The Glorious Cause (19 page)

He fought to control the voices in his mind, the doubts streaking through him. He focused on the Virginians moving ahead, and beyond he could see a house, small, barely a shack. There was a flurry of sounds, the wind muting a sudden chatter of muskets. Beside him, Greene gave a quick shout, and a company of troops began to run forward, a slow jog, cracking through the muddy ice. Washington spurred the horse, knew it had to be the first Hessian guard post, their first confrontation, the voices in his mind silent now. He kept moving forward, had to see, heard Greene moving beside him, the troops leading them forward at a quick trot.

He saw the Hessians in the road now, a dozen or more, forming a line, their muskets erupting in one volley. But the Virginians were on them, and the Hessians began to run, darting out of the road, trying to form another line, behind a stone fence, another volley. Washington pushed forward with Greene’s men, the confrontation one-sided, too many Virginians, the Hessians withdrawing again. He watched them with amazement, no panic in those men, retreating in good order, stopping to load and fire, astounding discipline. But his men were too many and pushing too hard, and the Hessians could not hold them, gave way, disappeared over the crest of a hill. His men ran beyond the crest as well, and he followed, reached the top, could see the ground falling away in a long slope. There were more houses, and down the long hill was the town itself, spread out in a beautiful panorama, dark buildings coated with snow, the white streets swept clean by the storm. He stopped the horse, and around him, the main column began to spread out in line, and there was movement in the town, the houses beginning to empty, the streets coming alive. He heard a new sound, muffled, deep and thunderous, then again, a hard thump. He stood high in the stirrups, waited for the sounds again, low thunder, and suddenly there was a bright flash down below in the town, a smashing cascade of fire. He looked out toward the direction of the river, nothing to see, the snow clouding the sky. Greene was close to him now, unable to hide his own excitement.

“I believe, sir, that would be General Sullivan!”

Washington could hear the cannon rumbling in a steady rhythm, and around him, more of Knox’s guns were rolling into place. He moved the horse off to one side, saw two cannon lining up side by side, the wheels nearly touching. With quick precision, the gunners were scrambling around them, and suddenly they both fired, one great roar, smoke and fire blowing through the snow, a storm of their own. Out in the field beside him, Greene had his men in line, muskets ready, those who had bayonets leading the way. Greene looked at him, had his sword in the air, and Knox’s cannon fired again, the sound filling him, and there were no words, nothing he needed to say. He raised his arm, looked hard at Greene, and pointed down the hill toward the town. With a sharp cry, growing into a long high cheer, the troops began to charge into Trenton.

The rout was complete, the Hessians completely stunned by the surprise assault. Those who managed to man their guns, or form some kind of line of resistance were quickly swept away by Knox’s cannon. Many were not panicked by the sudden assault and kept their retreat with the order of disciplined soldiers. But retreat they did, some southward, across the Assunpink Creek, the one place where they would have been surrounded had Ewing brought his militia across the river. Many more pulled out to the east, the road toward Princeton, small bodies of troops quickly surrounded by the swarming advance of Washington’s men. As they filled the town, the two armies fought hand to hand, house to house, but the surprise was too complete, and the Hessians could not hold their ground.

He stayed on the hill, watched it all through the field glasses, thought of moving closer, but the height was the best vantage point to see everything. The smoke was held low by the storm, and he noticed the wind, still blowing against his back, wondered if it had helped his men, any Hessian resistance facing right into the storm. Couriers were moving all around him, and he finally heard from Sullivan, an aide bringing him word of a rapid sweep along the river, Knox’s guns blowing quickly past any resistance.

He searched through the field glasses to find the one place that should have been the headquarters, could make out a row of cannon that had not been fired, one flag that rose high on a staff. He saw a brief fight outside, his own men pushing past, thought, If Rall was there, he cannot be any longer. Knox’s cannon were suddenly quiet. He looked that way, saw Knox himself moving toward him, a beaming smile on the man’s face, and Knox said, “I have ordered the guns to cease, sir. There seem to be no present targets.” There was still scattered musket fire, but mostly southward, beyond the town.

“We should advance, Colonel, the danger seems to have passed. Maintain these guns in this position.” Knox started to respond, and behind him, one of the cannoneers shouted, “Their colors are down! They’ve struck their colors!” The man was pointing to the town, and Washington turned, raised the glasses, could see the bare flagstaff. The gun crews were joyously shouting, hats going up, a raucous cheer. Knox joined his men, gave his own cheer, and after a long joyous moment, Knox said, “Has to be Rall’s headquarters!”

