THE MARCH ON TRENTON
The old Continentals
In their ragged regimentals. —Knickerbocker.
That Spartan step without their flutes. —Brainard.
Another day, the conversation, when Uncle Lawrence was present, happened
to turn on the battle of Trenton, and the famous winter campaign of
Washington in the Jerseys. The veteran had brought some rye to mill, and
while it was being ground, stepped over to the “big house,” as it
was called, where Kate, obeying the hospitable custom of the day, had
him immediately into the parlor, to drink a glass of wine. Mrs. Warren
was absent in the kitchen, scolding the cook.
Never before had Major Gordon heard our heroine exhibit so much interest
in behalf of the Americans as on this occasion. Her eyes sparkled, her
cheeks glowed, and she really seemed at last to sympathize with the
patriots.
“Do you know,” she said, turning to Uncle Lawrence, “that the
great Frederic has declared that battle to be one of the most brilliant
strokes of the century?”
“Did he, indeed?” said Uncle Lawrence, his face glowing with
gratification. “Did the great King of Prussia, the hero of Rosbach,
really say that?”
A century ago, Frederic the Great, it must be remembered, filled
something of the same place in military history which Napoleon does now.
He was especially the idol of the English and Americans; quoted, strange
to say, as the “Protestant Champion;” and considered a marvellous
captain, as indeed he was, at least in many respects. Thus even Uncle
Lawrence, little as he knew of the doings of the great world across the
water, was familiar with the exploits of the Prussian monarch.
“Did the great Frederic,” repeated the old man, putting down his
glass only half drained, his whole countenance irradiated with pleasure,
“really say that?” And he looked from Kate to Major Gordon, as if
half doubting whether the latter, whom he secretly considered a better
authority on military matters, would confirm the assertion.
“He is said to have used substantially those words,” said the Major,
thus appealed to. “I have no doubt of the truth of the report either,
for the movement on Trenton was certainly masterly. The results show
that. In ten days, the enemy, though twenty-five thousand strong, and
though holding all the principal posts in this state, from the Raritan
to the Delaware inclusive, were forced back on New Brunswick, and the
whole region rescued from their hands. It is one of my greatest griefs
as a soldier that I could not participate in that campaign, being at
that time still ill of a wound I had received at Long Island.”
Kate, who heard of this circumstance for the first time, looked with
interest at the speaker; for a woman, even if an enemy, regards a
soldier who has suffered with something of tender pity.
“You not at Trenton!” exclaimed Uncle Lawrence; and he shook his
head, as he added, “Ah, I can understand your grief!”
He paused a moment, and then said, as the memory of that day rose more
vividly before him,
“I’ve heerd better men than I can ever hope to be say that we saved
the country then; and if so be it turns out to be true, I shall be
prouder to have my children say their father fought at Trenton, than if
King George had made me a lord.”
Major Gordon instinctively looked at Kate, whose countenance was lighted
up with enthusiasm at the words and aspect of the speaker; at least our
hero thought so.
“You are right in asserting that the victory at Trenton saved the
country,” he replied, with animation. “Miss Aylesford will excuse
me, if I speak too boldly. But I know she honors bravery wherever it may
be found.” And he bowed respectfully to her.
“Don’t let me be a check on you,” she replied, blushing. “I know
that both you and Uncle Lawrence are conscientious in your opinions”.
“Well, then,” resumed the Major, his blood quickening at this
acknowledgement, “if our cause triumphs, it will be because Trenton
was the turning point in the struggle. Up to that time, with the
exception of the evacuation of Boston, everything had gone against us.
This was especially true of the period immediately preceding it; I mean
the period following the defeat at Long Island. The terms for which most
of the soldiers had enlisted were expiring; and but few were willing to
renew their engagements. Meantime new recruits came in slowly. The force
of Washington, the only one at that time left,” he continued,
addressing Kate, “was reduced by loss in battle, by the capture at
Fort Washington, and by the expiration of enlistments, to but little
over two thousand men. A general panic seized all except the most
resolute patriots. The Congress was preparing to fly, for there was no
barrier between the capital where it met, and the victorious enemy, but
the comparatively feeble one of the Delaware; and the British, twenty
thousand strong, were rapidly advancing on that river. Lord Howe
considered the revolution virtually at an end, and issued his
proclamation, offering pardon to all who, within sixty days, would lay
down their arms and take the oath of allegiance. You do not know, Miss
Aylesford, you could not, living in England, as you then did, the
temptations and terrors which beset men in that awful crisis, especially
those who had families. The axe and scaffold, I should rather say the
gallows-tree, loomed up before the eyes of every patriot. Many gave way.
This was especially true of those who had property. Crowds took the
required oath of allegiance. The liberties of the country, the future of
mankind, quivered in the balance.”
He paused for a moment for breath, for he had spoken rapidly and
impetuously. Uncle Lawrence nodded assent approvingly. Kate, with
downcast eyes, but heightened color, sat, playing with a rose, which she
had just taken from a vase beside her.
More composedly, the Major resumed—
“In that crisis, if Washington had given way, all would have been
lost. But he was like Atlas, who upheld our world. Firm as a rock, when
night, tempest, and angry surges combine against it, he stood up, not
only unshaken, but unappalled. ‘If we are driven from Philadelphia,’
said he, ‘we will retire beyond the Alleghanies.’ Never, even for an
instant, did he think of surrender. And then it was,” added Major
Gordon, kindling again, “that he conceived that daring night attack,
to strike at all the posts of the enemy on the Delaware, from Trenton to
Burlington, which, even though it but partially succeeded, resulted in
throwing the royal forces back on Brunswick, and recovering, in ten
days, all which the foe had gained during the entire autumn.”
