by C. Metzinger
The study was a large room lined to the ceiling with bookshelves. A roaring fire burned brightly in the huge fireplace, and the men took their seats in comfortable chairs. They passed the tobacco and filled their pipes as servants filled glasses with brandy. Life in high society lacked for nothing, even during wartime.
Jefferson looked around at his friends and bowed, "If you will please excuse me, I believe the general would like to briefly discuss business."
"Forgive me, sir, but my time in Baltimore is very limited and I must make the best use of it," he apologized to his two friends.
Jefferson nodded, "I understand."
The three men retired to a small sitting room with a warm fire. Benjamin Harrison turned to Gates and asked,
"What's this about, Horatio?"
Gates stroked his chin and paused in deep thought before speaking.
"I am speaking to you only because I feel it is my duty as one of the foremost leaders in the Continental Army, and my duty as a patriot to tell you that I believe we will only win this war if we make some changes."
Harrison asked, "What kind of changes?"
"You know about Washington's defeats at New York, at White Plains, and his retreat down into New Jersey. I'm afraid his constant lack of success is seriously compromising the morale of the men. Many enlistments will expire at the end of this month, and under the circumstances, I believe most of them will leave. Washington has not been successful in any battles because of his strategy. He makes a weak attempt to attack, and then calls his men to retreat. He has been unwilling to confront the enemy in a face-to-face battle. We cannot win a war this way."
Jefferson stood up and leaned upon the hearth mantle, asking,
"What do you suggest?"
Gates looked at both men and said, "I've been giving the matter serious consideration. I feel the best strategy would be to send Washington south, to Savannah, and let him lead the force there to contain the enemy in Charleston. I would take his place in Pennsylvania with my army and his, and plan a full attack on the enemy to drive them out of Philadelphia."
Harrison and Jefferson looked at one another, each searching for a clue as to his thoughts.
"You want us to remove General Washington from his command?"
Gates cleared his throat nervously, "Now, don't misunderstand me, sirs, I have nothing personal against the man. But I cannot stand aside and watch him lead us to ruin. What this army needs is a commander who is not afraid to make decisions and act upon them. I think I have proven myself that kind of man by my recent victory in Saratoga. Can you name one victory that Washington has had since he became Commander in Chief? You can't consider Boston a victory because no shot was ever fired; the enemy just evacuated the city when a hurricane and Washington's cannon on the ridge of Dorchester Heights convinced General Howe to retreat to Halifax."
Jefferson and Harrison both stood fidgeting, reluctant to reply. Finally Jefferson spoke quietly.
"We don't doubt your ability to lead men, General Gates, which is why we approved Washington's request to promote you to General Adjutant. Your force is much larger than Washington's at the present time. And making such a change as you propose would require the involvement of all the Congress, not just us two."
"I understand completely, sir," Gates acquiesced, "I am merely putting the idea forth for your consideration. My hope is that you will bring my suggestion before Congress when they next meet in January, and allow me to speak to them about my plan and the advantages of appointing me Commander in Chief."
Jefferson stood with his arms crossed, studying Horatio Gates. He couldn't help but wonder if Gates' was really interested in advancing the American cause, or only in advancing his own career.
"We shall be happy to convey what you have told us to the other members of Congress when we next convene, General."
Gates smiled with satisfaction and gave a slight bow.
"My humble gratitude is all I can offer," he replied.
Chapter 8
"There's the road to Trenton!" one of the Jersey men shouted over the wind. In the dark and blowing snow it was difficult to make out any sort of a road, but when Washington considered the direction it led, he nodded in agreement.
The army turned south, walking away from Bear Tavern and away from the biting northeastern wind that had assaulted them since they left camp. Now it was at their backs and they were no longer walking uphill. This road was flatter, but the snow was deeper. They waded through drifts as high as their knees while trying to keep their muskets and powder dry.
