Significantly, in his most risky operation to date, Washington for the first time now employed a wide river to his tactical advantage because the over-confident Hessians at Trenton were convinced that the Americans could not possibly cross the angry and swollen Delaware in wintertime. Most importantly, Washington had learned a host of invaluable lessons in regard to the distinct advantages of amphibious warfare and how to catch an opponent by surprise. After having retired across the Delaware with Washington’s Army in early December, the cerebral but homespun Thomas Paine marveled at Washington’s high level of competence in conducting a disciplined, organized withdrawal of ill-trained troops across New Jersey, especially in regard to always-risky river crossings: “With a handful of men we sustained an orderly retreat . . . and had four rivers to cross.”15 But perhaps Lieutenant Samuel Blachley Webb, a Bunker Hill and Connecticut Line veteran who had been a former General Israel Putnam aide and now served as Washington’s private secretary, said it best in a December 16 letter. With a wry sense of humor that revealed an inherent quality of his rustic revolutionaries that now worked to Washington’s benefit, Webb emphasized how: “Never was finer lads at a retreat than we are. . . .”16 But at long last, Washington and his seasoned Continentals were going forward, not backward to escape an opponent, while employing the same well-honed skills that they had used in slipping across the Delaware and other eastern rivers to escape the eager clutches of Lieutenant General William Howe, the overall British commander in America.
Indeed, not only the men in the ranks but also Washington and his top lieutenant Henry Knox, who commanded the army’s artillery, had become experts at the art of withdrawing this army and its weapons across a series of rivers. Washington had gained invaluable experience from the complex interplay in carefully coordinating delicate, stealthy movements between land and water forces—thanks in no small part to the abundant maritime skills of Colonel John Glover’s hardy mariners mostly from Marblehead, Massachusetts—that had ensured the Continental Army’s survival during the New York campaign.
Washington also now possessed the ability to transport his army across the Delaware once again because he had made doubly sure that he possessed a sufficient number of boats to cross the last natural obstacle that lay before Philadelphia, America’s beleaguered capital, located barely thirty miles southwest of Trenton. Under the protective cover of the previous night, Christmas Eve, Washington had ordered a stealthy concentration of the previously gathered flotilla of boats, including flat-bottomed scows, for the perilous crossing. These vessels had been recently collected by four capable New Jersey militia commanders: Captains David Bray, who gathered twenty-five boats; Thomas Jones; and Jacob Gearhart—all of the Second Regiment, Hunterdon County, militia; and Colonel Philemon Dickinson, who commanded six regiments (each unit represented a specific county, either Burlington or Hunterdon) of his militia brigade. Hidden along the timbered Pennsylvania shore and in the midst of brown, dense thickets that covered low-lying, wooded islands near the shore above Sam McConkey’s Ferry, where Washington planned to cross with his main force, the boats had been located close enough to now facilitate a quick concentration and a Christmas Day crossing.
Most of these invaluable vessels had been gathered by Continentals from multiple detachments as directed by Washington. But Rhode Islander General Nathanael Greene, Washington’s “right arm,” had also ordered General James Ewing and his rural Pennsylvania militiamen of a homespun brigade of five regiments, on December 10 to collect anything afloat on the Delaware to the south. During the last more than a week and a half on this cold December and as orchestrated with a deliberate, meticulous thoroughness by Washington, the relentless search for additional boats up and down the Delaware had been complete, including wide-ranging search parties that scoured the upper regions of not only the Delaware River but also the Lehigh Rivers, a 103-mile tributary of the Delaware in eastern Pennsylvania. Washington fully understood that the more boats he collected, the more quickly and effectively he would be able to transport his troops across the river from Pennsylvania to New Jersey when time was of the essence.
Therefore, Washington now possessed at least sixteen Durham boats, perhaps even more of these sturdy vessels that had long plied the Delaware’s waters. The Durham boats were now the key to a successful crossing and the descent upon the Trenton garrison. Concealed for weeks in unmapped inlets, up narrow creeks, and on low-lying, densely wooded (despite the absence of leaves), and reed-covered islands, the Durham boats had been securely guarded by the troops of Lord Stirling’s Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Delaware brigades. Washington had earlier informed Lord Stirling (William Alexander) to move the fleet of boats downriver under cover of the inky darkness and concentrate this most unorthodox, odd-looking of flotillas at McConkey’s Ferry.
