The glorious cause, p.45
The Glorious Cause, page 45
During this same week Washington worried over his old, familiar problems—chief among them a shortage of troops and a lack of quality in those he did have. He had about 3000 at this time, and a little over half of them would go home at the end of the month when their enlistments ran out. Some, of course, would not wait until the end of the month. Looking at his slim force was all the more depressing when he estimated that his enemy numbered over 10,000.37
Equally depressing was the failure of General Charles Lee to join him with the 5500 troops left behind at North Castle when Washington crossed to New Jersey in early November. Washington had departed the camp with a warning to Lee that perhaps the British move into New Jersey was a feint: “They may yet pay the Army under your command a visit.” But Washington also informed Lee that should the British take all or most of their army into New Jersey, Lee should then join his forces to Washington’s: “I have no doubt of your following, with all possible dispatch, leaving the Militia and Invalids to cover the front lines of Connecticut in case of need.” Besides the wicked linkage of militia and invalids—the two were equivalents in Washington’s mind—the interesting feature of this sentence is its indirection. Washington did not order Lee to come. At this point in the relationship of the two men, Washington, a self-conscious provincial, was too much in awe of Lee, the experienced European commander, to tell him what to do. In the next month Washington’s letters continued to use the oblique: on November 21 he told Lee that the “public interest” required him to bring his army to New Jersey (that day Lee ordered Brig. General William Heath to send 2000 from Peekskill and received a cold refusal); on November 24 Washington wrote under the illusion that Lee was in motion; on the 27th he became crisp and direct: “My former Letters were so full and explicit as to the necessity of your Marching, as early as possible, that it is unnecessary to add more on that Head,” but on December 10 he again reverted to the old mode, “I cannot but request and entreat you” to link up with the main army. By this time Lee had indeed crossed the Hudson but was hanging back in northern New Jersey awaiting an opportunity to strike Howe’s army in the rear. He never had a chance to carry out this plan, for on December 13 he was captured by a British patrol, in White’s Tavern, near Veal Town.38
In one of his appeals to Lee to make haste, Washington revealed that he did not believe that Lee’s forces added to his own would make the American army an overpowering force. He recognized that Lee’s command was not large, but its numbers would strengthen his own and in any case popular “report will exaggerate them and present an Appearance of an Army.” Appearance was important, the next thing to reality, important for the morale of the troops themselves and for the American people, who had to believe in their chances of winning the Revolution, or else it would collapse.39
Given the precariousness of the American position, the next decision Washington made may in retrospect seem surprisingly risky, more than daring surely, perhaps even foolish. He decided to venture his army in an attack on Trenton in the expectation that it would be followed by blows against Princeton and then New Brunswick, the most important magazine the British had in New Jersey. Why did he do it?40
The resurgence of those old passions, those instincts that could be satisfied only by attack for glory and honor, may have had something to do with his resolve to push back over the Delaware. He also wished to blunt the inevitable attack of the British against Philadelphia in the spring—”I tremble for Philadelphia,” he wrote. But was the city so important as to justify the rush? It was the American capital and its loss would damage the common cause, wounding the “Heart of every virtuous American,” Washington told John Hancock. That was the point then of the attack—to preserve public morale, to hold the tenuous attachments of the public. For the “great end” the British “have in view, is, to spread themselves over as much Country, as they possibly can, and thereby strike a damp into the Spirits of the people, which will effectually put a stop to the new enlistment of the Army, on which all our hopes depend, and which they will most vigorously strive to effect.” All hopes depended upon the army, and the army depended upon the people, was an irrefutable proposition as far as Washington was concerned. Both army and people sometimes angered Washington: the army had melted away as it retreated across New Jersey, and as for the people, their conduct, Washington wrote his brother, was “Infamous” in the support they gave the British. The citizen-soldiers—“a destructive, expensive and disorderly mob”—so “exulted” at the success of the enemy that Washington proposed for a time to disarm them. In more reflective moments he recognized that many people of all sorts in New Jersey were simply watching to see where the balance of power lay, their sympathies were not firmly given to either side, and their “defection” was “as much owing to the want of an Army to look the Enemy in the Face, as to any other cause.” Therefore he would cross the Delaware to look the enemy in the face—he had to if the army were to survive, and if it did not, the Revolution was lost.41
Across the river the Hessians occupying the forward line of posts felt that they looked the enemy in the face every day. They were strung out from Trenton to Burlington under General von Donop’s command. Donop stationed himself near the southern end of these posts at Mt. Holly, Colonel Rall with three regiments held Trenton, and General Leslie remained at Princeton. General James Grant in New Brunswick commanded all British forces in New Jersey and reported to Howe. Sitting in comfort in New York, Howe wrote reflectively to Germain that his forces were spread rather thin: “The chain, I own, is rather too extensive,” but, he explained, he had been “induced to occupy Burlington to cover the county of Monmouth, in which there are many loyal inhabitants.42
