Perhaps Colonel Knox, who felt some sympathy for his enemy’s plight, best described the totality of the Hessians’ no-win situation: “The poor fellows [were] completely surrounded [after] The Hessians lost part of their cannon in the town,” and were doomed by Washington’s encroaching formations and the rows of cannon surrounding them.19
From the Mispillion River country of southern Delaware, Ireland-born Colonel Haslet, although slightly exaggerating the total number of disconsolate prisoners by around one hundred, wrote in a letter how Stirling’s troops forced “1000 Hessians” to surrender.20 Indeed, the hard-fighting Scotsman, who was initially the senior ranking officer at the apple orchard surrender site before Washington’s arrival, received the saber of the highest ranking Hessian officer, Lieutenant Colonel Scheffer, who commanded the von Lossberg Regiment before taking overall brigade command after Rall was fatally shot down.21
In a December 28 letter, the understandably proud Stirling emphasized his key role without a trace of modesty. As Stirling penned to Governor William Livingston, his own brother-in-law, how during: “our little expedition to Trenton . . . we made a complete surprise of them [and] I had the honour to make two regiments of them surrender prisoners of war” to his Pennsylvania, Virginia, and Delaware soldiers, who gained a measure of vengeance for losing so many comrades on Long Island.22
In waging his own holy war to free his occupied home state, Stirling was New Jersey’s premier officer by this time. At the battle of Long Island, one Hessian officer was convinced that this self-styled “lord” with “sword in hand, had forced his people to fight against the King.” Stirling was only too familiar with the twisting, ever-unpredictable fortunes of war. He had been captured after having orchestrated one of the war’s most audacious charges upon the stone house, held by Cornwallis’s legions, on the Gowanus Road during the battle of Long Island on August 27. This aristocratic gentleman who fought Hessians as hard as he drank, Stirling now felt absolute jubilation about the remarkable scene presented to the beaming victors in the apple orchard. After all, Washington’s most one-sided victory to date had occurred on Stirling’s own home soil of New Jersey.23
Since Stirling commanded two Virginia units, the First and Third Virginia Continental Regiments, of his four-regiment brigade, and especially because of the success of Captain Washington’s vanguard attack which had captured the Rall Regiment’s two cannon on King Street, many Americans, especially Southerners consumed with sectional pride, believed that “the Virginians won Trenton.” For what he accomplished at Trenton, Stirling earned a well-deserved promotion to major general in February 1777.24 Additional regional rivalry was evident in the words of New Englander William Hull, who penned in a letter how “Pennsylvania itself is obliged to acknowledge the Bravery of New Eng’d Troops” at Trenton.25
Besides the Virginians, Stirling’s other two regiments, one from Pennsylvania and the other from Delaware, reaped more than their fair share of laurels. Colonel Haslet and his First Delaware Continental Regiment had performed magnificently on December 26. A former Presbyterian minister from Ulster Province, Ireland, Haslet emphasized how the entire brigade, and not just the Virginians, had been instrumental in winning the most glorious of victories. In a January 1, 1777, letter to Caesar Rodney, which was one of his last letters before the combative Irishman’s January 3, 1777 death at Princeton, Haslet described how Stirling’s brigade “had the honor of fighting 1000 Hessians to a surrender.”26
Although he would “not pass for a Lord in England,” as one amused Hessian officer lampooned, Stirling was especially elated by what his tough Continentals had accomplished under his capable leadership. In a strange twist of fate after “the proud Scotsman” had been captured in a hot Long Island cornfield in late August, while waving a flintlock pistol in each hand in attempting to rally his outnumbered troops, Stirling had sought out the highest ranking Hessian officer to surrender his sword to rather than a hated British officer. Stirling had then handed his saber over to General Leopold Philip von Heister, overall commander of Hessian troops in America, when surrounded by a throng of British soldiers. Stirling had surrendered his sword to the German general, suffering the greatest humiliation of his life. Then, he had been roughed up and “treated . . . so badly” by some strong-armed Hessian enlisted men that he sought protection from a high-ranking commander. Stirling, consequently, gained a great measure of personal satisfaction—although he demonstrated no bitterness or vengeance this cold morning—in accepting the surrender of so many downcast Hessians and in receiving Scheffer’s ornate saber.27
All in all under black, stormy skies, the Rall and von Lossberg Regiment’s sullen surrender in the apple orchard was well-deserved payback for the Long Island fiasco, where the Hessians had captured more than five hundred Americans and eleven battle flags, including revolutionary banners embroidered with “Liberty.” However, an unexpected, eerie silence yet prevailed over the apple orchard with the unbelievable sight of so many Hessians surrendering, which was almost beyond comprehension to the ragtag Americans.
