The Old Fox, however, was not to be there in the morning.
The troops built fires, left them burning, and then started noisy pick and shovel work. The purpose was to convince the British and Hessians that either another early-morning attack like the first battle of Trenton was imminent or we were digging in to stop another assault on the bridge in the morning. Meanwhile, the troops wrapped the wagon and artillery wheels with cloth to muffle the noise as they moved out. Again no one was told where they were going. Local guides directed us to trails that would bypass Cornwallis’s forces.
There then took place a very curious change in the weather. The day before, when Cornwallis had advanced from Princeton, rising temperatures had turned the roads and trails to mud, slowing progress. Now the temperature quickly fell below freezing again, leaving the roads and trails hard enough for our rapid movement. The skies were darkened with clouds covering all stars and obscuring roads. Providence, I decided, was at work again.
Still, not everything went as planned. A few militia units, panicked in the dark and mistaking our own troops for the enemy, fled toward Burlington, New Jersey. The General, however, had shrewdly placed our regular units between militia units to minimize such panics. Our movement was so rapid that Horace Walpole in Britain after the war compared the General on that evening to the Roman general Fabius, and European military experts marveled at how a body of troops could move so fast, especially in the dark. What they didn’t know was that our sleep-deprived soldiers were frequently stumbling and held upright by friends.
The morning brought a beautiful day, and we quickly advanced more than half the way to Princeton across Stony Brook and along the Quaker bridge road. But then occurred a piece of damnable ill luck. We were spotted from the main Princeton–Trenton road by the last British column moving to support Cornwallis at Trenton. Actually we spotted each other about the same time. The General had an excellent view and immediately dispatched me to ride to General Hugh Mercer and order him to move up his Pennsylvania militia brigade from a ravine and defend against what British officers always do—attack.
Our initial defense was successful, but the main British column commanded by Colonel Mawhood kept attacking, shot most of General Mercer’s officers out of their saddles, drew bayonets, and charged into our breaking lines. I rode as fast as possible, fearing as I never had during the whole war that I would be caught and bayoneted. General Mercer, after trying to rally his men, followed. I looked behind me from a nearby ridge and saw General Mercer fall from his horse. He was quickly surrounded by redcoats, who from their cries thought they had chanced upon General Washington. They yelled at Mercer, demanding, “Damn you, rebel, give quarter.” I heard him shout, “I am no rebel,” and he drew his sword to lunge at his tormentors. They bayoneted him several times, thinking they had killed the General. I just sat on my horse, looking back, shaking with terror and exhaustion, ashamed that I had left General Mercer behind. I was not proud of my actions that day, but I could not think of anything but my own safety.
As I rode back toward our main forces, I encountered the General, who did not seem at all dismayed by Mercer’s retreating brigade. “Josiah, we have them. This is one of those rare times when by chance we have them outnumbered.” Shouting at me to stay in place and await further orders, he led an array of Delaware, Connecticut, and Maryland regiments, rallied the retreating Pennsylvania militia, and rode toward the enemy, shouting, “Parade with us, my brave fellows! There is but a handful of the enemy, and we shall have them directly.”
It was truly amazing. Following the General’s example, our troops poured forward. I looked down from a nearby hill. The General was out front on Old Nelson, and the British troops were firing at him from no more than thirty paces. And yet they did not hit him. It reminded me of those old Indian tales about the General having supernatural protection and the story of how he found the sound of bullets “exhilarating.” It all struck me, who had never lost my fear whenever I was near the front lines, as unbelievable. But watching the General that day from one hundred yards to the rear, both the tales and story seemed so true. The thought occurred to me that maybe the General wanted a glorious death. It would have enhanced his reputation, something he surely desired. But it did seem that Providence was indeed watching out for the General that day.
Later, I heard soldiers speak of that day with wonder. As our troops led by the General surged ahead, the British troops broke, just as we had so many times. Seizing his chance, the General urged his troops in pursuit: “It is a fine fox chase, my boys.” Our riflemen were relentless, and I saw the bodies of hundreds of British soldiers shot in the back while fleeing. I had never seen British soldiers flee like this, nor had any of our troops. I did not tell my Quaker relatives, but I must admit it was an exhilarating experience.
The General reorganized our troops, and we moved quickly on to Princeton, where we forced the surrender of the few British defenders and helped ourselves to supplies. Only the total exhaustion of our troops kept the General from moving on and attacking the major British supply depot in Brunswick.
The day had been a glorious one. The General immediately sent out messengers to various militia units throughout the state ordering attacks on British installations. The General seemed to have forgotten his disdain for volunteer units now that his regulars had whipped the British. Cornwallis ordered his troops back from Trenton not to seek us out—although they still greatly outnumbered us—but, amid the confusion, to abandon their posts and retreat to the safety of New York. The British troops and their Hessian allies had seemed so disciplined and organized just a week before. Now they were in total disarray as our regular and irregular forces harassed them all the way back to the Hudson River. “General Washington is coming,” the British troops screamed as they fled across New Jersey. Of course, the General could not be in so many places; it just seemed that way to the now-disorganized British and Hessian troops.
In the days that followed, thousands of citizens were burning their certificates of allegiance to the king signed just weeks before, and thousands more across the land rushed to enlist. The General was acting as New Jersey’s chief executive. Upon the General’s instructions, I wrote orders allowing loyalist families safe passage to British-held New York. The General worried that, after all the pillaging by the British, Hessians, and loyalists, the latter might now face massacres.