Howe, like Washington, had his eye on the political dimensions of the war; if he were to hold those loyal to the king, he would have to give them protection. His proclamation offering pardons to those who made their submission to Britain had brought the wavering loyalists out into the open. Now he had to protect them. His means, however, were limited. He had troops, but thanks to Washington’s policy of destroying the forage and provisions, he had shortages too. Washington of course had not had the time to scorch the earth, nor had he been disposed to do so. But he had attempted to deny the British the opportunity to live off Jersey farmers, an opportunity the farmers did not welcome. Like most occupying armies everywhere since, Howe’s was in the anomalous position of simultaneously “protecting” the inhabitants and exploiting them. The inhabitants did not feel the gratitude of selfless patriots. Howe recognized these feelings and gave instructions to Donop to establish magazines but to give receipts for what he requisitioned from farmers, especially cattle and grain, which were carefully mentioned. But Howe’s orders were flexible enough to permit easy abuse: “Any quantity of Salt provision or flour, exceeding what may be thought necessary for the use of a private family is to be considered as Rebel store,” and could be “seized for the Crown and issued to the Troops as a saving to the public.”43
What followed could not have greatly surprised anyone. The Hessians, who somehow failed to share Howe’s political sensitivities, took what they wanted and thereby called into being an opposition never deeply dormant. Before long, Hessian commanders were complaining that the security of the chain Howe had strung them along did not exist. To get a letter to Princeton, Colonel Rall had to send a heavy patrol of fifty men. Patrols, foraging parties, and outposts were regularly mauled by local partisans and raiders from the west bank of the Delaware. Rall did not even bother to throw up fortifications around Trenton; the enemy surrounded him—he explained—and he could not begin to cover himself adequately.44
Neither Rall nor his chief expected Washington to attack Christmas night. The weather was bad, with rain and snow; the Delaware, though not covered with ice, carried large pieces of it downstream. Washington planned carefully, though he had not expected the weather to conceal his movements. His attack was to have three parts: James Ewing with 700 troops would cross at Trenton Ferry and seize the bridge over the Assunpink Creek just to the south of the town. Lt. Colonel John Cadwalader farther to the south would strike over the river at Bristol and hit Donop’s force at Mt. Holly, a diversion to keep the Hessians so occupied there as to prevent reinforcement of Trenton. And Trenton itself was the main objective and would be attacked by Washington, who, if all went well, planned to push to Princeton and perhaps as far as the main magazine at New Brunswick.45
After dark on Christmas night, the main force, some 2400 soldiers, assembled behind the low hills overlooking McKonkey’s Ferry. Washington wanted to cross them all by midnight and march them south the nine miles to Trenton by five in the morning, well before daylight. The storm, the rough water, and ice prevented him from holding to this schedule. The artillery under Knox, eighteen field pieces in all, proved difficult to handle in the snow and sleet and was not ashore until three in the morning. Washington, who had crossed with the advance party in Durham boats, stood on the bank and watched—he knew that his presence would not go unnoticed even in the dark. By four o’clock everyone was assembled for the march into Trenton.
Two columns were formed, one on the upper or Pennington Road, the other on the lower or River Road. Washington, with Nathanael Greene, commanded the force on the Pennington, and Sullivan led on the River Road. By skill or by good luck, both groups reached Trenton within a few minutes of eight o’clock. The River Road curved into the southern end of town; the Pennington Road carried the troops to King and Queen streets, running north and south, the main thoroughfares of the town. Washington’s van drove in a company on outpost duty on the north edge and within a few minutes had set up their artillery on King and Queen streets. Two young captains commanded these guns—Thomas Forrest on Queen Street and Alexander Hamilton on King.
Gunfire brought two Hessian regiments into the streets; a third remained in reserve at the southeastern edge of town. Colonel Rall, who had celebrated Christmas night with his usual exuberance, rolled out of bed and took charge on the street. An American bullet soon cut him down, and his men never really dispersed themselves to fight effectively. Much of the village was empty, the inhabitants having fled three weeks earlier, and its houses and stables were soon turned into arenas for vicious little bayonet fights. The American artillery prevented the Hessians from forming effectively, and the American infantry gradually rounded them up once the hard work had been accomplished with musket butts and bayonets. In an hour it was finished, with twenty-two Hessians dead, ninety-eight wounded, and almost a thousand prisoners. Two American officers and two privates were wounded.
At least five hundred Hessians and a handful of British dragoons escaped across the Assunpink Creek, for Ewing had not been able to cross. Nor had Cadwalader made it further south, though an advance party he sent over did, only to be withdrawn when the main body of his command found the weather and the rough water too much for them.
Washington took his tired but triumphant troops back across the Delaware into Pennsylvania that afternoon. He had learned of Cadwalader’s fiasco and there seemed nothing left to do. His soldiers were much too tired to drive on to Princeton, and as far as he knew the Hessians would be coming up from the south. He was wrong on this last score. The Hessians gave up in the next few days every post they had on the river.