Then, all of a sudden, the strange spell suddenly broke. Across the open ground surrounding the windswept apple orchard and amid the falling snow, Washington’s victorious soldiers unleashed a spontaneous chorus of wild cheering. Sounding and acting almost like crazy men in a spontaneous explosion of pent-up emotions, American soldiers were more than jubilant. Some men even became a bit unmanageable for the first time since embarking upon their greatest challenge more than a dozen hours before, throwing hats into the air and shouting their lungs out. The freezing cold no longer felt so severe as these ragged young men and boys, so often defeated in battle against these same crack grenadiers and fusiliers, shouted themselves hoarse. Back-slapping, hugging, and hearty handshakes rippled down the now-broken ranks, while discipline vanished into thin air. Announcing America’s most unexpected and surprising victory of the war, a resounding “Huzza” echoed across the apple orchard and farmer’s fields covered in a shroud of freshly fallen snow.
Almost as if yet back in the busy streets of Dublin, at a popular County Cork festival, or along the picturesque coast in Galway, Ireland, perhaps some of Washington’s Celtic-Gaelic soldiers, who had been long held in such contempt by the British, briefly danced Irish jigs from their ancient Celtic-Gaelic homeland so far away to celebrate. Half-frozen feet, empty stomachs, and the loss of so many comrades and the humiliating disasters of Long Island, Kip’s Bay, and Fort Washington were momentarily forgotten in the joyous celebration. Meanwhile, more pious soldiers, especially New Englanders of strict Puritan backgrounds, said silent prayers to themselves as if back home at the family’s pew, giving thanks where it was due for survival. No doubt like Washington, they also offered praise to God for the most improbable of victories to breathe new life into what had been a failed resistance effort before they crossed the Delaware. At long last, young soldiers, including beardless teenagers, nearly barefoot men, and drummer boys, from Massachusetts, Virginia, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, and other states felt a new lease on life for themselves and their infant nation conceived in liberty.
Meanwhile hundreds of benumbed Hessians were practically in a state of shock in experiencing their first defeat at the hands of their most contemptible opponent. In consequence, these soldiers who had never tasted defeat were silent and angry in the gathering gloom of the apple orchard, while the Americans celebrated. A deep sense of humiliation overwhelmed these vanquished fusiliers and grenadiers on this most nightmarish of mornings in a strange land far from home. Forced to swallow their pride and relinquish the thought that the American rebellion, unlike in Ireland and Scotland, was all but over, a good many von Lossberg fusiliers and Rall grenadiers became especially bitter, experiencing a shame that cut more severely than the piercing cold. One upset Hessian corporal swore how in no uncertain terms “had not Colonel Rahl been severely wounded, we would never have been taken alive!”28
However, Washington himself said it best, because if the
Rall and von Lossberg Regiments had not surrendered at this time, then “they must inevitably be cut to pieces” by the lengthy rows of muskets and cannon manned by determined veterans, who had refused to believe or admit that they were in fact a vanquished people, after so many 1776 reversals.29 For the crestfallen Rall Regiment grenadiers and von Lossberg Regiment fusiliers, they now must have wondered about the strange destiny that had brought them to this little, but prosperous, commercial town along the Delaware River, where they had finally met their match in a rawboned, gentleman farmer from Mount Vernon and his band of ragamuffin citizen soldiers, who had indeed followed him to hell and back on December 26.
