to the ground.
He rose, and straightway drew his sword, and angrily he glared;
I thought my hour of death had come when he his weapon bared.
The veins upon his forehead swelled, and then his face grew white;
With rage that gave him double strength he raised the blade to smite.
And as it rose I heard a scream; Ruth rushed between us twain;
Fell terribly the keen-edged steel: my pretty dove was slain.
He shrank in horror; from his face all trace of color fled,
While I sank down upon my knees beside the pulseless dead;
And loud I cried, “A deed is thine which even fiends abhor!
Her soul shall rise and thine shall sink, thou bloody wolf of war!”
“Ach Gott!” he said, and spake no more; then, mounting on his steed,
Struck deep the rowels in its flanks, and rode in headlong speed.
Ruth did not on the instant die, and, ere she breathed her last,
Soft cradled in my loving arms, her life-blood flowing fast,
There went a shudder through her frame, a glazing of the eye,
And then a lighting of her face, a glance at earth and sky.
So tenderly she murmured, with a loving look to me,
“Reuben! ’tis hard in youth to die, but sweet to die for thee?”
We placed her in Friends’ burying-ground; and, though we marked it not,
I could take thee to it in the night, so well I know the spot.
At home for many hours I lay—a stupor on me came;
The only sound that roused me up was mention of her name.
And then Friend Scudder and his wife, who stood beside me, said,
“Who does his living duty pays most honor to the dead.”
Three weeks had passed; it was the night at close of Christmas-day—
So the world’s people name it—when, in all of war’s array,
But silently and cautiously, a force at nightfall came
And seized what few bateaux there were; they took my skiff the same.
And then I knew the wrath of God was gathering round to fall
Upon the hireling Hessian force, and its commander, Rahl.
The spirit moved within me then; I sought out him who led
The soldiers in the battle, and thus to the man I said,
“Friend Washington, although thee knows that Friends are men of peace,
Who pray continual night and day this bloody strife may cease,
Yet it is given unto me that I should go this night
And cross the stream with these thy friends to guide their steps aright.”
The general looked at me well pleased. “You meet us in our need;
The way is plain, but such a night our footsteps might mislead.
Get him a musket, Baylor.” But I quickly answered “Nay!
The carnal weapon suits me not; I have a better stay.
Unarmed I go before thy men when once the stream be crossed,
And, though the air be black with storm, our path shall not be lost.”
They then embarked the soldiers, ’mid the blinding snow and hail;
They struggled with the driven ice, the current, and the gale;
And much I marvelled, as I gazed upon the piteous sight,
What men endure when in a cause that they consider right;
For nearly all were poorly clad to meet the biting air:
Some were half naked in the ranks, and some with feet all bare.
And back and forth the boats were sent upon the watery way,
So long that when we all had crossed the sky was tinged with grey.
Right on we marched to Birmingham, a moment there made stand,
Then broke in two divisions which filed off on either hand.
One half, with Washington and Greene, the old Scotch highway chose;
The other took the river road—I went ahead of those.
Before we parted, some one came and said to Washington,
“The priming in the guns is wet; what now is to be done?”
“Then let them use the bayonet!” was his answer to the man;
At which a hum of confidence among the soldiers ran.
All filled with silent, stern resolve, they strode so proudly then,
I knew they would before the foe acquit themselves like men.
The sun arose, and still we marched, I somewhat in advance,
A voice cried, “Wer da? Halt!” I saw a musket-barrel glance.
“A friend,” I answered. “Freund von wem?” “A friend to Washington!”
The sentry fired and missed, and ran and cast away his gun;
For now behind me, pressing on, he saw our troops were near,
And in the distance on our left I heard Greene’s forces cheer.
“Move faster there!” cried Sullivan, “or Greene will get ahead.
Press on and use your steel, my men; we have no need of lead.”
And on they rushed, I with the rest; through Water Street we swept,
While from a few upon our front some scattered bullets leapt.
Their outguard fled in sore affright, and one there dying lay,
His loaded musket by his side—his work was done that day.
I saw the Hessian soldiers that were forming into rank;
I saw their mounted officers—could hear the scabbards clank,
As hither, thither, riding round, they drove their men in line;
And through them all, from each to each, went eager glance of mine,
Till in their very centre there I saw one on his horse,
His orders coolly giving, the commander of their force.
I knew him! I could not forget! ’Twas he whose angry blow
Had smote my darling to the death; he should not ’scape me so.
I cast my plain coat to the ground. “Quaker, lie there!” said I.