Washington raised the glasses, stared at the bare flagstaff, allowed himself to feel the celebration, a broad smile, said, “It must be. Yes. So it must be.”

A long line of Hessian soldiers was herded down the wide street, and Washington moved aside, waited for them to pass. He watched as a squad of Greene’s men completed the search of a small house. The windows had been broken out, the door kicked in, and when the search was complete, their sergeant pointed to the next house, and the search began again.

He moved the horse forward, watched many more prisoners emerging from a side street, flanked by guards, the Hessians silent and sullen, heads down. He moved past them, saw the church, the place where they had told him Rall was being held.

Washington climbed down from the horse, moved into the darkness of the church, saw the narrow pews draped in bloody white cloth, the wounded Hessians lying end to end. There were soft cries now, moans from one man, bloodier than the others, the man’s life flowing away onto the floor of the church. He saw an older man in a sharp blue uniform, standing with several of Greene’s troops, and the man saw him, wiped his bloody hands on his coat. The troops straightened to attention, and Washington nodded to the man, wondered if he spoke English, said, “Are you the doctor? Do you understand?”

“Yes, I am a doctor. I believe you have come to see my patient, here.”

The man backed up a step, and Washington could see a man on the floor, a thick blanket folded under him. Washington leaned closer, the face old, sunken eyes looking up at him, another officer kneeling beside him. The wounded man said something, his voice faint, and the officer stood now, said, “I am Lieutenant Piel, sir. May I assume you are General Washington?” Washington nodded slowly, still looked to the older man, and Piel said, “This is Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall, sir, in command of the Trenton cantonment. He is . . .
we
are your prisoners, sir.”

Rall’s face was a pale gray, empty eyes staring past him, barely conscious. Piel spoke to him, and Rall seemed to focus, responded to Piel, who said, “General, Colonel Rall asks no favors for himself. He wishes only that you offer some kindness to his men.”

Washington removed his hat, could see death on the man’s face, said, “Tell the colonel that his men will not be abused.”

Piel conveyed the message, and Washington backed away, moved to the open door. He stepped outside, took a breath of clean air, rid himself of the smell of the church. The doctor had followed him, said, “He will not survive this day, General.”

Washington wasn’t sure how to respond, said, “We regret the loss of so many.”

The doctor reached into his pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper, handed it to Washington.

“I thought perhaps you should see this, General. I found it in Colonel Rall’s pocket when he was brought here. The note is written in English, thus it is not likely Colonel Rall knew what it said. He is a somewhat stubborn man, did not appreciate the need for an interpreter. Lieutenant Piel is much abused, I’m afraid. I do not know if this is proper, General, but this note mentions you.”

Washington took the paper, saw bloodstains, read the words,

. . . a considerable force of rebels is on the roads north of Trenton . . .

He handed the paper back to the man, said, “It is not improper of you, Doctor. You are no doubt correct. It is apparent he did not read it.”

Washington climbed the horse, the doctor disappearing back into the church. The horse carried him into the streets again, and everywhere he looked, his soldiers were in motion, hauling wagons of supplies, men carrying armloads of muskets. He saw Knox again, the man bouncing heavily on horseback, directing the flow of six brass cannon, hitched now to the horses that would carry them away. Knox saw him, waved to him with joyous informality, moved away with his new guns.

He saw Greene coming toward him, more officers, the horses at a gallop. As they reined up Greene said, “Sir! We have the first reports. The provost has estimated around a thousand prisoners, sir. Perhaps a hundred dead.”

This was the part that Washington dreaded, but saw none of that on Greene’s face.

“General Greene, what were our losses?”

Greene laughed, an odd response, and beside him, another man said, “Colonel Knox had some difficulty, two of his officers received light wounds. Two other men are unaccounted for, lost possibly on the march last night.” The man stopped, and Washington waited for more, said, “What else?”

Greene was still smiling, said, “Nothing else, sir. There were no other casualties.”

Washington felt a strange numbness, disbelief.

“Thank God for that.”

Greene’s smile faded, and he looked at Washington with concern.

“Are you all right, sir? This was a perfect victory, General. Your strategy was without flaw.”