"Three miles to Birmingham, Sir," General Greene said as he rode up next to Washington. He continued, "Which means we should be there in about an hour and a half if we don't have any more delays."
Washington nodded in agreement, but calculated that the men had now been marching over 13 hours with only a brief stop at the river. He feared they would be too exhausted to fight or their fingers too numb to fill their muskets with ball and powder when the time came. No one had gloves or mittens, and warm coats and boots were scarce. Yet they marched on through this blizzard with a determination that matched his own.
Suddebly, a shout came from the rear.
"Wheel broken! A six-pounder!"
Greene glanced at Washington and shook his head, "Another one of Colonel Knox's designs, no doubt. I'll see to it."
Washington nodded and stayed at the front of the regiment.
The cannon was a six-pounder on a carriage designed by Henry Knox. They were faster and lighter than regular carriages, but the wheels were not as durable.
"We should've put these things on sleds!" one of the men shouted as they lifted the carriage to remove the broken wheel. A few laughed at the idea while another wheel was brought from a supply wagon and replaced.
"I'll give that suggestion to Colonel Knox," Greene assured them.
Soon the carriage was back on the road and the army continued to march. Greene rode along the column, making sure that the men stayed in formation and kept up the pace.
When Greene told Knox the man's joke about putting the cannon on sleds, Know didn't laugh, but frowned and stroked his chin thoughtfully, saying, "Sleds? Aye, now there's a thought! I wonder..."
On their journey, strong windy gusts of nearly 50 miles per hour threatened to drive them down to the ground. When the gusts diminished, they plodded on. Walking through deep snow was arduous, and some men fell behind.
One older man stumbled and fell. Two others attempted to help him up.
"I can't do it!" the older man cried piteously, "I can't go on!"
His legs buckled and he went down again. One of the others grabbed his arm and pulled at him, shouting, "You'd better, or you'll freeze to death! Keep moving!"
They dragged the exhausted soldier to his feet. Another man took his back pack.
"Here, I'll carry this until you can get your strength back."
The older man gave a toothless grin.
"Bless you, Brother!"
"Merry Christmas!" replied the other with a smile.
The troops came to a wide gully. At the bottom lay Jacob's Creek, which fed into the Delaware. The path ahead was a steep downward slope, an ice-covered creek at the bottom, and a steep rise up the other side. The first men who came down the path started to slide. Some fell and others slid to the bottom by the seats of their pants. Horses stepped gingerly through the snow-covered icy road, sometimes sliding out of control. Riders shouted, "Whoa! Hold on there!"
Washington noted the precipice before him and guided his horse carefully along the bank of the slope.
"There's a steep path down to the creek," he informed the men as they marched along the upper bank, "Watch your step as you go down. Stay together!" he urged them.
Suddenly, his horse threw back his head and whinnied in fear as the snowy edge of the bank gave way, and the animal slid out of control. Washington leaned forward in his saddle, crying "Whoa!" pulling the mare's head up. He maneuvered the horse sideways to kee
p it from falling headlong down the hill.
"Sir!" Greene shouted from the top of the hill. He watched in horror as the Commander in Chief struggled to keep his horse from falling. Everyone stopped to watch, holding their breath, waiting for the worst to happen. Suddenly, Washington righted himself in the saddle and his horse's feet found solid ground. The animal was hesitant to move, but Washington gently coaxed him back up the bank while everyone released a sigh of relief.
Corporal Baylor rode to the general's side.
"Are you all right, sir?"
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Washington replied, not feeling as confident as he sounded.
"That was a near thing, Sir! If you'd fallen-"
"Yes, I know, Corporal. You'd have another body to carry home tonight. Warn the officers that they should walk the horses down the hill. There's nothing but ice under this snow."
"Yes, sir!" Baylor nodded and hurried back.
Colonel Knox heard the warning from Corporal Baylor and got off his horse. But getting his horse down that gully was the least of his problems. He had eighteen heavy artillery to manage. He knew from his experience of taking artillery in winter from Fort Ticonderoga, New York, over the mountains to Boston, that moving heavy guns down steep hills was a perilous task.
