With tactical clarity and considerable insight, Washington already envisioned how the outcome of the upcoming showdown at Trenton could be determined mostly by the proper employment of artillery, especially if carefully placed on high ground. While the blustery winter wind whistled down the Delaware and through the thin apparel of Washington’s men, Knox’s guns, ammunition, and horses continued to be loaded as fast as possible yet gingerly on at least four sturdy ferry boats. Impeding the grueling work of loading cumbersome artillery pieces, the snow and temperatures, dipping below thirty degrees in the early morning hours, continued to plummet upon Washington’s men. Compared to the task of transporting hundreds of infantrymen across the river in the Durham boats, the formidable job of getting all of Washington’s artillery—or nearly four hundred tons in total weight—across the watery expanse was far more challenging. Almost as if yet reposing at his comfortable Massachusetts home beside his independent-minded wife Lucy, who believed in sharing a sense of equality with her husband, the composed Knox was now “no more perturbed in a nocturnal blizzard on the Delaware River than he would have been in a warm tavern after closing his bookshop” in fashionable Boston.67
One at a time, each artillery piece was rolled carefully onto the approximately twelve-foot wide, wooden decks of the ferry boats with vigorous effort. The cannon were then made as securely as possible in place by the gunners. Evidently, the artillery pieces were lashed to wooden railings on the ferry boat’s raised sides to keep Washington’s most precious “long-arm” cargoes from rolling during the harrowing passage over the river. Very likely, heavy wooden blocks were also placed at the base of artillery wheels to prevent excessive movement once underway.
After the cannon were finally hauled aboard, nervous artillery horses were then led onto ferry boats in the eerie blackness. Washington’s artillerymen, meanwhile, did all that they could to keep artillery horses calm in the tension-filled darkness, so that they would not rearup, buck, or cause a panic among other animals to shift weight during the crossing. Once the guns and horses were secured and the ferry boat finally lurched out into dark waters, experienced ferrymen and boatmen, like James Slack and other capable watermen, and Knox’s veteran gunners worked closely together in pulling the lengthy rope, or cable, that extended to the opposite bank that must have seemed like miles away. As part of an extensive pulley system and likewise propelled by men working oars, the large ferry boats were muscled against the rushing currents and through the steady flow of ice chunks, despite those that crashed into the thin, wooden sides of the lumbering, slow-moving ferry boats with loud thuds.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the first ferry boats disgorged their invaluable “long-arm” contents on the New Jersey side. Overall, the unloading process was easier than imagined because of the openings on either end of the ferry boat consisted of large ramps that had been made for securely landing of wagons, cattle, and teams of horses. In addition, the landing site at Johnson’s Ferry was excellent for wheeling cumbersome artillery pieces ashore because the shelf of bottom ground, part of the diminutive flood plain, was level and situated just west of where the ground began to rise up sharply to the snow-covered Johnson Ferry House. With a distinctive architectural design—even for western New Jersey—of having two fireplaces located in the house’s middle as opposed to the ends as usual, the bright lights inside illuminated the Johnson Ferry House. Therefore, this small house now stood like a shiny beacon on higher ground for the busy boatmen yet struggling across the river and the lengthy formation of Continentals toiling uphill at a snail’s pace along the slippery slope and through the falling snow.
However, this laborious process of loading and unloading artillery, neighing horses, and heavy ammunition carts and the methodical passage back and forth across the river took longer than anyone expected. And, of course, the ferry boats, around forty feet in length, presented larger targets than the Durham boats to the ice floes unhinged upriver by the recent thaw. Suddenly out of the blackness, large chucks of ice struck the wide sides of the ferry boats, pushing them a bit downriver with the current, stretching the rope cable linking them from shore to shore. Besides experienced ferryman Slack, other civilian volunteers from Hopewell, New Jersey, also provided timely assistance during Washington’s tortuous crossing. Meanwhile, this hellish night became even colder with the northeaster growing more severe during the bleak, early morning hours. Such deplorable climactic conditions now made the unenviable job of transporting so much artillery across the river seemingly an even more “impossible” task, in Knox’s estimation, while Washington’s delicate timetable—he had planned for all of both his infantry and cannon to cross by midnight—continued to fall apart in the mud and snow.