He heard men cheering now, saw a regimental flag held high, the men who captured it parading it through the streets. When they saw the officers, hats went up, the flag held out, and behind them, more men, a second flag, one man holding it aloft on the point of a bayonet. Greene raised his hat, and the men returned the salute. More troops were gathering, and there was music, and Washington saw a drummer, the young man who had given the signal on the bank of the river, the young man’s legs covered now, ill-fitting stockings from the trunk of some Hessian soldier. It was a small symbol, one man’s comfort, the spoils of this extraordinary victory. Through all the joy around him, the music and the cheering, he felt a strange sense of amazement. He thought of Rall, that one curious piece of paper that could have changed everything. The man will die never understanding that he has been defeated by his own arrogance. It is the arrogance of them all, of William Howe and King George, all those who so blithely dismiss this army. Yet we have a purpose, and if we are allowed the opportunity, we will
defeat
you.

All through the town, the army went about its work, but the celebrations were few, the officers and their men seeming to know as much as Washington did. If the war was to be won, this day was only one victory. There had to be many more.

The flags were packed away now, the music muted, and Washington rode back up the long hill, could see Knox’s two guns still in position. He stopped the horse, pulled it slowly around, looked out over the town, realized for the first time the snow had stopped. He rode slowly into the open field, held up his hand, kept the staff away. He wanted a moment by himself, would not have them close by just now. He was feeling the fatigue of the long night, his hold on the emotions breaking down, the command slipping, giving way to his tears. He looked out across the town, could see his army at work, knew there would have to be a new plan, immediate and definite, securing this victory, that the captured supplies and prisoners would have to be taken back across the river, the army made ready to make the best advantage of this day. But he could not think of that now, needed just this one long quiet moment. He sat back in the saddle, and the tears stopped, and for the first time in this awful war, he began to feel the joy. We have won the day. This was a
victory
. It is a glorious day for our country.

14. WASHINGTON

D
ECEMBER 30, 1776

He had been back across the Delaware twice, seeing to the transfer of the captured supplies and the disposition of the enormous number of Hessian prisoners. John Glover’s Marblehead fishermen had manned the boats once more, had crossed and recrossed the icy river, carrying load upon load of equipment, tents and muskets, and the Hessians themselves. By now the prisoners had reached Philadelphia, had been paraded into the city to an audience who would be awed by their martial appearance, the sharp uniforms an astounding contrast to the ragged clothing of the men who guarded them.

Washington had come back into Trenton, had surveyed the town with an eye to its defense, but the town itself was not as important as the protection of his army. Scouting and raiding parties were sent into the countryside, their first priority to keep an eye on the British position, the strength of the garrison at Princeton, and beyond. He knew that Howe would not let him just settle into Trenton and bide his time for the rest of the winter. The loss in both men and prestige was a sharp and bloody wound that Howe could never just ignore. There would certainly be a response. The question Washington had to answer was when, and how strong.

Below the town, the Assunpink Creek provided a barrier, and so he moved his men into position behind the creek, with their backs to the Delaware River. On the road that led northeast toward Princeton, he sent Colonel Edward Hand, with his regiment of Pennsylvania marksmen. Hand would resist whatever force came down the road from Trenton, buying Washington’s men the precious time to construct a solid line of defense.

Down the river at Bordentown, Cadwalader’s militia had finally crossed, only to find that the Hessians there had wisely withdrawn. Washington had no need for a separate force miles to the south, and Cadwalader was ordered to bring his men to Trenton. There would be a bit of delay, since the militia had taken readily to the job of pursuing the Hessian retreat. It was the kind of fighting the unskilled soldiers could perform with raucous enthusiasm. Their enemy was running away from them.

If the British responded as Washington believed they must, there would have to be a new plan. To just sit and wait at Trenton was unlikely to bring any kind of success. But there could be no strategy until he knew what he was facing. From the beginning of the New York campaign, his strategy had formed itself around the needs of the moment, dealing with the new crisis at hand. Well before the British would reach his defenses, Washington had a crisis of a different sort. Many of those men who had already served, who had become veterans, were now preparing to leave, their enlistments expired. Washington had recently received a newly published pamphlet, authored by Thomas Paine, which expressed exactly the sentiment that Washington had to communicate to his troops.
The Crisis
was a call for the country to offer up its men as soldiers, an earnest and passionate plea for sacrifice as the only means of saving the country. Washington had read the paper and envied Paine’s eloquence, had little confidence in his own. But he would make the effort, speak to the men, and offer his own plea for his army to remain together. Though he might still raise an army for a spring campaign, the new recruits would have none of the backbone of these soldiers, and whatever advantage had been gained against the British would be lost. The victory at Trenton would mean nothing at all.