“Only partially succeeded?” interposed Kate, with real surprise.
“Why I thought it was a complete victory. It was so considered in
private circles in England.”
“The intention was to cross below, as well as at Trenton, and so cut
off the whole series of posts,” replied the Major; “but the driving
ice prevented Cadwallader, at Bristol, from achieving his part of the
task. Above Trenton, however, Washington succeeded in crossing, and
carried all before him, as you say.”
Uncle Lawrence, while the Major was speaking, would have been a study
for an unconcerned spectator. His usual calmness of manner had given
place to intense, but suppressed excitement; and now, as the Major’s
last words recalled the whole scene of that eventful night, he could
control himself no longer. The color rose in his aged cheeks, and his
eye flashed with youthful fire. In general, he was the last person to
speak of events in which he had been himself engaged. But now he seemed
to lose his own personality in the magnitude of the transaction he
described.
“Such a night as that was,” he said. “The weather had been warm
afore, for the season—kind o’ spring-like—but all at once it set
in cold, and when we reached the place where we had to cross, the river
was full of ice, driving like mad in the dark. At first I thought all
was up, for with the great cakes grinding together, it seemed to me as
if we’d never get over, leastways with the cannon—we had twenty
small brass pieces, you know. Along shore, in many places, the ice was
piled ten feet high, where it had jammed, and one bit slid up over
another. Often, in the middle of the river, whole fields would come
together, so that, for a while, you’d think you might walk across.
Then, with a low growl, like thunder miles away, it would split apart,
and the whole begin to move agin. The Gin’ral, howsomever, determined
to try; the boats were filled, and we set off. It was a hard fight to
push ‘em through, a’most as hard as the battle in the morning; and
more than once I said, said I, ‘we’ll have to give it up.’
Sometimes a boat would be carried a mile away from the one it started
with, in spite of all the rowers could do to make it keep its place.
Once our batteau was crushed by getting where several fields of ice met.
If we pushed her off from one she ran agin a second; and soon they began
to slide over each other; all the time moaning as if in pain, like the
great leviathin that we read of in Scriptur’. At last we had to give
up, and just wait what the Lord would send, but expecting every minute
to be ground to powder. All this time there were twenty others, some
with horses on board, as bad off as ourselves; the horses snortin’ and
plungin’, frightened mad, poor things! The wind was cutting cold. Our
hands got ‘numb, and the water froze on us.
“Howsomever,” continued the old man, “we made the shore at last,
but not till four o’clock in the morning, when we ought to have got
over by the middle of the night. Washington had crossed among the first,
and there he sat, for hours, on a bee-hive, on the shore, watching the
rest of us. You may guess how he must have felt! We had nine miles to
go, and every minute was precious; for there wasn’t much time wasted,
after the cannon was landed. But now the weather, which had been
threatening-like all day, set in stormy, snow and sleet mixed together,
and the wind sharper than ever. The hail stung our faces; the cold went
to the marrow, and some of us were thin enough dressed. Many a poor
fellow, who had no shoes, marked the road with his blood. Not a soul met
us, to bid us God speed! But I’ve often thought since, that people,
asleep in the farm-houses, must have heard us as we went by; but they
but half woke up, perhaps, and saying to themselves it was only the
Storm, dozed again, little knowing that the fate of America was being
decided.
“Well,” continued the veteran, “it was nigh eight o’clock afore
we reached Trenton. Long afore, when they told Washington that the wet
would spoil our powder, he had said that ‘then we must fight with the
baggonet;’ so we all knew that it was to be for life or death. Two of
our men had dropped out of the ranks and died; but that only made the
rest of us more eager. Not a fife was heard, nor a drum beat, as we
marched along; the rumble of the cannon, and the tread of our men was
the only sound; but the roar of the gale through the woods was often
louder. At last, as I’ve said, we reached Trenton, just as daylight
began to break. Washington rode down our line, and pointing with his
sword ahead, said, ‘Now or never, my lads!’ He may have said more,
but that was all I heerd; and that was enough; for I felt, after it, as
if I could fight like a dozen men. I shall never forget how he looked.
He seemed as big as a giant through the sleet and fog; and his face, oh!
such a face, it said a thousand things.”
Uncle Lawrence paused for a moment, as if compelled by emotion. His
listeners hung eagerly on his words, Kate quite as interested as Major
Gordon. Directly the old man resumed.
“The Gin’ral had hardly got out of sight, when there was a flash
ahead, and patter, patter, came the sound of musket-shots. It was the
picket, at the end of the town, which had just found out that an enemy
was upon ‘em. We dashed forward, the cannon jolting and leaping past
us, the horses at full gallop. Of what came after, I don’t remember
much. The fight didn’t seem to me to last five minutes, though I’m
told it was five times that at least. I s’pose a hound, when he’s
been long held in, and is at last let loose on a deer, feels something
like I did, after marching all night to get at the Hessians, and fearing
often that we’d come up too late.
“You both know how we whipped ‘em,” said the veteran, resuming in
a less excited tone. “They were dancing, and feasting, and drinking,
just like Belshazzar, when the Lord sent the Persians agin him; and Col.
Rohl, who was killed, was act’lly playing cards, we were told, when we
rushed into the town. They wouldn’t believe it in Philadelphy, though,
till we marched the Hessians through the streets,” concluded Uncle
Lawrence, with a chuckle.