“Yon is the son of Amalek! I’ll smite him hip and thigh!”
And from the ground that musket caught, and o’er its barrel drew
A bead as fine as a needle’s point: the ball his breast went through.
The musket dropped from out my hands—a fellow man I’d slain;
My heart stood still, but presently I was myself again.
I leaned against a tree. A sound of cannon smote my ear,
A rattling fire of musketry, then silence, then a cheer.
I knew they had surrendered. Well, what if the place were won?
I turned and wandered to my home; my errand had been done.
When Friends would have disowned me as a man of blood and sin,
Friend Scudder spake—you might have heard the falling of a pin—
“God knows His own wise purposes; who’d scan His ways must fail.
Who gave the Israelitish dame the hammer and the nail,
His wrath has fallen on bloody Rahl, on Sisera laid low;
And Reuben Comfort did God’s work. In peace then let him go.”
Loud weeping on the women’s side, and sobs on ours that day;
And no one there gainsaid his words, and no one uttered nay.
The brethren came and pressed my hand before I left the place,
And all the women, as I passed, looked pitying in my face.
So I went forth of man forgiven. I pray that God may be,
When sitting in the latter day, as merciful to me.
[Illustration: SUBSEQUENT OPERATIONS.]
_FOLLOWING THE OPERATIONS AT TRENTON._
After the capture of the Hessians at Trenton, the American army,
under the influence of enthusiasm and a bounty of ten dollars, hard
money, to each recruit, filled up rapidly. Washington determined to
re-occupy Trenton and make it the basis of offensive operations.
He recrossed the river on the 30th of December, and soon learned
of the approach of Cornwallis with a large force. The number of
each army was the same; but the British were all well-trained
regulars, while the greater part of the Americans was made up of
raw militia-men. Washington moved to some high ground on the north
side of the Assunpink, and guarded the bridge spanning the stream.
A strong party, under General Greene, had so harassed the enemy
that he did not reach Trenton until evening. He had driven Greene
so close that he got over the bridge with difficulty. There was a
ford above, but this and the bridge were covered by field-pieces.
The British attempted to force the bridge, but were three times
repulsed with loss; and a similar attempt at the ford met with like
results. The action was kept up with cannon and musketry until
after dark, when it ceased, and both parties lit their camp-fires,
and prepared to renew hostilities in the morning.
[Illustration: FRIENDS’ MEETING-HOUSE.]
Cornwallis, confident that Washington could not escape, rested
content. His antagonist knew the inferiority of his troops and
the probable disastrous consequences of a general engagement. To
avoid this, at a council of war it was suggested to march off
at night down the river, and cross to Philadelphia. Washington
preferred to move upon Princeton, where a body of British troops
were stationed, and if possible reach New Brunswick and destroy
the enemy’s stores. There was one difficulty in the way: it was
impossible to move forty pieces of artillery over the surrounding
swamp. At that juncture it began to grow intensely cold, and in two
hours the marshy ground was frozen hard. The army moved in silence,
leaving camp-fires burning, and a small party to make a feint of
intrenching. The British were completely deceived. At morning the
camp-fires were still blazing, but the Americans had disappeared.
While they were endeavoring to find out what route Washington had
taken, they heard the booming of cannon at Princeton.
[Illustration: VIEW OF THE BATTLE-GROUND NEAR PRINCETON.]
The Americans took what is known as the Quaker road, which was
new and full of stumps of trees. These impeded their progress
so much that it was about sunrise before they reached the upper
bridge over Stony Brook, near Princeton, and formed in column
near Friends’ Meeting-house. Here they came on a brigade of the
enemy, under Mawhood, two regiments of which were on their way
to join Cornwallis. The latter discovered the Americans, who now
emerged from the woods south of the meeting-house. Mawhood by
a quick movement brought two of his regiments to the bridge at
Worth’s Mills, and crossed just as Mercer, who had been detached
there with a small party, reached it. Both parties tried to get
possession of the high grounds. Mercer reached Clark’s orchard,
and finding the enemy approaching from the heights, sheltered his
riflemen behind a hedge, from which they poured a destructive fire.
The enemy returned the fire and charged, driving the Americans
with the bayonet. They pursued, and when they came to the brow
of the heights, discovered the American force, under Washington,
approaching. The fugitives were re-formed, and a battery, under
Moulder, began to play on Mawhood’s men. An attempt to take this
failed, and Mawhood, seeing a Connecticut regiment advancing,
retreated, leaving his artillery. It was during this affair that
General Mercer received his death-wound.