"Get the ropes, and bring the six-pounders first!" he ordered.
After ropes were tied to the carriage of the first gun, they were wound around a good-sized oak tree and held by six men. The carriage was slowly lowered down the hill by the ropes. The men dug their feet into the snow as they struggled to keep the cannon from sliding out of control. Inch by inch, the heavy guns were lowered down to the bottom of the gulley. Then ropes were taken to the top of the other side, and horses pulled them out of the ravine.
It took another hour to get all the horses and artillery across Jacob's Creek, pushing them further behind schedule.
The snowstorm continued to rage with no sign of abating. They soon reached the crest of a hill, and the road next sloped downward into Birmingham. The hill was too steep for the horses to pull heavy artillery.
Colonel Knox shouted, "We'll have to use the drag ropes, men! Tie them on the heavy guns and form two lines on each side, six men to a line!"
The troops stopped marching to wait as men tied long ropes to the artillery and formed two lines. Horses couldn't do the job safely. It took another hour to get the large guns down the long hill toward Birmingham.
When the last gun was brought down the hill, Colonel Knox breathed a sigh of relief and notified Washington that the artillery was moved successfully.
"Thank you, Colonel. Please join me and the other officers when we reach Birmingham."
"Yes, sir!" Knox replied and rode back to his regiment.
If any of the men hoped to find shelter, food, or warmth in Birmingham, they were disappointed. The village was a small cluster of abandoned houses. Every scrap of food and supplies had long since been looted. Some of the windows were broken and the doors and shutters were torn off for firewood.
The company halted as all of the officers met up with Washington and Greene. Some of the men snacked on their rations and water, but there was no time to make campfires.
Washington addressed the circle of officers, still mounted on horseback. They rubbed their hands together and pulled their cloaks tighter to keep them from blowing away.
"It's nearly daylight," Washington began, "And we're only halfway to Trenton in this blasted storm. But we've come this far and the other regiments may already have attacked as they were ordered to do. We'll prepare for battle in case the enemy is still there. Now, as we discussed before, General Greene will take his regiment up the Upper Ferry Road to Scotch Road and then down Pennington Road to north Trenton. General Sullivan, you will take your regiment down River Road to west Trenton and march in at Water Street. When you get to Trenton, wait there until General Greene's regiment has time to arrive. Remind the men to remain silent. I still have hopes of making a surprise attack which should begin precisely at 8:00 a.m. Please check your watches to make sure we are all at 7:09 a.m. The password for the operation remains at Victory or Death."
The officers adjusted their pocket watches by the light of a small lantern swinging to and fro, and then rejoined their regiments to begin the final leg of the march. In less than an hour, their fate would be decided; either Victory or Death. As they marched ahead, each man knew that this might well be his last Christmas; his last hour of life. Many of them prayed silently as they marched, praying to stay alive, praying not to be taken prisoner, praying not to be wounded or left for dead in a snowdrift. Whatever fate awaited them in Trenton, they only knew that they had sworn an oath to fight, and would fight to their deaths.
Chapter 9
Anna set the dish of butter on the wooden table and looked at the bread toasting on the hearth. She deftly turned the grill over to toast the bread to a light golden brown. Already on the table were cheese and apple slices. Elizabeth was still up in bed recuperating, but Anna had become restless and needed something to do.
As she prepared breakfast for her sister and herself, she thought about Corporal Baylor, wondering if he had reached Trenton and found their father.
She looked out of the window. Snow and wind continued to howl and hurl icy crystals against the glass. During the night she had heard thunder and saw a streak of lightning during the freak storm that changed rain into sleet, then hail, and finally snow. She couldn't remember seeing a stronger storm in all the years that she had lived in New Jersey.