The soldiers lined up along the banks of the river, summoned by the drums of their regiments. Washington waited for the entire line to settle into place, looked at each man, rugged faces, little trace of a uniform, some with arms wrapped in shredded blankets, rags tied around their feet. He was surprised to see the quiet respect, no grumbling, no one protesting why they would have to hear a speech from the commanding general. When the drums grew quiet, he rode out in front of them, sat high on the white horse, gathered his energy.

“You here today are soldiers. At long last we have cause to celebrate. You have given your nation a victory. But it is not the final battle, and your nation is desperate that you remain here to ensure that our triumph does not simply fade away.” He gazed along the front line, tried to feel their mood, but the faces were mostly expressionless, simply watching him, waiting for more. His words seemed flat, his nervousness was growing, his frustration at the clumsiness, the unskilled oratory.

“We are anticipating reinforcements. You have heard the rumors, and I believe them to be true, that several hundred men are on the march here from Philadelphia. Some of you feel that it is
their
turn. Your place in the line of fire should be held by someone else, someone who has not yet done his part. I hope you will reconsider. If the raw recruit stands beside another raw recruit, it is not an army. But if he stands beside
you
, if he stands beside a soldier, then he will fight like a soldier. We cannot train so many fresh recruits for the duty that lies so close in front of us. I need you to show them what they must do. I beseech you to remain, to reenlist.” There was still no response from the men, and he began to feel a blossoming depression. His words were not reaching them.

He had begged congress to send him funds, enough to provide a bounty to each man who reenlisted. But he had heard nothing thus far, knew that with their scamper to Baltimore, most of the congress was more interested in preserving their own necks than in providing for his army. And now the men in front of him were showing no enthusiasm for his words, and his frustration was growing. If a bounty was required, if that was what would inspire them, he would pay it himself.

“Any man who remains, who shall sign up for six more weeks, will be paid a bounty of ten dollars.” It was pure desperation, and he saw men glancing at each other. No one seemed convinced. “I would ask you now, any man who chooses to reenlist, please step forward.”

He moved the horse away, turned, watched them. There were low murmurs along the lines, but no one moved. He gave them a long moment, but still the formation was motionless. He lowered his head, let out one long breath, and blinked hard, felt himself engulfed by utter sadness. He moved the horse closer again, would not be embarrassed by his own emotions. If these men were to leave, his own pride would matter very little.

“Allow me . . . one last thought. In the campaign just passed, you and I have become an army. If that has no meaning to you, then I would ask you to imagine what is happening . . . out there. If you could see across this land, if you could see the enemy who faces us, who gathers his strength for the next fight, you would know that today he is looking at us with a different eye. Many of you had little faith you could stand up to the might of the British soldier. Now, those soldiers are confused and uncertain, have learned that your muskets, your cannon are as deadly as theirs. Many of you have feared the Hessians. Now, they fear
you
. You men have done everything that I have asked you to do. You have marched and fought and retreated and defended your ground. There are those outside this army who say that by retreating we have been disgraced. I do not agree. We are a small army, facing an enormous foe. We must seek opportunity, we must fight this war to our advantage. We have given way when there was no other option. But we are not vanquished. And today, we stand here as victors, on ground where the
enemy
gave way.” There were nods now, and he felt a stab of energy, the words flowing finally.

“No army rises to greatness by the starch and finery of its uniform, no victory relies on the decorations that drape the chest of its commander. The victory you won on this ground was won by every man in this line. You won this fight for your wives, your homes, for your country. Everything you hold dear has been made more secure by your patriotism and your heroism. I know of your fatigue, I know of the hardships you have endured. But without you, I do not believe this nation can survive. If you will consent to serve for even one month longer, you will preserve the cause of liberty. I believe it is this army alone that can decide our destiny.”

