HEROIC ACT OF BARBARA WEBB SAVES AMERICAN ARMY AT THE BATTLE OF TRENTON
Coming now to the campaign in New Jersey, let me recall that on the
evening of June 18, American scouting aeroplanes, under Squadron
Commander Harry Payne Whitney, reported that a strong force of Germans,
cavalry, infantry, and artillery, had occupied the heights above
Bordentown, New Jersey, and were actively proceeding to build pontoons
across the Delaware. It seemed clear that von Hindenburg was preparing to
cross the river at the very point where Washington made his historic
crossing in 1776; and General Wood proceeded to attack the enemy’s
position with his artillery, being assisted by four light-draught
gunboats from the Philadelphia navy-yard, which lay in the deepened
channel at the head of tide-water and dropped shells inside the enemy’s
lines. The Germans replied vigorously, and a smart engagement at long
range ensued, lasting until darkness fell. We fully expected that the
next day would see a fierce battle fought here for the command of the
river. No one dreamed that this was a trap set by von Hindenburg.
As a matter of fact, the crossing movement from above Bordentown was a
feint in which not more than 8,000 Germans were engaged, their main army
being gathered twenty miles to the north, near Lambertville, for the real
crossing. And only the prompt heroic action of three young Americans, two
boys and a girl, saved our forces from immediate disaster.
The heroine of this adventure was Barbara Webb, a beautiful girl of
sixteen, who, with her brother Dominick and their widowed mother, lived
in a lonely farm-house on Goat Hill, back of Lambertville. They had a boy
friend, Marshall Frissell, in Brownsburg, Pennsylvania, on the other side
of the river, and Marshall and Dominick had learned to wigwag signals, in
boy-scout fashion, back and forth across the Delaware.
It seems that, on this memorable night, the brother and sister discovered
a great force of Germans building pontoons about a mile below the wrecked
Lambertville bridge. Whereupon Dominick Webb, knowing that all telegraph
and telephone wires were cut, leaped upon a horse and set out to carry
the news to General Wood. But he was shot through the thigh by a Prussian
sentry, and, hours later, fainting from loss of blood, he returned to the
farm-house and told his sister that he had failed in his effort.
Then Barbara, as day was breaking, climbed to the crest of Goat Hill, and
began to signal desperately toward Brownsburg, in the hope that Marshall
Frissell might see and understand. For an hour she waved, but all in
vain. Marshall was asleep. Still she waved; and finally, by a miracle of
faith, the boy was roused from his slumbers, drawn to his window as the
sun arose, and, looking out, saw Barbara’s familiar flag wigwagging
frantically on the heights of Lambertville three miles away. Then he
answered, and Barbara cried out in her joy.
Just then a German rifle spoke from the riverbank below, a thousand yards
away, where the enemy were watching, and a bullet pierced the Stars and
Stripes as the flag fluttered over that slim girlish figure silhouetted
against the glory of the eastern sky. Then another bullet came, and
another. The enemy had seen Barbara’s manoeuvre. She was betraying an
important military secret, and she must die.
Wait! With a hostile army below her, not a mile distant, this fearless
American girl went on wigwagging her message--letter by letter, slowly,
painstakingly, for she was imperfect in the code. As she swept the flag
from side to side, signalling, a rain of bullets sang past her. Some cut
her dress and some snipped her flowing hair; and finally one shattered
the flag-staff in her hands. Whereupon, like Barbara Frietchie of old,
this fine young Barbara caught up the banner she loved, and went on
waving the news that might save her country, while a hundred German
soldiers fired at her.
And presently a wonderful thing happened. The power of her devotion
touched the hearts of these rough men,--for they were brave
themselves,--and, lowering their guns, with one accord, they cheered this
little grey-eyed, dimpled farmer’s girl with her hair blowing in the
breeze, until the Jersey hills rang.
And now the lad in Brownsburg rose to the situation. There were Germans
on the opposite bank, a great host of them, making ready to cross the
Delaware. General Wood must know this at once--he must come at once. They
say that freckle-faced Marshall Frissell, fifteen years old, on a mad
motorcycle, covered the twenty miles to Ft. Hill, Pa., where General Wood
had his headquarters, in fifteen minutes, and that by seven o’clock troop
trains and artillery trains were moving toward the north, winding along
the Delaware like enormous snakes, as Leonard Wood, answering the
children’s call, hastened to the rescue.
I dwell upon these minor happenings because they came to my knowledge,
and because the main events of the four days’ battle of Trenton are
familiar to all. In spite of the overwhelming superiority of the Germans
in men and artillery, the American army, spread along a twelve-mile front
on the hills opposite Lambertville, made good use of their defensive
position, and for three days held back the enemy from crossing the river.
In fact, it was only on the evening of the third day, June 21, that von
Hindenburg’s engineers succeeded in completing their pontoon line to the
Pennsylvania shore. Again and again the floating bridge was destroyed by
a concentrated shell fire from American batteries on the ridge a mile and
a half back from the river.
American aeroplanes contributed effectively to this work of resistance by
dropping explosive bombs upon the pontoons; but, unfortunately, German
aeroplanes outnumbered the defenders at least four to one, and soon
achieved a mastery of the sky.