She worried about her father, wondering what had happened to him. Had the Hessians kept him for labor, as Corporal Baylor suggested, or had they killed him? The prospect of losing her father was frightening. Tears welled in her eyes and she brushed them away quickly, telling herself to have faith that her prayers would be answered.
She thought about her books that had burned with the house. On dark evenings in winter, when she wasn't working, she often sat and read. Her father had given her a few of his old books that she enjoyed reading. Besides reading the Bible, her favorites were The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan, or Milton's Paradise Lost or other verses. Her father was more liberal-minded and better educated than most Colonists. An avid reader himself, he couldn't deny his daughters the acquisition of knowledge or the enlightenment of moral literature, though he wouldn't abide the sonnets of Shakespeare or any other "heathen" author. He advocated reading to enrich the mind and the soul, and not to entertain. Now the nights would be long and lonely with nothing to do but card wool or stitch a sampler.
She hoped her father would return soon with Corporal Baylor. She imagined their happy reunion, and Corporal Baylor's pleasure at seeing her family reunited. She would shower him with gratitude. She wondered if he were married or betrothed. He had an attractive face and kind eyes. Something about his manner told her that he was a compassionate person who prided himself on doing the right thing. When he smiled at her, she imagined that he found her attractive and interesting, also. If they could somehow get to know one another, would she find that his kind eyes reflected a godly soul? Could he love her, she wondered? Could she love him? Would he stay here or would the army be moving him on to the next battle, and the next, leaving her behind in this small desolate camp for the rest of winter? Their farm house would have to wait in charred ruins until spring to be rebuilt.
"Ah, you're feeling better today, are you?" asked Widow Harris when she saw Anna making buttered toast.
"Yes, thank you. I'm taking breakfast up to Elizabeth."
"That's good. Is there still some water in the kettle?"
"Yes, and it's still boiling."
Widow Harris nodded and went to the hearth. Anna put the toast, cheese, apples and sassafras tea on a tray and carried it upstairs to Elizabeth's room.
Her sister was awake and smiled weakly. Anna froze in the doorway, shocked at her sister's battered face, now colorfully bruised and swollen.
"What? Do I look that bad?" aske
d Elizabeth.
"No,..er, no, I just was checking to see if you were awake."
"Liar," her sister teased and sighed, "Oh, I must look a sight, but at least I'm alive."
Anna set the tray down on a bedside table and sat down to look at her sister.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked.
"Better. My feet still burn and itch terribly. And it pains me to move much."
She attempted to sit up and Anna lifted her shoulders gently and put another pillow behind her back. Anna sat down on the bed and directed her gaze to her sister.
"Elizabeth, I must ask you something."
"Yes?"
"The other day, when you were attacked, did that soldier…. did he-?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath before answering, "He tried, but I fought him off so that he never got the chance."
Anna was relieved. "Thank God! I've been so worried about you! The bruises will mend in a few days. Widow Harris says that nothing is broken, but some of your toes have frostbite."
Elizabeth nodded in understanding and looked hungrily at the toast and cheese.
"Here, let me help you-"
"Anna?" Elizabeth began, "I want to tell you how grateful I am for your help. I couldn't have made it here on my own. You saved my life."
Anna smiled, "We're sisters. You would've done the same for me. Now eat this before it gets cold."
"The wind has not stopped howling all night," Elizabeth remarked as she ate.
"Yes. I wonder how Corporal Baylor and the others are managing in this storm. It's a pity that they had to spend most of Christmas Day marching in bad weather."
"I just hope they'll bring father back," Elizabeth said.
"They will," Anna assured her, "I have a strong feeling that they will."
As dawn broke, General Greene's regiment was turning onto Scotch Road, which would lead them to Pennington Road. They were marching into the wind once again. Hunched over and covered with snow, they continued to plod through the storm, hopeful that the march would soon be over. Some were tempted to ask an officer where they were or how much longer they would march in this fierce storm, but none broke the code of silence, fearing the consequences.