The broken British managed to escape and joined Cornwallis, now
on the advance. The Americans, pushing on to Princeton, met the
55th regiment, which they routed, and that and the 40th fled to
New Brunswick. A few companies remained in the college, but these,
under a cannonade, surrendered. The bridge over Stony Brook was now
destroyed, just as the van of the British appeared. They forded
the stream, but when at the town were brought up by a single
discharge from a 32-pounder which the British had before left on a
temporary breastwork. This gave them the idea that the Americans
intended to make a stand, and they prepared for battle. After some
delay they threw out reconnoitring parties, and felt their way
cautiously, to discover that Washington was far away on the road to
Millstone with his prisoners and spoils. He destroyed the bridge
at Kingston, and filed off to the left, arriving at Pluckemin that
night. Cornwallis, after repairing the bridge, supposed Washington
had gone to New Brunswick, and pushed on in that direction, to be
disappointed.
_ASSUNPINK AND PRINCETON_
Glorious the day when in arms at Assunpink,
And after at Princeton the Briton we met;
Few in both armies—they’d skirmishes call them,
Now hundreds of thousands in battle are set.
But for the numbers engaged, let me tell you,
Smart brushes they were, and two battles that told;
There ’twas I first drew a bead on a foeman—
I, a mere stripling, not twenty years old.
Tell it? Well, friends, that is just my intention;
There’s nothing a veteran hates and abhors
More than a chance lost to tell his adventures,
Or give you his story of battles and wars.
Nor is it wonder old men are loquacious,
And talk, if you listen, from sun unto sun;
Youth has the power to be up and be doing,
While age can but tell of the deeds it has done.
Ranged for a mile on the banks of Assunpink,
There, southward of Trenton, one morning we lay,
When, with his red-coats all marshalled to meet us,
Cornwallis came fiercely at close of the day—
Driving some scouts who had gone out with Longstreet,
From where they were crossing at Shabbaconk Run—
Trumpets loud blaring, drums beating, flags flying—
Three hours, by the clock, before setting of sun.
Two ways were left them by which to assail us,
And neither was perfectly to their desire—
One was the bridge we controlled by our cannon,
The other the ford that was under our fire.
“Death upon one side, and Dismal on t’other,”
Said Sambo, our cook, as he gazed on our foes:
Cheering and dauntless they marched to the battle,
And, doubtful of choice, both the dangers they chose.
Down at the ford, it was said, that the water
Was reddened with blood from the soldiers who fell:
As for the bridge, where they tried it, their forces
Were beaten with terrible slaughter, as well.
Grape-shot swept causeway, and pattered on water,
And riddled their columns, that broke and gave way;
Thrice they charged boldly, and thrice they retreated;
Then darkness came down, and so ended the fray.
How did I get there? I came from our corn-mill
At noon of the day when the battle begun,
Bringing in flour to the troops under Proctor;
’Twas not very long ere that errand was done.
Up to that time I had never enlisted,
Though Jacob, my brother, had entered with Wayne;
But the fight stirred me; I sent back the horses,
And made up my mind with the rest to remain.
_We_ camped on _our_ side—the south—of Assunpink,
While _they_ bivouacked for the night upon _theirs_;
Both posting sentries and building up watchfires,
With those on both sides talking over affairs.
“Washington’s caught in a trap!” said Cornwallis,
And smiled with a smile that was joyous and grim;
“Fox! but I have him!”—the earl had mistaken;
The fox, by the coming of daylight, had him.
Early that night, when the leaders held council,
Both St. Clair and Reed said our action was clear;
Useless to strike at the van of our foemen—
His force was too strong; we must fall on his rear.
Washington thought so, and bade us replenish
Our watchfires till nearly the dawn of the day;
Setting some more to make feint of intrenching,
While swiftly in darkness the rest moved away.
Marching by Sandtown, and Quaker Bridge crossing,
We passed Stony Creek a full hour before dawn,
Leaving there Mercer with one scant battalion
Our foes to amuse, should they find we were gone;
Then the main force pushed its way into Princeton,
All ready to strike those who dreamed of no blow;
Only a chance that we lost not our labor,
And slipped through our fingers, unknowing, the foe.
Mawhood’s brigade, never feeling its danger,
Had started for Trenton at dawn of the day,
Crossed Stony Creek, after we had gone over,
When Mercer’s weak force they beheld on its way;
Turning contemptuously back to attack it,
They drove it with ease, in disorder ahead—
Firelocks alone were no match for their cannon—
A fight, and then flight, and brave Mercer lay dead.