He ran out of words, overwhelmed again by the sadness, the frustration, moved the horse away again, stared down, his eyes clouded by despair. He waited for a long moment, resigned to the difficult job ahead, the new recruits, the men who might be coming from Philadelphia. The silence was broken by a voice, a low mumble, the man clearing his throat now. Washington looked up, saw one man making his way forward, slipping through the lines of men in front of him. Washington saw a ragged beard, the man’s shirt a filthy rag, saw the man’s bare feet now, the skin dark and red, hardened by the marching through the muddy snow. The man was out in front of the first line now, and Washington could see he was older, the beard flecked with gray. He looked up at Washington with a crooked frown, seemed to appraise him, said, “I don’t believe you ever lied to us, General. I’ll not go home while my country needs me.”

The man stood alone for a moment, and now the lines were wavering, small sounds, and another man stepped forward, stood beside the older man.

“I’ll not leave you, sir. Truth is, I got no place else to go.”

One by one the men came forward, and as their number grew, the cheers came, the men saluting their commander as they saluted their own resolve. He sat upright in the saddle now. There were no words, just a wide smile, the space in front of him filled now with a sea of rugged faces, hands in the air, their enthusiasm flowing out, inspired by the words of their commander.

The cheering began to slow, the men now falling out of formation, the drums beating again, the staff taking charge of the business of the army, the men lining up to sign the papers. He heard hoofbeats, turned to see some of his guards escorting a carriage, a single passenger, trailed by a small group of armed militia. The man was waving to him now, calling out, “General! Sir!”

The carriage halted on the narrow road, and Washington nudged the horse that way, saw the man raise two fat canvas bags.

“General! I am here on the most urgent business, sir! I was instructed to bring this to you with the utmost haste!”

Washington was puzzled.

“Do I know you, sir? What is this?”

“I am under the instruction of Mr. Morris, sir. Robert Morris. He has instructed me to release this only to you.” The man looked at the guards, seemed uncertain, lowered his voice, said, “It is . . . money, sir. Fifty thousand dollars in currency and silver. He said you had considerable need, sir.”

Washington felt a raw shock, stared at the heavy bags, thought now of his friend Morris, the one congressman who had not abandoned Philadelphia, who had gone about his desperate work to raise the funds Washington would need to pay his army.

Nearly twelve hundred of his veterans had reenlisted for a six-week term, and every man among them had received his ten-dollar bounty. But there were others who would not stay, and Washington could find no fault with those who were weak with sickness, who had suffered the extreme hardships that weeks of poor clothing and bad food had caused. But there were others, and he sat across from one man now, could see embarrassment on the man’s face, the short, heavy New Englander staring down at the floor, his hat in his hand. Washington had not expected the man to come to headquarters with such a dismal message, but it was clear the decision had been made.

“Colonel Glover, is there no convincing you to delay?”

Glover shook his head.

“General, I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t looking forward to gettin’ back home, sir. You have to understand, it’s not patriotism alone that holds my boys here. It’s a love of the boats, the water. If I have to make excuses for that, then I will. We done our part, to be sure, but there’s a good many others in this country who haven’t done a stinkin’ damn thing for this army. Every man in the Marblehead regiment knows of someone up home who’ve been stayin’ put and makin’ their fortunes on the sea. And you know, sir, I’m not talkin’ about fishing. Most of those scoundrels are raiding any boat they can find, could care less whether it’s the king’s goods or our own. But you know you can trust my boys, sir. No one will be keepin’ anything for himself. We’ll be helpin’ the cause just as much, just in other ways.”

“Colonel, you’re talking about privateering. Raiding enemy shipping. It’s piracy, you know.”

Glover sat back, and Washington saw a smile.

“Now, General, we both knows that it’s them pirates that’s been givin’ considerable assistance to this war. You can’t deny it, sir. The only ones who are chokin’ on that word is the British. I hear that the congress is mighty appreciative. Between the captured guns, the supplies, and the boats themselves, well, my boys feel like they’re missin’ out on all the fun, beggin’ your pardon, sir. If this country wants to build a navy, or have any say in who runs the waterways around here, it needs men like us. After all, sir, it’s the one thing we’re good at.”

Washington felt a small hole open inside of him, said, “You have been of great value to this army, Colonel.”

“Aye, sir, and we will yet be! But I’m figurin’ you won’t be needin’ the services of a good boatsman around here for a while, and there’s good work to be done up north.”

Washington could make no good argument, knew that Glover’s men had more right than anyone in the army to claim they had done their duty. Glover thought for a moment.

“Not all of us is leaving, sir. Some got no family, and for reasons unexplained, they’ve taken to these mud swamps. So, if you’re needin’ somebody to row you across some godless bog hole, there’s some of ’em still be of service.”