All the while, Knox’s cannon continued to be unloaded one by one, thanks to at least four ferry boats in full operation. At long last, the final field piece was rolled by exhausted artillerymen onto New Jersey soil to complete a task that could only be described as nightmarish. Almost certainly, the wet, mud-splattered men who had struggled mightily with these heavy guns for what seemed like infinity breathed a sign of relief, while resting to regain their strength. For most of the night, Glover’s mariners, assisted by Captain Moulder’s Philadelphia boys who now served under one of the battery’s best lieutenants, Lieutenant Cuthbert, had poled, rowed, guided, and steered the flotilla of Durham boats and then ferried them successfully through the gales, sleet, and snow. In total, they ferried twenty-nine infantry regiments and battalions; one small light cavalry company from Philadelphia; and more than two hundred artillery and cavalry horses (of the officer corps, including Washington’s staff, and the Philadelphia company) and seven complete artillery units, representing four states, across the most temperamental river that any of these men had ever seen.
Incredibly, Glover’s Marbleheaders performed their crucial mission of transporting around 2,400 soldiers, about thirty-five to forty men (therefore perhaps as many as nearly seventy trips across the river by the Durham boats based on an average of thirty-five men per boat) at a time in each Durham boat, across an eight hundred-foot stretch of water so efficiently that not a soldier or horse was lost. Most importantly, no artillery pieces were lost, even at the snowstorm’s height, to the utter amazement of one and all. Thanks to the broad, lengthy ferry boats and Knox and Glover’s tireless efforts to inspire their men to do the impossible in the storm’s depths, Washington’s entire artillery arm was now in a position to advance on Trenton.
All in all, Washington’s audacious nighttime crossing had taken eight hours in what was a freezing nightmare that was almost surreal to the men in the ranks. However, against all odds, this seemingly impossible mission was finally accomplished, but three hours late. Clearly, Washington’s timetable had been as unrealistic as it was overly optimistic. In the end, even Knox was surprised (and proud of course) at his amazing crossing success after eight hours of the most intensive, arduous effort yet put forth by any American soldiers in this war. As Knox penned in his letter: “About two o’clock the troops were all on the Jersey side [and] we then were about nine miles from the object.”68
Born in County Derry, amid the rolling hills of northern Ireland, Colonel John Haslet and his crack First Delaware Continental Regiment, now reduced to only 108 men, was assigned as the rear-guard at McConkey’s Ferry, because of their discipline, toughness, and reliability. The Delaware regiment was the last infantry unit to cross the Delaware, after the final artillery piece reached the New Jersey side. As Haslet penned in a letter to his friend Caesar Rodney: “On Christmas, at 3 o’clock we recrossed the river” of no return, at least until a victory was won by Washington’s ragged revolutionaries at Trenton.69 Summarizing the most risky of operations that he had so skillfully managed with typical personal finesse and traditional New England efficiency, Colonel Knox concluded with justifiable satisfaction in a letter to wife Lucy how: “Accordingly a part of the army, consisting of about 2,500 or 3,000 [2,400] passed the river on C
hristmas night, with almost infinite difficulty, with eighteen pieces of artillery [and] The floating ice in the river made the labor almost incredible. However, perseverance accomplished what at first seemed impossible.”70
Never one to exaggerate, especially when it came to his own personal accomplishments, Knox’s unprecedented use of the word “incredible” was not hyperbole because not a single artillery piece or cannoneer found a watery grave in the swirling Delaware. Despite the harsh arctic gales, ice floes, high waters, pitch blackness, and the heaviest punishment from a mixture of snow, hail, and sleet, and just an ever-optimistic Glover had first promised Washington with a self-assured confidence not questioned by anyone in this army, the most audacious river crossing of the war succeeded in the end.