A brilliant air victory was gained by Jess Willard, volunteer pilot of a
swift and powerful Burgess machine, over three Taubes, the latter
attacking fiercely while the champion prize-fighter circled higher and
higher, manoeuvring for a position of advantage. I shall never forget the
thrill I felt when Willard swooped down suddenly from a height of eight
thousand feet, and, by a dangerous turn, brought his machine directly
over the nearest German flier, at the same time dropping a fire bomb that
destroyed this aeroplane and hurled the wreck of it straight down upon
the two Taubes underneath, striking one and capsizing the other with the
rush of air. So the great Jess, by his daring strategy, hurled three of
the enemy down to destruction, and escaped safely from the swarm of
pursuers.
On the fourth day, the Germans--thanks to an advantage of three to one in
artillery pieces--succeeded in crossing the Delaware; and after that the
issue of the battle was never in doubt, the American forces being
outnumbered and outclassed. Two-thirds of General Wood’s army were either
militia, insufficiently equipped and half trained, or raw recruits. There
were fifteen thousand of the latter who had volunteered within a
fortnight, loyal patriots ready to die for their country, but without the
slightest ability to render efficient military service. These volunteers
included clerks, business men, professional men from the cities of New
Jersey and Pennsylvania, thousands of workmen from great factories like
the Roebling wire works, thousands of villagers and farmers, all blazing
with zeal, but none of them able to handle a high-power Springfield rifle
or operate a range-finder or make the adjustments for the time-fuse of a
shell.
[Illustration: THE PEOPLE KNEW THE ANSWER OF VON HINDENBURG. THEY HAD
READ IT, AS HAD ALL THE WORLD FOR MILES AROUND, IN THE CATACLYSM OF THE
PLUNGING TOWERS. NEW YORK MUST SURRENDER OR PERISH!]
“They shot away tons of ammunition without hitting anything,” said one of
the American officers to me. “They didn’t know how to use wind-gauges or
elevation-sights. They couldn’t even pull a trigger properly.”
And yet, the Germans suffered heavily in that desperate battle of the
fourth day--partly because they attacked again and again in close
formation and were mowed down by American machine-guns; partly because
General Wood had fortified his position with miles of wire entanglements
through which high-voltage electric currents were sent from the
power-house of the Newtown and Trenton trolley systems in Newtown,
Pennsylvania; and, finally, because the American commander, in an address
to his troops, read at sunset on the eve of battle, had called upon them
in inspiring words to fight for their wives and children, for the
integrity of the nation, for the glory of the old flag.
And they fought until they died. When the battle was over, the Americans
had lost 15,000 out of 70,000, while the Germans lost 12,000 out of
125,000. Von Hindenburg himself admitted that he had never seen such mad,
hopeless, magnificent courage.
Again General Wood faced defeat and the necessity of falling back to a
stronger position. For weeks thousands of labourers had been digging
trenches north of Philadelphia; and now the American army, beaten but
defiant, retreated rapidly and in some disorder through Jenkintown and
Bristol to this new line of intrenchments that spread in fan shape from
the Schuylkill to the Delaware.
It was of the most desperate importance now that word be sent to
Harrisburg and to the mobilisation camp at Gettysburg and to other
recruiting points in the West and South, demanding that all possible
reinforcements be rushed to Philadelphia. As communication by telegraph
and telephone was cut off, General Wood despatched Colonel Horace M.
Reading and Captain William E. Pedrick, officers of the National Guard,
in a swift automobile, with instructions that these calls for help be
flashed _without fail_ from the wireless station in the lofty granite
shaft of the Trenton monument that commemorates Washington’s victory over
the Hessians.
Unfortunately, owing to bad roads and wrecked bridges, these officers
suffered great delay, and only reached the Trenton monument as the German
host, with rolling drums, was marching into the New Jersey capital along
Pennington Avenue, the triumphant way that Washington had followed after
his great victory.
As the invaders reached the little park where the monument stands, they
saw that a wireless station was in operation there, and demanded its
surrender.
Colonel Reading, wishing to gain time (for every minute counted), opened
a glass door and stepped out on the little balcony at the top of the
monument one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. He tried to speak,
but a German officer cut him short. He must surrender instantly or they
would fire.
“Fire and be damned!” shouted the Colonel, and turned to the white-faced
wireless operator inside. “Have you got Harrisburg yet?” he asked. “For
God’s sake, hustle!”
“Just got ‘em,” answered the operator. “I need five minutes to get this
message through.”
Five minutes! The German officer below, red with anger, was calling out
sharp orders. A six-inch gun was set up under the Carolina poplars not a
hundred yards from the monument.
“We’ll show them!” roared the Prussian, as the gun crew drove home a
hundred-pound shell. “Ready!”
“Is that message gone?” gasped Reading.
“Half of it. I need two minutes.”
Two minutes! The officer was aiming the big gun at the base of the
monument, and was just giving the word to fire when the heavy bronze door
swung open, and between the two bronze soldiers appeared Elias A. Smith,
a white-haired veteran, over ninety years old, with a bronze medal on his
breast and the Stars and Stripes wound around his waist.
“I fought in the Civil War!” he cried, in a shrill voice. “Here’s my
medal. Here’s my flag. I’ve been the guardian of the monument for sixteen
years. George Washington’s up there on top, and if you’re going to shoot
him, you can shoot me, too.”
The Germans were so surprised by this venerable apparition that they
stood like stones.
“Hi! Yi!” shouted Colonel Reading. “It’s gone!”
“Hurrah!” echoed the old man. “I was with Grant at Appomattox when Lee
surrendered. Why don’t you fire?”
Then they did fire, and the proud shaft bearing the statue of George
Washington crumbled to earth; and in the ruin of it four brave Americans
perished.