Washington’s wise precautions in having hidden the Durham boats under the cover of heavy timber, with dark-colored hulls blending in with brown, wintertime forests, immediately north of McConkey’s ferry, proved most effective. The flotilla of boats had been quietly assembled under cover of the cold darkness just north of the ferry from where they were floated down with the surging current to where Washington’s army planned to embark his force for the crossing. The boats were then brought down by Glover’s able mariners from New England and hidden behind Taylor Island at McConkey’s Ferry before a greater increase of ice floes filled the Delaware to hamper the laborious collection process.17
As early as December 22, an optimistic Colonel John Fitzgerald, a “warm hearted, brave and honest Irishman” of Washington’s staff from Alexandria, Virginia, located on the west side of the Potomac just north of Mount Vernon, penned in his diary how “at McConkey’s Ferry . . . A portion of the boats are there,” after having been “brought downriver [with the current] to [Washington’s] point of embarkation” across the Delaware.18 Additional units of Washington’s lengthy column, after having departed their Bucks County, Pennsylvania, encampments and assembled for an evening parade, converged on the main ferry crossing at McConkey’s Ferry under the cold veil of the near-darkness to avoid detection as Washington had planned. Here, along a level shelf of bottomland located on the river’s west side, hundreds of soldiers patiently awaited the order to board their assigned boats before embarking upon their risky journey across the overflowing Delaware that seemed to span endlessly to the New Jersey side of the river.
Washington’s men maintained a perfect silence as directed by the commander-in-chief, even though the common soldiers yet had no idea of their ultimate destination or of Washington’s exact plan on this frigid Christmas Day. Those young men and boys, almost all of whom were unable to swim, felt increasing apprehension, struggling to master their steadily mounting fears in the near-blackness beside the ice-coated Delaware. With sturdy .75 caliber Brown Bess flintlock muskets by the sides, Washington’s soldiers were ready to do their duty, which now entailed considerably more risk than any previous mission. At McConkey’s Ferry, even stoic Continentals without shoes, but with carefully wrapped feet, stood patiently in the thick mud, churned up by the gathering, that felt as cold as ice, without complaining as so often in the past.
An especially ambitious member of General Horatio Gates’s staff, teenage Major James Wilkinson had just galloped all the way from Philadelphia for an opportunity to join Washington’s main strike force. Gates kindly fulfilled Wilkinson’s animated request to see action by writing a short note to Washington, providing a suitable excuse for the Marylander’s unbridled zeal to see combat. A promising brigade leader despite his youthful impetuousness, the irrepressible Wilkinson reached Washington’s forces just before the silent crowd of ill-clad revolutionaries began to embark upon the risky crossing of the icy Delaware. Riding past the lengthy column of soldiers wrapped in nervousness, anxiety, and too little clothing, Wilkinson delivered General Gates’s letter to Washington, when he was “alone” and just as the commander-in-chief, with riding whip in hand and wearing his dark military cloak, was abou
t to mount his horse and initiate the crossing of the Delaware.
Therefore, an incredulous Washington merely blurted out to the over-eager teenage staff officer, “What a time is this to hand me letters?” Wilkinson then informed the already overburdened and severely taxed Virginian that one sealed letter was from Gates, who had been pleading illness to skirt Washington’s directives to assist him in his most hazardous operation to date. An irritated Washington responded, “Where is General Gates?” The young Marylander answered that the England-born Gates was in Philadelphia instead of located at the Delaware rivertown of Bristol, Bucks County, as Washington had ordered. Despite already knowing the answer, Washington asked why the conniving Gates was yet in the nation’s capital at such a crucial moment.
