THE BATTLE OF MONMOUTH
EVIDENTLY, the reply which General Washington received from the men, who
were as greatly frightened by the bearing of the commander as they had
been by the sight of the redcoats, did not convince him that they had
spoken truly. He had not heard any firing, except that of a few cannon a
considerable time before this, and he could not believe that the picked
men under Lee's command had ingloriously retreated without making even
an attempt to stand against the forces of Sir Henry Clinton.
This second report, however, caused Washington to send forward two of
his trusty officers, whom he ordered to ride swiftly in the direction of
the Court House, and, after they should have discovered the true
condition of affairs, to report instantly to him.
As the two brave men quickly obeyed and started their horses into a run,
they met on the bridge the members of a regiment in a disorderly
retreat. A little farther on another regiment was discovered, and soon
still another appeared in sight.
Colonel Ogden, who was in command of the last, in a towering passion
declared, in reply to the question of the officers, that Lee's men were
indeed retreating and that "they were flying from a shadow."
Still hoping that they would find that a stand had been made farther
back, the two officers pushed eagerly forward and soon met General
Maxwell and his men. That gallant officer was also in a state of great
anger, and not only confirmed the report that Lee was retreating, but
also added some words of his own, expressing his opinion of that officer
and of the movement in words that would have caused the cheeks of the
treacherous general to tingle, if he had chanced to hear them.
Still hoping against hope, the two aids pressed forward and soon met
General Lee himself. His face at all times was decidedly plain, and
indeed, as we know, he had the reputation of having the "ugliest face in
America;" but at this time a scowl rested upon it which doubtless did
not tend to increase his beauty, and he sullenly refused to reply to the
questions of the men.
The two officers did not long delay to talk to him, but still urged
their horses swiftly forward, although the straggling, disorderly troops
now almost filled the road, and their worst fears were confirmed each
moment.
At last, in the post of danger and nearest to the pursuing British, the
two officers discovered General Wayne and his men. "Mad Anthony" was
certainly "mad" at that time, and while he assured the aids that the
retreat was genuine and general, at the same time he declared that it
was absolutely needless. He also declared that "Lee had drawn off his
best men at the very time when he was facing a body of British far
superior to himself in numbers, but that even then the redcoats could be
beaten if a stand were made against them."
There was no time for an extended conversation, but, doubtless, the two
officers understood what the exceedingly vigorous language of Mad
Anthony Wayne was intended to convey, and after receiving the
suggestions he sent by them to General Washington, and assured now that
they had discovered the worst, they put spurs to their horses and rode
swiftly back to give the information they had received to the great
commander.
Meanwhile, General Washington himself had not been idle, we may be well
assured. Riding swiftly forward, he met band after band of the
retreating, disorderly Continentals, and heard many expressions of anger
and disgust, very like to that which had already greeted the two
officers he had sent forward.
At last, in the rear of the retreating column, he met General Wayne and
his angry men. Hastily summoning Mad Anthony and two or three of his
officers, the great leader told them that he "should depend upon them
that day to give the enemy a check," and quickly directed General Wayne
to form his men, and, with their two pieces of artillery, strive to stop
the progress of the redcoats.
It was just at this moment that General Lee himself rode up, and the
scene which followed was one which those who witnessed it never forgot.
There is no more sublime sight in all this world than the towering
passion of a great man. Not pettiness, not irritability, but the just
and righteous anger of a noble, large-hearted man in the presence of
wickedness.
General Washington probably never before in all his life had been so
angry as he was at that time. Thoughts of the cause of the country he
loved, the lives of thousands of brave and devoted patriots, the sight
of angry, desperate men all about him, the disappointment at the loss of
what he had confidently counted upon, the loss also of that for which so
many noble men had been sacrificing and toiling through many weary days
and on their long marches, rushed upon him like a flood. And before him
stood the guilty man who alone was to be blamed for it all. Small wonder
is it that Washington was almost beside himself with rage and sorrow.
The name of Benedict Arnold is one that is hated to-day by every
American schoolboy, for, after all, most boys can be trusted to hate
evil in whatever form it presents itself. But the treachery of Benedict
Arnold had at least the merit of being unmasked and comparatively open,
for he took his stand boldly on the side of the redcoats, whom he at one
time had fought with a bravery none can ever forget. But the memory of
Charles Lee has not even that redeeming quality, for his actions on the
field of Monmouth can only be explained on the ground of treachery or
cowardice, and a coward is not very greatly to be preferred to a
traitor. If both Lee and Arnold had fallen in battle, how much better
it would have been for them and their friends, for "a good name is to be
preferred above great riches," and they left neither. Perhaps the
strange desire which Lee later expressed in his will, that his "body
should not be interred in any church or churchyard, or within a mile of
any Presbyterian or Baptist church," was not entirely out of keeping
with the man himself.
The conversation between Washington and Lee at the time they met on the
retreat at Monmouth has been variously reported; but doubtless the fact
that those who heard it were as excited as the generals themselves may
in part account for the differences in the reports which have come down
to us. We may be sure the conversation was not extended to the length
which some have said it was, or that it savored largely of the
high-flown expressions which have been quoted.
One of the men who was present is reported to have said that Washington
in his sternest manner looked at Lee, and demanded, "What is the meaning
of all this, sir?"
Dismayed by the terrible appearance of the commander-in-chief, and
mortified that he should be so addressed in the presence of his
soldiers, the crestfallen general could only stammer, "Sir? sir?"
Again the enraged commander demanded the meaning of the retreat, and Lee
attempted to explain. His orders, he said, had been misunderstood, his
officers had not obeyed his commands, he had not thought it wise to
attempt to make a stand against the British with his detachment; but the
angry Washington would not stay to listen to the lame attempts at
explanation, and muttering something about a "poltroon," he hastened
back to the high ground between the meeting-house and the bridge, where
he quickly formed the regiments which were waiting there.
