by C. Metzinger
Bates found guards standing on duty outside of one of the houses, a two-story wooden structure with peeling and cracked, pale-yellow clapboard siding and black shutters pocked with bullet holes.
As he approached, they held their muskets up to fire.
Bates held up his hands and announced, “I come to speak to the captain.”
“Der Kapitan?” one of them asked.
“Yes, the captain. Where is he?”
The guard held him at gunpoint and pointed the way into the house. Bates nodded and was relieved of his musket as he entered.
He stood listening to the guard speak to an officer in German. Soon, he was ushered into another room where an older man with a long mustache sat ramrod straight behind a table in a wooden chair.
“I am Colonel Rall. Who are you?” He asked in a thick German accent.
“My name’s Bates. I rowed across the river ‘cause I got something I think you want to hear about the American army. But it won’t be for free.”
Rall stood up and studied the man’s appearance.
“You are American?”
Bates cleared his throat.
“Well, at the moment I don’t call myself American or British. I take care of myself. Don’t matter to me who’s in charge.”
The Colonel nodded in understanding.
“What is it you wish to tell me?”
“It’s about an attack on Trenton. But you’ll get the details after I get paid.”
“How do I know this information is to be trusted?”
Bates scratched his beard.
“Well, if it don’t come true like I said it would, I’ll be in the tavern, and you can come and get me.”
Rall stood and faced him saying, “I will pay you after the attack--if there is one.”
Bates shook his head, “But if you get beat, I won’t get my money!”
Rall guffawed, “Beat? By the Americans?” He laughed again at the absurdity of the idea.
“Mr. Bates, you have wasted your time coming here. If the Americans do attack, we are ready for them. Despite the fact that it is Christmas, we are on full alert. If they do come in this snowstorm across that ice-covered river, and I doubt very much that they will, we will beat them soundly! Now get out of here! I have nothing further to say to you!”
Looking at Bates with disgust, he told his guards to take him away.
Two guards grabbed Bates by his arms and pulled him backward.
“You’ll be sorry!” Bates yelled, “You’ll wish you’d listened to me! I know what I’m talkin’ about! You’re gonna be sorry!”
The guards dragged him out of the house and into the snowstorm. They gave him a shove and he landed face-down in the snow.
“Where’s my gun? You can’t take my gun!” he shouted angrily, standing up.
One of the guards tossed his musket at him and shouted something in German.
Bates picked it up and brushed snow from his face. He shivered as another gust of strong wind assailed him.
Angry, he turned away and headed toward the tavern at the other end of the town.
“You’ll be sorry!” he shouted.
At the shore of the ice-choked Delaware, Washington took out his pocket watch and checked the time again. It was too dark to see the dial so he leaned toward the small lantern swinging in the wind. It was two a.m. and the men were still being taken across. It was taking twice as long to get across the ice-clogged river as he had planned. They still had to march another ten miles from their landing place on the opposite side to the outskirts of Trenton. The longer the operation took, the deeper his melancholy. At this point, his hopes of a surprise, synchronous, pre-dawn attack seemed futile.
Another hour passed before he climbed into the last boat. The other boats ahead of them had cleared a crooked channel through the ice. The strong Durham boat had no seats, but someone had turned over a crate and offered it to the general. He thanked the man and sat down.
The wind pushed the boat against the icebergs lining each side of the channel and whitecaps splashed over the sides. The men huddled together wide-legged in the center of the craft, trying to keep their balance as the boat swayed to and fro.
There was a shout from one of the boats ahead.
“Hold on! Move to the center!” someone shouted. The boat ahead of them appeared in the darkness.
“Be careful!” shouted one of the men.
Washington stood up carefully and peered around the men to see the boat ahead of them listing dangerously to one side. The men clung to the gun wales. Suddenly, there was a splash as a dark figure toppled into the water.
“Man overboard!” shouted another.
The men in the boat held on until the craft steadied itself, and then two men reached out into the darkness, calling to the man who had fallen in.
“Help! Help me!” he cried in terror. He couldn’t swim and the swift current was dragging him down into the frigid ice water.
Strong hands gripped his arms and collar. He reached out, clutching onto their arms. They hauled him over the side and back into the boat, causing it to sway perilously from side to side.
“Hold on!” someone shouted.
There were muffled cries as the drowning man moaned and shivered uncontrollably.
Washington spoke loud enough to be heard by those in the boat ahead.
“Men, we must maintain our composure! Any sounds we make are carried along the river to the side of the enemy. Calm yourselves and keep the boat steady!”
The men became quiet immediately and got back into formation. Crews worked the poles and oars to maneuver through the channel against the wind. Waves splashed over the side, wetting everyone in the front or near the sides. They pressed on through the dark and the driving sleet, heedless of the imminent danger.
The boats formed a long flotilla across the river. The ferries were the most difficult to get across because of the weight of the heavy artillery they bore, eighteen pieces in all. Despite their skittishness, the horses had all been ferried over without any losses.