Without all that Knox and Glover had accomplished in a seemingly impossible situation, the entire “expedition would no doubt have failed,” when America could no longer afford such a sharp setback. Glover’s experienced mariners had even surpassed their remarkable performance in evacuating Washington’s stranded forces off Long Island and away from Howe’s greedy clutches. At that time, the “war might have ended months ago on Long Island if Glover’s regiment had not saved the beat army and its equipment” near the end of August 1776. And now Glover had succeeded in keeping the very heart and pulse of America’s primary resistance effort alive by what he and his mariners had achieved by bestowing upon Washington the opportunity to fulfill his tactical ambitious and masterful battle plan. In the end, Colonel Glover made good his almost cocky, but solemn, promise to Washington: that he and his Marblehead mariners could do the impossible and succeed in transporting the entire army, including artillery, across the Delaware without incident or loss. “You need not be troubled [as] my boys can manage it.”71
The full extent of the difficulties in crossing the Delaware at the storm’s peak was best seen in the dismal fate of Cadwalader and Ewing’s columns that met with frustration to the south. The thwarted commanders of both assault columns simply concluded that it was “impossible” to cross the Delaware and fulfill their key missions as assigned by Washington. Washington’s overly ambitious undertaking of a simultaneous three-pronged crossing along such a lengthy stretch of the Delaware was a flat failure, except in regard to the main assault column.
Ironically, however, Washington’s primary assault column had been wisely disproportionately bolstered by artillery, which in part compensated for such a dire eventuality that would seem to have sabotaged all chances for success: clearly, a result of Washington’s wisdom rather than a mere stroke of good fortune. In the end, Cadwalader’s diversionary effort—which targeted Burlington—with his Pennsylvania militia and New England Continentals and militia to Trenton’s south at Dunk’s Ferry was aborted, while Ewing’s troops (who were to have linked with Washington at Trenton) never crossed at South Trenton Ferry just below Trenton, Assunpink Creek, and Trenton Falls (the fall line located immediately north of Trenton), because of “the Quantity of Ice [“tidal ice jams”] was so great” on the Delaware. The overall situation became so precarious that an overwhelmed Ewing failed to even attempt a crossing because of the concentration of ice flows, backed up by Trenton Falls, that made the river’s sharp elbow turn impassible.
Even though Cadwalader crossed at Dunk’s Ferry after aborting his crossing at Bristol just to the north as originally planned, with his mostly Philadelphia Associators, or militia, and more than five hundred New Englanders, he simply concluded around 4:00 a.m. that his artillery pieces could not be taken across because of the storm’s severity, ice floes, and the “heavy ice pack” that covered the river’s east bank. Mistakenly assuming that Washington’s main column had likewise been similarly frustrated in crossing the Delaware, therefore, Cadwalader returned to the Pennsylvania shore. Displaying little of Washington’s iron determination, Cadwalader gave up the attempt because he “imagine[d] the badness of the night must have prevented you from passing over as you intended.” Fortunately, for America’s fortunes, Washington, Knox, and Glover had been more persistent and resolute in completing the first phase of their crucial mission upon which America’s hopes now hinged. Determined not to be thwarted from crossing the Delaware by anything unleashed by man or Mother Nature, this dynamic trio of America’s finest military leaders succeeded in doing the impossible on the night of December 25–26.72
Most importantly, the systematic falling apart of Washington’s three-pronged assault plan—already around three hours behind schedule by 3:00 a.m.—only indicated the wisdom of Washington’s farsighted decision that all of Knox’s artillery should accompany the main column, which now packed the disproportionate might of “long-arm” firepower. Clearly, in the end, Washington’s faith in what the experience, skill, and esprit de corps of Glover’s mariner command could accomplish on the Delaware’s waters was well-rewarded.73 With his timetable in shambles, a frustrated, if not angry, Washington lamented how the vast “quantity of Ice, made that Night, impeded the passage of Boats so much, that it was three Oclock [a.m.] before the Artillery could all be got over” the Delaware.74 This significant setback “made me despair of surprizing [sic] the Town, as I well knew we could not reach it before the day fairly broke. . . .”75
But there was a silver lining. Fortunately, Washington’s wise decision to bring all of his artillery—seven three-pounders, three four-pounders, six six-pounders, and two five and a half-inch howitzers—with him was perhaps his most important decision of the campaign. This disproportionate, massive amount of artillery firepower—far exceeding the normal ratio of cannon per the number of troops—was exactly what was needed to stack the odds in Washington’s favor in the upcoming showdown at Trenton, especially now that two of three columns had failed to cross the Delaware. Fully convinced that his eighteen guns would decide the day at Trenton on December 26, Washington’s wisdom and foresight now dramatically maximized his chances for success.
