I don’t know how the men did it, but it was so cold I believe they preferred moving to standing still in that weather. The men passed the General as they moved onto the boats, and his commanding presence inspired confidence. Our force had shrunk to mostly battle-tested and resolute veterans, many of whom had been with the General for the whole war. We bumped into and off blocks of ice, and the waves crested over the sides of our boats, drenching every inch of our ragged clothing. Some were standing and paddling, and others were holding oars to ward off the ice. On a normal, more placid crossing, those of us in the middle would have sat down, but not on that night—no one wanted to sit in the icy water that had already submerged our shoes and the bottoms of our leggings. It took so long for our main party to cross the river that, even if everything went well thereafter, I thought we would never reach Trenton before morning and surprise the Hessians.
The most amazing incident took place after the crossing when we came to Jacobs Creek. Under the light of a few swinging lanterns, it was hard enough for the men to climb up the icy bank but far more difficult for the horses. As the General tried to bring Old Nelson up the embankment, the white chestnut-faced horse slipped and started sliding down into the creek. The General grabbed his mane and, with one swift movement, righted the horse. I was not much of a horseman, but I was left marveling at how strong and skilled the General was. Those who described him as the finest horseman in the colonies did not exaggerate by much.
The General divided his force into two parts, with one marching straight toward Trenton where the Hessians were encamped and the other sweeping around to the side and rear. Then one of those peculiar things happened that the General’s critics again attributed to luck and he to Divine Providence. While we were indeed running late and the sun had started to rise, snow began falling so that none of the Hessian sentries could see our approaching forces.
You may have read that the Hessians were drunk with Christmas revelry. Don’t believe it. The Hessians were on alert—we learned on our way to Trenton that they had skirmished that evening with a small group of American militia—and when we attacked the outlying guard posts, they turned out smartly with their weapons and showed great discipline. But our force was overwhelming, and our artillery fired with devastating effect down the main streets of the town. Then the General shouted, “March on, my brave fellows, after me,” and our troops did just that, their spirits rising as more and more Hessians either fell in our hail of bullets or surrendered.
My goodness, it was a bloody scene. I had never seen such carnage, and I desperately tried to control my increasingly upset stomach. When I commented to the General on the bloody corpses and crying wounded, the General would only say, “Josiah, it was just as bad at the massacre with Braddock. The groans of the wounded pierced my heart then. Believe me, Josiah, it is much better to see the corpses of the enemy rather than your own men.” I thought General Knox, who like me had not fought in the previous war, described the scene quite well when he reminisced to me later: “The hurry, fright and confusion of the enemy was [not] unlike that which will be when the last trumpet shall sound.”
Our losses were small, and I do believe the Hessians lost almost a thousand men to death, wounds, or capture. I saw no signs of drinking, except when some of our men broke into the Hessians’ rum supply and celebrated, much to the General’s annoyance. But this breach of discipline did not stop the General from turning to me and saying, “Josiah, this is a glorious day for our country.”
What we learned later was that the victory set off all sorts of recriminations between the British and the Hessians and a frenzy of debate in Britain about the morality of hiring mercenaries to fight Britain’s wars, particularly against British subjects.
We withdrew back across the Delaware. The General, always alert to popular opinion, dictated numerous letters to governors and congressmen, north and south, relaying the news of our Trenton success. I think the letters also had another purpose: allaying fears of the General. Some said the added powers the Congress had given the General made him a dictator, although I think it finally just made him, in truth, the commanding general. If he was a dictator, at that time he certainly continued to show deference to the Congress. Whether he would do so that week in Newburgh was another matter.
IV. TRIUMPH AGAIN—THE SECOND CROSSING OF THE DELAWARE
The first battle of Trenton had ended, but what many do not know is that the second battle of Trenton was far more crucial to our success. The idea of recrossing the Delaware for another surprise attack on enemy outposts may have come from Colonel John Cadwalader, who had led the other crossing party into New Jersey and reported the panic among the British and Hessians after the first battle of Trenton. There then came another one of those endless councils the General called, this one at the widow Harris’s house on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware. The General presented the recrossing as Cadwalader’s idea, whether it was or not. The General, as I’ve said, never seemed to present any idea as his own. I always assumed this was to make sure there was free discussion. It was amazing how the General, with his questions, guided that meeting from almost outright opposition to unanimous support. After all, here was the proposal that our army, after two days’ rest, still exhausted and bedraggled, should move to attack again.
I believe the deciding factor, besides the chance to sow more panic among the enemy, was that many enlistments were to expire at the end of the year. While our forces were growing—it was amazing how news of one victory could lead to new enlistments even in two or three days—hundreds were unfit to march, and at the end of the year our forces might fall dramatically with the loss of the Delaware regiment, Glover’s Marblehead Regiment, and many other individual troops.
The General knew that the undermanned outposts in southern New Jersey offered tempting targets, but the supply obstacles were greater than before the first crossing. Merchants in Pennsylvania had joined merchants in New Jersey in refusing to sell food and clothing for the increasingly worthless Continental currency. The army’s commissary in Pennsylvania, Carpenter Wharton, was incompetent, corrupt, or both, and the General had to go over his head to Superintendent of Finance Robert Morris in Philadelphia to bring supplies from Virginia and New England. Worse, the Delaware was now completely frozen, which, while enabling the men to cross on foot, would make it more difficult for horses, artillery, wagons, and tents, which moved more safely across water in boats. Most important was that the end of the year was upon us; if the General could not convince many of the troops to reenlist, there would not be the numbers or time for one more surprise attack.
I saw the General himself address most of our troops. I am told that today the terms of service are longer and, besides, the money offered is greater. But then it was a close thing. I remember the General’s first appeal, even with a ten-dollar reenlistment bounty, moving few. The General had told me, quoting his favorite play, Cato, “I’ll animate the soldiers’ drooping courage, with love of freedom, and contempt of life. I’ll thunder in their ears their country’s cause, and try to rouse up all that’s Roman in them.” But it was not easy.