Young Wilkinson, who hailed from the rolling hills of southern Maryland tobacco country, then answered that the ever-ambitious Gates was conferring with Congress, scheming as usual behind Washington’s back. Indeed, Gates was now on his way to Baltimore, where Congress had fled from the seemingly doomed Philadelphia, to confer with the president of Congress, John Hancock, in a shrewd attempt to gain political support and replace the much-maligned Washington. Here, along the windswept Delaware, Wilkinson was shocked by Washington’s sudden but well-justified loss of temper, which he had long sought to control but never completely mastered, even toward his own mother.19
For ample good reason, Washington had slipped into a foul mood because so many things were already beginning to go awry, especially with the winter storm’s arrival that now seemed to threaten all of his carefully laid plans and mock the commander-in-chief’s quixotic ambitions. Knowing that time was not on his side, Washington now felt that his mostly farm boys moved too slowly to delay the crossing, threatening the fragile timetable. Worst of all and along with the descending “nor’easter,” the river’s high waters and the unexpected large ice floes that suddenly appeared on Christmas Day threatened not only the crossing timetable but also the entire battle plan. Washington never forgot how it had taken five days for his army to cross the Delaware in the fair weather conditions of early December during the recent retreat to escape Howe’s pursuit.
Therefore, Washington was now haunted by the most torturous question of all: exactly how long would it now take for his army to cross the Delaware under such deplorable winter conditions? Not surprising, Washington’s temper flashed more than once when slightly impertinent but well-meaning officers (certainly young staff officers but perhaps even general officers) suggested that he postpone the increasingly precarious river crossing until the following night, if the storm passed. But nothing could now shake Washington’s firm resolve or determination to forge ahead, despite the increasing risks. Knowing that it was now or never, he continued to demonstrate steely nerves, will power, and strength of character at the most critical moment.20
Now nearly three hundred miles from his beloved Boston to the northeast, the irrepressible Colonel Henry Knox, one of Washington’s most gifted top lieutenants despite his youth, never forgot on “that bitter night when the commander-in-chief had drawn up his little army to cross it, and had seen the powerful current bearing onward the floating masses of ice which threatened destruction to whosoever should venture upon its bosom [and] threatened to defeat the enterprise [an anxious Washington then made the urgent] demand, ‘Who will lead us on?’ [which was promptly answered by Glover and] the men of Marblehead and Marblehead alone, stood forward [and so] went the fishermen of Marblehead” to the flotilla of boats clustered along the icy shore.”21 And this crucial crossing of the Delaware was only possible by the efforts of the Massachusetts mariners under “Glover, about five and forty [age forty-four and a year younger than Washington], a little man, but active and a good soldier,” wrote one officer.22
Indeed, at a time when veteran American officers doubted the wisdom of Washington’s overambitious nighttime operation and risky strike across the Delaware to descend upon Trenton from the north, this was a turning point because it seemed that everything was now in jeopardy. Washington’s complex battle plan now depended upon the contributions of only a relatively few New England soldiers—a mere thirty officers and 147 enlisted New England men, who now held the army’s and the infant republic’s lives in their hands. Fortunately for America, these hardy mariners of the Fourteenth Massachusetts Continental Regiment were elite members of Washington’s combined amphibious, marine, and “ferrying command.” For the formidable challenge of the most dangerous river crossing of the war, Washington now commanded some of the most experienced and durable men in all America. Glover’s Massachusetts soldiers knew how to successfully cope with the harshest elements and rough waters, especially in cold, stormy weather. Most of all, these sturdy mariners from New England’s leading ports could do the impossible in a crisis situation.
One fundamental reason that explained Washington’s confidence lay in his faith in what these mariners could accomplish against the odds. Washington knew that he could rely completely on the scrappy and hard-driving but modest Colonel Glover and his seasoned Massachusetts men. After all, this present precarious situation was not the first time that everything hinged upon the seafaring capabilities, toughness, and experience of these Massachusetts mariners.
As highly respected members of America’s first truly amphibious and marine regiment of ten companies of the so-called Marblehead Regiment, these Massachusetts Continentals were Washington’s most versatile soldiers and the undisputed masters of amphibious operations. Occasionally causing headaches for generals but only when not engaged in battle or a risky operation, Glover’s Massachusetts boys were high-spirited boatmen, fishermen, and sailors, who were “always full of fun and mischief.” Although some of these New Englanders hailed from other fishing communities, like Salem, Beverly, and Lynn, along Massachusetts’s rocky north shore beside cold, blue waters, the vast majority of these seafarers came straight from the picturesque port of Marblehead, situated just north of Boston.