Clearly, thanks to the crisis situation, the forty-five-year-old Washington had now evolved into a first class tactical visionary, who planned to utilize his artillery arm for maximum effect in an offensive role more thoroughly than ever before. Indeed, Washington planned to not only surprise but also to overwhelm the Hessian brigade with massive artillery firepower as early as possible. Such a well-calculated tactical decision, as much as any other made by the resolute Virginian in his finest hour, demonstrated the depth of Washington’s tactical reasoning and wisdom that had risen to the fore. In part because he felt that he had nothing to lose with America’s life on the brink of an early death, Washington was now on a winning streak in regard to having already made a host of smart, well-conceived command and tactical decisions long before meeting his Trenton opponent in the dramatic showdown to decide America’s fate.
Meanwhile, Washington’s infantrymen continued to move inland. After each Durham boatload of troops reached the frozen New Jersey side and the Continentals jumped overboard to wade through freezing water up to their knees in some cases, Washington’s soldiers had then assembled on the river bottom’s level ground at the foot of the slight, but sharp, river bluff, covered with thick stands of hardwood timber. Then, the cold-numbed Continentals, thankful for a safe passage over the angriest river that they had ever crossed, moved in a silent column up the heavily timbered slope, easing along the snow-covered road that ran beside the Johnson Ferry House. From the elevated perch of the Johnson Ferry House, the forested terrain rose around three hundred yards until a fairly level plateau of high ground above the river was reached by Washington’s soldiers of liberty.
Here, on the windswept plateau, in perhaps an open apple or peach orchard which abounded on this splendid 490-acre New Jersey farm, Washington’s seven Continental brigades assembled amid the falling snow and icy winds that swept through their ranks with a vengeance. Washington’s soldiers, wet and weary, formed up in line, coughing, sneezing, and shivering in the biting cold. But the Continentals yet remained quiet as sternly ordered by Washington, maintain
ing discipline. For once, none of the usual talking or complaining was heard among the men in the inky blackness.
Half-frozen Continentals stomped up and down to keep circulation flowing, trying hard to warm. Seeing his ill-clothed troops suffering so severely, Washington then once again gambled. Many soldiers had gotten their feet wet from either standing in the Durham boat’s bottom or by jumping out of the boat and into shallow water upon nearing the Jersey shore, or both. And a good many of Washington’s men were already in bad shape, having been ill on the Pennsylvania side in recent weeks. In fact, many Continentals should have been in an infirmary instead of active campaigning, especially on a freezing winter night amid a snowstorm. Therefore, Washington ordered bonfires built to warm up his suffering men, who were shivering in the heartless winds and soaked from their knees down in some cases. All the while and without mercy, the icy wind “cuts like a knife,” wrote one half-frozen soldier.
Washington’s decision to allow his troops, thanks to their trusty pieces of flint and steel from knapsacks and wet pockets, to build fires was yet a risky one, because Hessian scouts or patrols might be roaming in the vicinity. But he felt it was absolutely necessary to get his troops in better condition for any chance of successfully meeting the many stiff challenges that lay ahead. Washington gambled that the little fires on the high ground would not be seen by any advanced Hessian scouts or British cavalry, because of the blinding tempest. Here, atop the little plateau that loomed above the Delaware, Washington’s weary infantrymen gained some much-needed rest and warmth, before the inevitable order to move out into the stormy depths of the unmapped New Jersey countryside.
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