Feeling a little foolish perhaps, and eager to prove the mettle of himself and his men, Cadwalader crossed his command on the next day. He entered a Burlington now empty of the enemy. Two days later, Washington led his soldiers over once more, this time straight into Trenton. Once in the town, he ordered Cadwalader to march his troops up and gave the same order to General Mifflin, who had taken 1600 militia into Borden-town. As the year ended, Washington had 5000 men and forty howitzers in Trenton.46
A greater test than Trenton now faced the American command. Howe had sent Cornwallis galloping out of New York to Princeton in an effort to recover the initiative, and Cornwallis pushed down from Princeton with 5500 regulars and twenty-eight fieldpieces. Washington did not ease his way south. The Princeton Road was churned into mud, and small parties of Pennsylvania and Virginia Continentals harassed the British as they marched. Late in the afternoon of January 2 Cornwallis arrived at Trenton to find Washington drawn up along the ridge of Assunpink Creek. Several unsuccessful attempts to ford the creek by advance units left Cornwallis convinced that he should delay a major assault until the morrow. A subordinate or two protested, saying that Washington would not be there in the morning. The answer to that was a question: Where would he go? He had no boats; he was trapped.47
That night Washington provided a different answer by slipping away on a recently constructed road southeast of the worn highway to Princeton. The British did not discover his departure until dawn, for the Americans had left behind several hundred men who kept their campfires ablaze and who spent much of their time digging into the ground, making noise which reassured their enemies across the creek. By early morning Washington’s van reached the outskirts of Princeton, where they ran into Lt. Colonel Charles Mawhood, who had been left there with two regiments. There was a desperate fight for a time with Mawhood’s command roughing up troops under Hugh Mercer and John Cadwalader. Just as the American units threatened to lose their integrity as fighting organizations, Washington arrived on the scene. It was hard to resist Washington on horseback, and the Continentals pulled themselves together; the British began to fall apart. Mawhood eventually broke through to Trenton, but under severe pursuit his command virtually disintegrated.48
The British regiment Mawhood had left in Princeton sat there inertly and then attempted to retreat to New Brunswick. Not all made it, as a New Jersey regiment captured almost two hundred. Washington soon saw that his troops were spent and gave up his design on New Brunswick. Four days later he entered winter quarters in Morristown. Cornwallis, fearing the worst from his slippery enemy, marched his command from Trenton to New Brunswick. He was taking no chances on losing his supply depot. Hackensack and Elizabeth Town fell to American forces on January 8, 1777, the day Washington’s army entered Morristown. Howe, who had dominated New Jersey two weeks before, now saw his forces confined to Amboy and New Brunswick.
16
The War of Maneuver
The two armies now settled in, apparently for the winter. A casual observer might have thought that it was Europe, the convention of going into winter quarters was so taken for granted. The soldiers on both sides turned to the business of making themselves comfortable or trying to find comfort in situations inherently uncomfortable. For Washington’s men attaining some ease seemed almost impossible in the mean little huts they constructed for themselves. Keeping warm proved a challenge—central heating awaited the genius of a later century—but collecting firewood at least forced the men to stay active. Their opposite numbers in New York City did not swelter, but they made themselves snug in taverns, public buildings, and private homes.
Some of Washington’s men at Morristown followed the ways of many who had served before them—that is, they did what was becoming the American practice, ending their military service without authorization; in other words, they deserted. Howe too lost troops to desertion, but not as many. Where, after all, could redcoats go except to the enemy?
The citizens of New York City soon came to envy the deserters. Life in the city deteriorated as winter set in, and the occupying army did nothing to improve it—for civilians at any rate. Food was scarce, as irregulars on Long Island and across the Hudson struck at foraging parties. This little war was barbarous and dirty and conducted according to none of the familiar rules. Inside the city, citizens were safe from raiding parties, but there the regulars either ignored them or pushed them around whenever they bothered to notice. Eighteenth-century garrisons and the civilians they “protected” never appreciated one another, and what the New Yorkers endured in the winter of 1776–77 had taken place many times before, most recently in Boston. The regulars in both places aimed to destroy the enemy and ended by adding to the enemy’s numbers.
At the same time, Washington’s troops soon lost some of their admirers in Morristown—not because they misbehaved, but because they brought smallpox with them, and because their commander insisted upon spreading out the sick among the townspeople for care and in order to “isolate” the sick. Congress had dismissed the director-general of hospitals, Dr. John Morgan, three days after Washington’s forces arrived at Morristown, and hospitals which had never been adequate soon fell into deeper disrepair. Washington had no recourse other than his regimental hospitals and the town itself—thus his attempt at isolating smallpox patients and a try at inoculation, a technique which called for deliberately infecting those who had not yet contracted the disease in the hope that they would survive the less virulent form that usually resulted. Understandably, the farmers of Morristown looked with dismay at the changes in their lives that the army brought, and the cost of their principles was borne in upon them.1
The village itself was small—no more than fifty houses, a church, and the inevitable tavern—and by all standards a well-chosen site for winter quarters, difficult of access from the east through hills which blunted approaches. But though difficult to reach, it was close enough to New York City, about twenty-five miles away on an east-west line, to permit Washington to watch his enemy. New Brunswick and Amboy were about the same distance, so Morristown was not isolated and the army there could not be cut off, for escape to the west through passes in the hills was available. And should Howe push out from New York against Philadelphia, he could be struck on his flanks. The army at Morristown could also hit Howe if he went up the Hudson Valley.