Chapter X
The Knyphausen Regiment’s Submission
About a quarter of a mile directly south of the final capitulation drama played out in the apple orchard where the von Lossberg and Rall Regiments surrendered, around three hundred fusiliers of the Knyphausen Regiment were stunned by the sound of the sudden explosion of wild cheering—the high-pitched kind never heard from Hessian throats on the battlefield—to the north. Because of the blinding snow flurries unleashed by the “northeaster,” Major Dechow’s fusiliers could not see that far north. But they knew only too well the awful truth of what had happened to their grenadier and fusilier comrades to the north from the sheer length of the loud cheering. Like its two ill-fated sister regiments, the Knyphausen Regiment was also caught in its own particular dilemma, attempting to cross the wide, swollen Assunpink. Making this feat exceptionally difficult for Dechow’s regiment was that fact that its members were overcome by exhaustion and its movements were belabored by a mob of camp followers, including the wives and lovers of the men in the ranks.
In addition, now in the Knyphausen Regiment’s possession, the Rall brigade’s sole remaining two three-pounders, the von Lossberg cannon, became mired in the water and mud of the Assunpink’s flooded bottom along the north bank just east of the stone bridge, which was yet held securely by Glover’s tough New Englanders. Struggling to free the bronze guns from the swampy ground took much too much time, additionally hampering the attempt of Major Dechow’s soldiers to escape Washington’s entrapment. Fighting against the odds to avoid a most humiliating end, the Knyphausen Regiment’s final gasp for life by escaping south was thwarted not only by the morass, but also because the creek widened into an impassible mill pond just east of the bridge
Therefore, Dechow’s regiment was now caught in the natural trap of the muddy swamp beside the swollen Assunpink, sandwiched between an ever-tightening vise of attackers from Greene’s First and Sullivan’s Second Divisions on three sides: Stirling and Mercer’s brigades on the north and northwest, respectively, while St. Clair’s New Hampshire and Massachusetts troops followed the Knyphausen Regiment east along the creek’s north side from the west. Glover’s veterans, who held the Assunpink bridge and the area immediately east, and Sargent’s New England and New York brigade were aligned across the high ground below the creek to the south. Therefore, multiple fires raked the slow-moving Knyphausen Regiment from three sides, inflicting additional damage. Facing a dilemma for the first magnitude, Dechow’s harried Knyphausen Regiment had no chance to escape south across the Assunpink with the creek’s waters so high, especially the wide, deep waters of the mill pond; Glover and Sargent’s brigades positioned in lengthy lines below the creek; and the two Massachusetts six-pounders, under Harvard College’s young Captain Sargent, which peppered Dechow’s command from the south with a vigorous fire.1
Meanwhile, Glover, the former ship captain, who consistently performed as well on land as on water, continued to dictate the tactical situation after early surmising that Dechow’s fusilier regiment would attempt to push farther east to gain a small ford higher just beyond the mill pond. Not content to having merely cut off the best escape route by blocking the Assunpink bridge on both sides, Glover maintained the tactical initiative. He ordered some of his best men double-quick east along the ridge that ran parallel to the creek’s southern bank to gain an upper ford, just beyond the eastern head of the Mill Pond, where the creek narrowed. With flintlocks on shoulders, these hand-picked New England Continentals raced eastward in Glover’s initial effort to outflank Dechow’s desperate bid to move up the creek and gain a point ahead, or east, of the Knyphausen Regiment on the Assunpink’s other side.
After dashing east for about a quarter mile, some of Glover and Sargent’s boldest men, including Marbleheaders who possessed no trepidation whatsoever about entering the Assunpink’s dark, frigid waters because of their former hazardous lives at sea, waded out in the raging creek at the mill pond’s head. Private John Dewey was one such enterprising soldier, who forded the swollen creek with musket held high. He described how this advanced party of winded New Englanders plunged into the icy waters and then waded “about mid-thigh to cross the creek in order to cut off the enemy’s retreat.” With their strenuous efforts, these Massachusetts Continentals helped to close the door shut on the Knyphausen Regiment’s determined effort to escape east, after gaining the creek’s north side to out flank and inflict damage with a hail of fire that raked the fusilier’s advance from the east.2
Clearly, Dechow’s situation on low-lying and underbrush-clogged ground along the creek was becoming increasingly hopeless. The devastating effect of too many good Knyphausen officers cut down and having wasted too much precious time in attempting to free the two von Lossberg guns from the flooded creek bottom, when combined with the fires pouring from front, rear, and both flanks, now left Major Dechow’s regiment with even fewer tactical options and less hope for escape. About a quarter mile east of the bridge on the north bank, the Knyphausen Regiment was now practically surrounded by Stirling and Mercer’s troops advancing from the northwest; St. Clair’s brigade to the west; Sargent and Glover’s brigade, with Captain Sargent’s Massachusetts six-pounders, firing from commanding terrain, to the south across the creek; and now Glover’s advanced detachment of Massachusetts mariners on the east.