Apparently thinking better of his words, he then rode back to General
Lee and inquired whether he still desired to retain the command on that
height or not. "If you will," he added, "I will return to the main body
and have it formed on the next height."
As Lee accepted the offer, Washington said: "I expect you will take
proper means for checking the enemy."
"Your orders shall be obeyed," replied Lee, "and I shall not be the
first to leave the ground."
Meanwhile, the British general Clinton had also been busy. He had
ordered back many of the troops which the Hessian general Knyphausen
commanded, and was making vigorous attempts to compel the Americans to
keep up the retreat, which Lee had ordered with such disastrous results.
The forces under Mad Anthony had rallied at the call of their leader,
and were bravely holding their position near the parsonage. The British
grenadiers climbed over the fence which crossed the lot in front of
Wayne, but were quickly driven back by the angry Continentals.
Again the determined British advanced, and again were driven back. Then
their brave leader, Colonel Monckton, placing himself at their head, and
calling upon his men to follow him, led the charge. But Mad Anthony and
his men were waiting for them, and under their terrible fire the brave
colonel and many of his men went down as the grass falls before the
scythe of the mower. Desperate was the struggle then for the body of the
fallen leader. Hand to hand, clubbing their muskets, using their
bayonets any way, every way, the men fought on; but the band of sturdy
Americans held both the body and the place, and as the British fell back
it was not to attack Mad Anthony's men again during that day.
Sir Henry Clinton then moved the main body of his troops against the
left of the Americans, where General (Lord) Stirling was in command, but
the batteries were so well handled that there also the redcoats were
repulsed.
Then they turned toward the American right; but that sturdy blacksmith
from Rhode Island, Nathanael Greene, was there, and no better success
crowned their desperate and determined efforts. And Mad Anthony and his
men had rushed to the assistance of their comrades. When his men
perceived the nature of the work which was expected of them, they
prepared for the action after their own peculiar manner. As we already
know, many of them had cast aside their coats when they entered the
battle, but now some of them stopped and deliberately rolled up their
shirt sleeves. A shout greeted the men, when their action was perceived,
and in a moment their companions had followed their example. Then, with
cheers and calls, the unsoldierly appearing soldiers rushed into the
fray, and so vigorous was their work that soon the redcoats were
compelled to retreat behind the defile, where the first stand had been
made in the beginning of the battle.
There they felt secure. On either side lay heavy swamps and thick woods,
while in front of them was a narrow pass, through which the Americans
must go if they continued the attack.
And that was just what General Washington determined to do. Carefully he
arranged for divisions to move upon the right and upon the left, while
the artillery was to be brought up and pour its terrible fire directly
into the front of the position the British had taken.
The men responded with a will, but before the detachments could gain the
desired position the night had come, and darkness spread over the field,
wrapping friend and foe alike within its folds. Although the eager
Americans could not then advance, they resolved to pass the night in the
positions they then held, which were very near to the lines of the
British, and renew the attack as soon as the light of the morning came.
Guards were established, and then the entire army prepared for the
night. The exhausted men threw themselves upon the ground, many of them
lying at full length with their arms spread wide and their faces resting
directly upon the sand. Seldom have men been more completely worn out
than were those hardy soldiers on that day of the battle of Monmouth.
Many had fallen, and when their friends examined their bodies for the
marks of the fatal bullets not a scratch could be found.
The beams of the summer sun had accomplished what, in many instances,
the bullets of the enemy had failed to do. All day long the sun had hung
in the heavens like a great red ball of fire. Steadily the heat had
risen higher and higher, until it had arrived at a point which even the
"oldest inhabitants" could not exaggerate in their stories. The tongues
of some of the men had swelled so that speech became impossible. The
poor Hessians, condemned to wear their heavy fur hats, left many a
lifeless body behind them which the heat had conquered before the
desperate Americans could accomplish the same result.
For hours that night not a sign of life appeared in the American camp.
Motionless as logs the exhausted soldiers lay stretched upon the ground,
and the sounds of their deep breathing were all that could be heard.
They had not stopped even to bury their dead, so little life did the
living men apparently retain.
Great was the astonishment in the American camp when the first faint
streaks of the dawn appeared on the following morning, and it was
discovered that not a soldier remained in the British camp. Sir Henry
Clinton had permitted his weary men to rest until ten o'clock, and then,
in silence, preparations were made to join the forces of General
Knyphausen, who, meanwhile, had marched on and gone into camp at Nut
Swamp, near the Heights of Middletown.
The British soldiers hastily had collected their wounded, leaving only
forty of the poor fellows behind them, and then under the light of the
moon began their march to the position which Knyphausen was holding. So
wearied were the American soldiers, so heavy was their slumber, and so
silent were all the movements of Clinton's men, that their departure was
not discovered before the morning came, and by that time the redcoats
were with the Hessians and safe from all danger of an attack.
General Washington considered a further pursuit as "impracticable and
fruitless," and greatly to the chagrin of his army no attempt was made
to push forward. The great battle of Monmouth had been fought. The
soldiers hastily prepared to bury their dead, and so hurried were their
movements that one man afterwards declared he had seen the bodies of
thirteen men cast into one shallow pit which had been dug in the sand.
Yet the Continentals were neither brutal nor indifferent. A British army
was near them, and desperate haste was considered necessary.
The results of the battle, its effect upon the redcoats and buffcoats,
and those who wore no coats at all, and the parts which Tom Coward and
certain other of our acquaintances had taken in the struggle, we must
reserve for another chapter.