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.”
It was small consolation to Washington, and Glover seemed to understand that. Washington saw the man’s face reflecting his own sadness. Glover stood, said, “Sir, with your permission, we’ll be headin’ out.”
Washington stood as well.
“May God go with you and your men, Colonel. Your country is grateful to you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Glover did not wait, would not drag out the moment, was out the door. Washington stood alone for a long moment, thought of the retreat from Long Island, the crossing of the Delaware. If he never returns, there will be no shame. He has saved this army more than once. He may yet do it again.
15. CORNWALLIS
JANUARY 2, 1777
The reaction in Howe’s headquarters to Rall’s disaster was loud and frantic, and Cornwallis’ journey to England was abruptly canceled. Again he assumed command of the army in New Jersey, crossed the Hudson, and made the journey from Amboy to Princeton in one long grueling day, a ride of over fifty miles. Cornwallis had left the headquarters escaping a firestorm of words from Howe, the man’s so carefully orchestrated schedule now a complete shambles. There would be no winter quarters for the army, not yet, the civilized tradition interrupted by the astounding spectacle of this barbaric band of rebels, who would so insult the rules of war by a surprise attack on a celebration of Christmas. De Heister had been the brunt of much of Howe’s tirade, and Cornwallis knew that the old Hessian would bear the shame for the whole debacle, that Colonel Rall had been his choice for the defense of Trenton. De Heister’s own account of the defeat was already on its way across the Atlantic, and as Cornwallis had ridden away from Howe’s headquarters, he didn’t know if he would ever see de Heister again. By the time Cornwallis returned to New York, the old man might be gone, recalled by a Hessian king who had no patience for defeat.
The reports had come to Howe’s headquarters one after another, every commander offering his own excuses, scrambling to paint the best picture of his role in the catastrophe at Trenton. Yet no one could put to paper the exact rebel strength or where they had placed their army.
Von Donop had responded to Rall’s collapse by withdrawing his men from Bordentown, knowing that with Trenton in the hands of the rebels, no other position along the Delaware River was likely to be safe. And worse, the Hessian colonel came to realize that the rebels were pursuing him not from Trenton, but from Bordentown itself, a new wave of troops who had crossed the river after Rall’s defeat. Von Donop made his way across unfamiliar farm roads, through icy streams, a frantic and miserable march to reach the safety of the British defenses at Princeton. Despite the discipline of his veterans, the utter defeat of their comrades infected the Hessian regiment with a simmering panic, and when bands of rebels began to harass their flanks, filling each night with the terror of sniper fire, the withdrawal boiled over into a chaotic retreat. To von Donop’s men, it seemed that every farmer had a musket, every family was seeking bloody revenge for Hessian plunder. Von Donop’s stragglers joined the few Hessians who had escaped Trenton, and as they scattered throughout the countryside, many of them simply deserted, helped by Cadwalader’s militia and local farmers to cross the Delaware and find their way toward Philadelphia. As much as von Donop intended to reach Princeton, to rejoin the British in a counterattack, many of his soldiers had other ideas, were in no mood for another surprise assault.
Those British units that could be mobilized in short order were now on the move westward. From Amboy to Brunswick to Princeton, the scene was frantic determination. The reinforcements marched with unaccustomed speed, inspired by the commander who quickly overtook them. Cornwallis had ridden past the columns of fresh British regiments refusing to believe that the defeat in Trenton was anything more than the sloppy arrogance of Colonel Rall, a soldier who built no defense because he had no fear of his enemy. It had been so very common in this army, a philosophy that came from Howe himself. So many of the commanders had accepted it as absolute. No rebel can stand up to a proper soldier. Since the fight at Brooklyn, there was constant congratulation at headquarters, victory after victory, driving the rabble away with the pomp and pageantry the empire expected. But there are lessons in victory as well as defeat, and Cornwallis believed that too many of the senior officers had learned nothing about their enemy. Even Howe’s lesson from Breed’s Hill seemed to be forgotten. As Cornwallis pushed the horse across the New Jersey farmlands, he was already seeing Washington in a different way. He is a man who learns. Yes, he understands that his men cannot stand up in a general engagement. Washington knows his own limitations, his army’s weaknesses. He is a soldier after all, and he will elude us because he must elude us. He can only succeed if we allow him to, if we are vulnerable, if we make a mistake. And Colonel Rall provided him one.
The headquarters at Princeton was under the command of Cornwallis’ friend Alexander Leslie, but the overall commander of the lengthy line of New Jersey posts was General James Grant. Grant was an accomplished veteran of English wars dating back over thirty years, and brought to his command a thorough disregard for the rebels, and especially for the leadership of George Washington. Grant had once made the boisterous claim to a session of Parliament that with an army of five thousand men, he could conquer all of America himself. It was a speech designed to please the newspapers, but there were no rebel marksmen in the halls of Parliament. Cornwallis would not embarrass Grant, was not riding to the front to find fault. Grant was still an exceptional field commander, and though his boastful disdain for the rebels had become a sad irony, Cornwallis knew there was an opportunity still, that if Washington was to hold on to his victory in Trenton, he might attempt to hold Trenton itself. Despite Rall’s defeat, one thing had not changed. If there was a major confrontation, the rebels were still no match for the British army. Though Howe might believe fighting in winter to be uncivilized, there might yet be an opportunity to end this war.
He rode into Princeton wondering how Grant would respond to his arrival, knew that the older man
would certainly not expect him so soon. Nothing had ever been done in this army with speed, but delays now could give Washington a dangerous power. The longer the British took to respond, the greater the chance that public opinion would swing toward the rebel cause. The result could be a sudden influx of militia to Washington’s army, an enormous increase in morale. Whether or not that would matter on the battlefield, it would certainly matter to congress, and to Parliament.
He rode past the college again, saw a few lanterns, guard posts placed at the intersections. He led a company of dragoons, and the guards welcomed the horsemen with raised arms and cheers, few realizing that Cornwallis himself was among them. They turned down a side street, moved toward headquarters, and Cornwallis began to dread seeing Grant, thought, He should not have been in command of such an important position, especially with its most vulnerable outpost manned by Hessians. It was a problem for most of the British commanders, the awkward relationship between British and Hessian officers that might now be worse than ever. But the chain of command should always prevail, and Cornwallis knew that if you made a decent effort at diplomacy, you could give an order to anyone in the Hessian command. Tradition or not, pride or not, the Hessians were subordinate to their British counterparts. Even Grant would understand that the Hessians had been humbled now. One of their senior officers had lost his life in their worst defeat of the war.
It was very late, and he climbed down from the horse with a stiffening pain in every joint in his body. Just outside the town, he had overtaken a column of Highlanders, and he could hear their bagpipes. He stretched his back, thought, They’ve marched as far as I have ridden, and there will no complaining from their lot. There shall not be a word out of me either.
The dragoons had dispersed, one of Grant’s staff guiding them to a camp. Cornwallis’ staff had been strung out on the road, the last pair of aides now arriving. He showed patience, waited for them to dismount their exhausted horses. He scanned their faces, saw the twists and frowns, younger men all.