When they reached the west bank of the Delaware, Washington climbed carefully onto the slippery ice. The storm continued to rage. It was growing colder and the sleet had turned to stinging hail. Soaked to the skin and shivering, the men huddled around small camp fires and snacked on some of the rations they had been given, hoping the food would give them enough energy to keep going. As tired as they were, they hadn't lost their sense of humor, and they made jokes about the crossing.
"Such a lovely cruise," one man grinned, "I wish I brought me wife!"
"I wish I brung my fishin' pole! I'm sure I saw a bunch o' catfish jumpin' out there!"
Hearty laughter buoyed their spirits.
Around four in the morning, they reformed into their columns and prepared to begin the march to Trenton. General Greene found Washington and pointed out the road they would take.
“We have some New Jersey men here who say that they’ll guide us along the way!”
Washington nodded, “Did everyone make it across?”
“Call it a miracle, but yes, everyone is safely across and so are the horses and artillery, Sir!”
Washington nodded in satisfaction and mounted his horse. His maps indicated that Bear Tavern was almost two miles away. From there, they would turn south on Bear Tavern Road toward Trenton.
As they headed out, the hail changed to snow, heavy and thick, flying horizontally into their faces.
“This storm is a real nor’easter!” Greene remarked. He was from Rhode Island and familiar with the storms that raged from the Canadian seaboard, swooping down the eastern coast.
Washington only nodded in grim agreement, wondering how much longer it would last.
Chapter 6
Down the river, Colonel Cadwalader was having his own problems getting across the river. Like Greene’s and Sullivan’s regiments, his own men battled the river’s current and ice floes. When they finally reached the opposite side, they discovered a wid
e shelf of ice along the western bank.
“Pull the boats upon the ice and let the men out here,” Cadwalader told the crews. They obeyed, but as soon as the boats glided upon the ice shelf, it began to crack.
“Get back in the boat!” cried someone to the men who had ventured out onto the ice.
“Lay down!” someone shouted, and they flattened themselves on the ice.
The river current tugged at the boats, trying to pull them down the river, but the crews pushed their poles into the black water and kept the boats from drifting.
A few men lay still on the ice, fearful that they would fall through. Hands stretched out to grab them and pull them back into the boats. They scrambled over the gunwales, wetting their feet and legs. Cadwalader witnessed their futile attempts from his own boat, and shouted,
“There’s no way to get over safely! Go back to the other side! Retreat!”
Near Trenton, General Ewing’s ferry crossing was a mass of frozen icebergs, between four and five feet high, all stacked upon one another into one frozen wasteland. There was no way to take an infantry on foot across that river, not to mention horses, wagons, and heavy artillery. He sent scouts to find a way across but none was found. For his army, there would be no crossing of the Delaware tonight. Discouraged and cold, he gathered his men and gave the order to retreat. Washington’s force would be on its own tonight.
Now on the east side of the river, Greene’s men pulled on the horses' reins as they dragged the heavy artillery uphill. The ruts were so deep and slippery that the animals faltered and nearly fell. It was easier to make a path along the side of the road where the ground was frozen and covered in snow.
The road to Bear Tavern was a sloping hill, leading upward away from the river, and directly into the path of the storm. Because the roads were slippery, several men fell and had to be helped to their feet. Horses slid over the slick ice, skidding backwards until they found their footing.
“Watch that wheel!” shouted Greene as one of the cannon’s wheels sank into a snowdrift. The horses strained at their harnesses to pull the carriage free, but it was stuck.
“Get shovels and dig!” Henry Knox ordered, “Throw some dirt under the wheel and slide a board under the front of it! You two men get the ropes and tie them to the carriage. Find a tree or rock that you can wind the rope around and get some men to pull!”
The marching column came to a halt as the nearest group of men set to digging out the wheel while others tied thick ropes to the front of the artillery carriage. Even the small carriages held nearly two tons of heavy cannon and ammunition. Pulling them out of deep snow would be no easy task even under the best conditions.
While dealing with the immobile cannon, the company stopped again. One of the soldiers who had gotten wet on the river looked down at his clothing. His pants were frozen into stiff boards with thick clumps of snow stuck to his ankles. He felt as if he were dragging cannon balls on chains. Feeling exhausted from the long march and the bone chilling cold, the soldier sat down upon a rock and closed his eyes. In the darkness and cold he drifted into sleep immediately.
Ten minutes later, the company began the uphill move again. Someone gave the sleeping soldier a shake and told him to get up.
“Come on, William! It’s time to march!”
William didn’t move. His friend shook him again.
“William!”
William’s body tilted like a felled tree and toppled into the snow, molded in a sitting position.
Others came to help, but one declared, “He’s dead! Frozen solid!”
There was nothing they could do for William. They rejoined the marching regiment and left William’s body where it lay. Others who passed by realized that William’s fate would be their own if they stopped moving.
Later, a supply wagon stopped and two soldiers lifted William’s frozen body onto the back of it. There was no time to mourn. He would be buried later with the others who never made it back alive.