By this time and in true flying artillery style, most of Sullivan’s guns had already advanced through the icy streets of the lower town and across Queen Street to descend upon the Kynphausen Regiment from the west. Clearly, Major Dechow had no choice now but to entertain the only existing alternative to annihilation: surrender. Additionally, he already realized that the Rall and von Lossberg Regiments had submitted to Washington’s swarming soldiers just to the north, losing “their well-earned reputation” in the process. Dechow was now on his own without a prayer, and he knew it.
Indeed, by this time, Captain Moulder’s three Philadelphia guns, French four-pounders with loads of canister, had steadily leap frogged east with St. Clair’s New England troops through the icy streets of the lower town to gain an advantageous position to hit Dechow’s fusiliers from the west with a close fire. Here, just east of Queen Street, veteran New Jersey artillerymen under Captain Neil and his top lieutenants, John Doughty, Thomas Clark, Aaron Clark, and John Vandyke, fired projectiles from their two three-pounders at the beleaguered fusilier regiment. With Sullivan’s artillery and rows of muskets and rifles of infantrymen blasting away at such close range, casualties mounted among the hapless Knyhausen fusiliers.
Just north and near the head of the overflowing mill pond, Major Dechow took a mortal wound in the left hip. However, he remained faithfully with his fusiliers. Dechow was determined to share their fate, whatever might come this nightmarish morning. Far from his home and family, Dechow’s illustrious military career was nearing its inglorious end amid the clinging mud, futility, and shattered Teutonic hopes along the muddy Assunpink southeast of Trenton and under black, menacing New Jersey skies. With the Knyphausen Regiment under pressure from every side and with the fusilers finding themselves in the same no-win situation that had forced its two sister regiments to submit, no tactical alternatives remained but capitulation by this time.
However, some of Major Dechow’s most determined officers, especially Captain Georg Wilhelm Biesenrodt,
yet remained defiant. A hulking, distinguished-looking captain, who resembled General Washington in size and with the same inspiring command presence, with more than two decades of service, Biesenrodt was every inch a fighter. As the regiment’s senior company commander, the forty-year-old Biesenrodt was determined to continue fighting regardless of the odds.
Consequently, an angry Biesenrodt, with drawn saber and yet full of fight, shouted to Dechow that “we cannot give ourselves up like this.” But the mortally stricken major, who also had been badly wounded less than six weeks before in the assault on Fort Washington, understood the folly of attempting to stop the raging tide of so many advancing Americans, bolstered with a disproportionate amount of artillery, on every side. Clearly, the bitter end was drawing near for both this distinguished officer and his proud fusilier regiment along the high-flowing Assunpink. Reeling in pain and after relinquishing command to the regiment’s surviving senior captain, the badly bleeding Dechow declared in response to his adamant younger officers, who agreed with Biesenrodt and were determined to continue fighting against fate regardless of the cost, “My dear sirs, do as you like, I am wounded.” At least, Dechow, who had served with distinction in the Prussian Army under Frederick the Great and had never surrendered to any opponent before, felt a measure of personal relief. He had spared himself the pain of ordering the surrender of what he loved the most and like an adorning parent: the Knyphausen Regiment. Although suffering from a mortal wound, Dechow now possessed a clear conscience while limping away in pain from his boxed-in command after leaving Captain Biesenrodt in command.
With twenty-six years of solid military experience, Captain Jacob Baum, age forty-four, was not the kind of officer who was easily discouraged, even though “we were the only ones left to fight” by this time. An imaginative, flexible commander of the elite Lieb Company, Baum had long garnered respect and popularity among the enlisted ranks. While Captain Biesenrodt now believed that it was his duty to obey Major Dechow’s final wish as senior commander, Captain Baum felt no such binding obligation. Continuing to display initiative in this desperate situation, and hoping to avoid any fate but surrender, Captain Baum was determined to survive and fight another day. Fifty other fusiliers felt the same way, following the irrepressible Baum farther up the Assunpink on their own.
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