To Washington’s homespun farm boys of English descent from the Piedmont, tobacco-chewing, horse race-loving aristocratic planter’s sons of the Virginia Tidewater, and roughhewn Scotch-Irish woodsmen from the western frontier, these Marbleheaders seemed almost like men from another world and time. First, Glover’s men were foremost products of the sea. Most of all, these dependable mariners were immensely proud of their distinctive seafaring heritage and culture, insular, picturesque fishing community, and its magnificent sheltering harbor, nestled on the south side of a craggy Marblehead or “Great Neck” peninsula that jutted northeastward into the Atlantic.
Marblehead was located just southeast of the port of Salem. Settled around 1629 by free-thinking individualists and devout religious dissenters who had fled north from Boston’s restrictive Puritan theocracy, Marblehead was situated in the southeast corner of Essex County. Marblehead boasted of one of New England’s finest harbors, sheltered and almost landlocked, which was a precious gift from the blessings of nature to the seafaring community. Besides a sturdy work ethic, this excellent harbor explained the extent of Marblehead’s longtime prosperity, after these enterprising people broke away from exploitative Boston and Salem merchants to sell their bountiful catches, mostly cod, directly to European and the Caribbean markets. Perched on a commanding, rocky ridge worn down by centuries of turbulent Atlantic coastal weather, this quaint fishing town of Marblehead presented a most disorderly yet scenic appearance. Reflecting their individualism and excessive democratic proclivities, Marblehead’s residents had simply built their wooden houses of all sizes and shapes at every imaginable angle, erecting them anywhere precious space existed along the narrow, rock-strewn peninsula.
Along the Delaware River’s west bank on this cold Christmas evening, Glover’s seafaring men even now reflected their novel cultural, regional, and occupational distinctiveness in their own dissimilar appearances and unconventional attitudes that contrasted sharply with Washington’s landlubber soldiers. Instead of standard Continental regula
tion uniforms of blue, Glover’s men wore lightweight brown coats, trimmed in blue and with pewter buttons marked the numeral 14 on them. These standard New England fishing coats covered traditional seafaring garb, including fishing trousers, blue round jackets, some old waterproof leather buttons, and sailor’s caps of thick wool that protected ears and heads on this stormy night. This traditional apparel had long warded off the bitter punishment of the north Atlantic’s waters of the Labrador current and high, crashing waves of the Grand Banks. Here, along the turbulent Delaware on this Christmas evening so far from Marblehead, it looked almost as if Glover’s mariners were yet working on their fishing boats at one of the world’s greatest fisheries, the mist-shrouded Grand Banks situated on the Atlantic’s sprawling Continental shelf. New England’s leading fishing capital, Marblehead shipped more cod and other cold-water, bottom-feeding fish to the Caribbean sugar islands to feed the great mass of slaves necessary for sugar cane cultivation than any other New England fishing community.
Most importantly for the ultimate success of Washington’s amphibious operation to cross the Delaware, Glover’s Marblehead regiment was distinguished by its iron discipline, which even outmatched that of the legendary Hessian soldiers. In fact, these Bay State mariners were the most disciplined men in the Continental Army, immeasurably enhancing Washington’s chances for success on this darkest and most tempestuous of nights. Quite simply, with Colonel Glover, a former daring sea captain of wide-ranging sloops and schooners, commanding his unique, multi-faceted regiment from Massachusetts as firmly on land as if yet facing dangers out at sea, this crack Continental unit was the army’s best disciplined and most reliable regiment. The isolated environment of Marblehead’s close-knit community and the crucial requirement for seamen to work closely together as a unit while fishing Newfoundland’s lucrative but dangerous cod grounds created a teamwork-minded group of men. Therefore, they now performed as one in preparing for the perilous Delaware crossing. After all, far out in the rough waters of the north Atlantic, it was absolutely essential that everyone worked together closely and efficiently for survival. These special, unique qualities—especially among an amateur army of ever-independent-minded citizen soldiers—had early helped to transform Glover’s command into one of the Continental Army’s best units.
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