The wind tore at them as they marched on through the darkness, with snow driving so hard that they could only follow the men in front of them.
At the front of the column, Washington and Greene rode with two local men carrying lanterns. The road was no longer visible in the deep snow, and only the local men knew the way.
“How much farther to Bear Tavern?” shouted Greene to one of the local men.
“Not far! Another ten minutes! Maybe fifteen!”
Another blast of ice crystals assailed them. Instinctively, the horses pulled back but they were forced onward. Keeping their heads down, the army forged ahead in the wailing wind.
Washington turned in his saddle and looked back at the men marching behind him. What must they be thinking? He wondered. Did they follow him blindly through this snowstorm and bitter cold in the middle of the night because they believed in the cause of freedom or because they were afraid not to? He dared not think about what their motives might be. He only prayed that they would stay the course and fight the enemy. He feared that many would not have strength left to fight after another ten miles of marching through this storm. Had he made the right decision to attack Trenton? Or would this be another failure in a growing list of defeats? These questions plagued him like restless spirits of the dead. He remembered the two young girls who had come into the camp, one half dead. At all costs, they must stop the wanton abuse of citizens and their land by these Hessians.
The land was as important as the people who lived on it. Owning land was the one thing that gave men both security and purpose. Land meant prosperity, crops for food, timber for houses and fuel, ore for iron, and water. Whoever possessed the land would be the victor, and whoever did not would be powerless. He hoped these were the reasons that his men followed him through a snow and bitter cold in the middle of the night on this Christmas.
General Washington pulled up the reins of his horse and stood aside as the column straggled on before him. He lowered his head and closed his eyes to pray.
"Dear God, am I a thoughtless fool to bring these men here tonight? If I am, please do not let them suffer because of my own imprudence and arrogant pride. But our forefathers came to this country to escape persecution. They suffered starvation, wars, and plagues to create a homeland for their progeny. Are we to give up everything they sacrificed for? To do so would make their sacrifices meaningless. If we are meant to save this country from persecution and tyranny, and if we are meant to be free, then let our efforts and your mercy grant us a victory today. Amen."
“There ‘tis!” shouted one of the local men, holding up his lantern, “Bear Tavern!”
Chapter 7
While Washington and his forces were marching through relentless wind and sleet to their ferry crossings, General Horatio Gates, commander of the Continental forces in New York, had arrived in Baltimore on Christmas Eve. Upon his arrival in Baltimore, Gates contacted his friends in Congress, Benjamin Harrison and Thomas Jefferson.
"We're having Christmas dinner here, General, and you simply must come and dine with us!" Harrison's wife twittered.
"I shall be delighted, for I have much to discuss with Benjamin," Gates replied.
Christmas Day was cold and windy but the storm had not yet struck the city of Baltimore. General Gates rode his horse to the three-story brick home in an upscale area of Baltimore, where Congress had fled to escape the British occupation of Philadelphia.
Gates, in full uniform, was greeted at the door by a butler. The elegant home was festively decorated with holly and ivy for Christmas. A sprig of mistletoe hung over the entrance to the main parlor. The dining room table was set with the best china and sparkling glassware. Candles and shining silverware generously graced the table, ready for the guests to dine. Several people mingled before the fireplace in the parlor as Gates searched for a familiar face.
Gates made a beeline for Thomas Jefferson, who was surrounded by admirers.
"Mr. Jefferson," Gates greeted with a bow.
"Ah, General Gate
s! What a surprise! I would have expected you to be in Saratoga, still basking in admiration for your recent victory there!"
Gates smiled at the accolades Jefferson bestowed upon him.
"A good general trains his officers to do their duty in his presence or his absence. I'm sure General Benedict Arnold can carry on quite competently."
"Of course, he was most courageous on the battlefield there. You must tell us all about the battle at Saratoga after dinner," Jefferson urged.
"I'd be happy to. But if I may have a moment of your time, sir, I have something of importance to discuss," Gates said.
"Of course, of course! Perhaps after dinner, that is now ready."
Gates bowed politely but wished he could discuss his business now. Instead, he followed the guests into the dining room. Each elegantly dressed woman and gentleman was seated, and then the servants brought out platters of turkey, ham, and cooked vegetables. Their aromas mingled into delicious mouth-watering temptations. There was enough food on the table to feed a regiment, Gates noted. He couldn't but help notice the contrast between the meal before him and the lack of food his army faced, half-starved and hungry most of the time. They were lucky to have one scrap of meat in a week. Looking at this generous and ostentatious fare on the table, he couldn't understand why Congress always argued endlessly whenever the army begged for food and supplies.
Dinner conversation was polite and cordial. The women all discussed the Christmas balls being held at various places in the city. It seemed that no one here knew that a war was being fought, Gates thought. Their social lives had not skipped a beat as men marched from one battle field to another without rest or sustenance. To these people, the war was nothing more than a topic of discussion, an amusement to give them something to gossip about. He sighed with impatience as he waited for the end of dessert when the men would announce their adjournment to the study.