The men were exhausted when they reached Princeton. None had slept for twenty-four hours, and many had fought or marched for a good portion of that period. Still they proceeded, reaching the southern periphery of the little village just as the sun’s rays first began to sparkle on the hard, icy road. Using a map drawn from memory by Cadwalader, Washington watched intently for a fork in the Quaker Road that he was traveling. Finally, it was visible. He divided his army at this juncture. He took the main body along the road that skirted the east side of Princeton, then looped about behind—or on the north side—of the hamlet. He sent 350 men down the road that crooked to the left, charging them with securing the stone bridge on the main Trenton-Princeton highway, a possession that would forestall any escape from Princeton while, at the same time, it would deny Cornwallis immediate access to the village when he arrived. Washington placed an old friend from Virginia, Brigadier General Hugh Mercer, in charge of this division. The two men had known one another since they had served under Braddock in 1755. Subsequently, Mercer, a Scottish immigrant and a physician, had moved to Virginia, and in 1774, following one of his occasional visits to Mount Vernon, he had purchased Ferry Farm from his friend. A planter and respected doctor for the past fifteen years, he nevertheless had a long military record, having fought in the French and Indian War and, before that, for Bonnie Prince Charlie at Culloden.66
The two columns parted, each pressing toward its objective. But they hardly were out of one another’s sight before a hitch developed. Most of the men in the three British regiments posted in Princeton had been ordered to Trenton, and by happenstance they were lumbering down the Trenton highway at that very moment. The redcoats spotted their adversary first, but only seconds later Mercer glimpsed the scarlet uniforms of his foe. He quickly led his men off the road and into an orchard atop a slight rise; from there, positioned behind hedges and a fence, they looked down on the massing British. The fight that followed was brief. Following a few volleys, the British commander, Colonel Charles Mawhood, ordered a bayonet charge. The sight of these gleaming steel knives was too much. A panic set in. Soldiers raced back through the orchard, abandoning their wounded brethren; many Americans left in that orchard perished, including Mercer who had remained trying to rally his men. (He was bayoneted seven times, and died a British prisoner the following day.)
Hearing the shots Washington galloped to the ridge in time to see his men in pell-mell flight. Exposing himself to the gunsights of the British professionals only thirty yards away, he rode here and there desperately trying to stem the retreat and restore order. He must have presented an inviting target, a large man on a white steed. But his luck held. Order was recovered, although more because reinforcements from the main army arrived. Now it was the Continentals who attacked, Washington at the very front of the line. The British fell back. The battle seesawed for a time. Both sides fought resolutely, but Washington had superior numbers on his side, and he pushed Mawhood back to the Trenton Road. He was unable to corner him, however. The British slipped over the bridge that had been Mercer’s destination when the contest erupted. Mawhood was safe, yet his losses had been heavy. It was a “glorious day,” a Pennsylvania volunteer wrote his wife, and especially because of Washington’s courageous conduct. “I saw him brave all the dangers of the field and his important life hanging as it were a single hair with a thousand deaths flying around him.”67
With Mawhood out of the way Washington turned toward Princeton itself, defended now by only a tiny British force. Some fighting raged about the lone building of the diminutive college campus, although this fight was but a skirmish compared to the battle that had gone before. In a matter of minutes the operation had ended. It had been another miserable day for the British. About a hundred of the king’s men were killed, wounded, or captured.68
The casualty list at Princeton was not extensive, not when compared to the wars of Europe, or even by contrast to the engagements of the last six months. But what Washington had wrought in the space of just nine days was staggering. The two victories, prizes secured through daring and resourceful attacks made upon one of the western world’s preeminent armies, raised American morale just when it had begun to appear to many that all was lost. In addition, the great victory at Trenton exploded the myth of Hessian invincibility. Washington’s venturousness and his success—above all his success—shut down those questions about his capabilities that had been whispered behind his back. A British traveler sojourning in the unlikely spot of Loudoun County in Virginia heard the news of Trenton and Princeton from his host, a Leesburg planter who had been lambasting Washington’s “want of skill and experience” just before the tidings arrived. “But now the scale is turned and Washington’s name is extolled to the clouds,” the Englishman ruefully noted in his journal. Just a few days earlier the folks he met “had given up the cause for lost. . . . This has given them new spirits, got them fresh succours and will prolong the War, perhaps for two years,” he added.69
Washington at the Battle of Princeton, by Charles Willson Peale (1784). Courtesy of Princeton University.
Nor was the significance of Washington’s stroke lost on the heads of state in Europe. The news of his victories made its way across the Atlantic and into the thoughts of important men who watched this war with considerable interest. The consensus view was that Washington had proven himself to be an adroit and competent commander. Oddly, the British government seemed to attach less importance to their misfortunes than anyone else. Certainly the heady optimism which had blazed in London since Howe’s landing at Gravesend Bay was diluted by the arrival of the news of the engagements at Trenton and Princeton; moreover, the opposition press, which always had lamented the use of mercenaries, had a field day with the news of the Hessian failure. But North and his men, although conceding that these defeats signified a longer, more costly war, nevertheless took the position that 1776 had been an excellent year. Canada and New York had been taken, the British losses were but a token of the American losses at Fort Washington, and nearly forty thousand colonists had affirmed their loyalty to the Empire by receiving pardons from Howe. Indeed, the prevailing wisdom in London was that the navy’s inability to institute an effective blockade was a greater failure than the two recent losses to Washington. Nor did General Howe initially seem to regard the vanquishments as irreversible disasters. He was not happy, of course, but he already had concluded that one more campaign would be necessary before the rebels could be subdued.70
General Washington had envisioned Princeton as only his first step, and two hours after the shooting stopped, his army was on the road for New Brunswick, seventeen miles away. Even so, the commander had begun to reconsider his plans even before he left the little college town. For one thing his men were dead tired; subsequently he told Congress that he would have proceeded on had he had six to eight hundred fresh troops. But he could not wait for his men to rest. Cornwallis had wheeled about and was coming north. Washington did not wish to be squeezed between that army and the British contingents at New Brunswick and Amboy.71
On second thought Washington scuttled his notion of continuing the expedition, and the army veered away from New Brunswick. Forty-eight hours later, six days into 1777, the campaign of 1776 finally ended. The Continental army had marched wearily into western New Jersey, there to make camp under the guardianship of the lush rolling hills at Morristown.
8
The Campaign of 1777
“Outdone by their northern Brethren”
After weeks of retreat, of campaigning in mud and slush, Washington’s tired men must have found Morristown charming and cozy looking. But the place had not been selected for the army’s winter quarters because of its beauty. The surrounding hills and rolling terrain, an undulating topography that offered security against attack, especially against surprise attack, was the compelling reason for wintering in this diminutive village. Then, too, this was known to be a lush, fertile region, an area suitable for good foraging, one aspect of an ar
med force’s existence that the Continental army could hardly afford to ignore.
Otherwise, there was not much to distinguish the little farm town from scores of other hamlets. The customary village common sat in the heart of the town, a plot of land whose normal cheery green vista had given way to the dreariness of dead winter. The Green lay under a mantle of snow when the troops arrived, though from time to time in January and February patches of withered brown grass were visible, a complement to the barren, colorless trees. A church and a cemetery stood nearby, as did a long frame tavern, a place that Washington claimed for his lodging and office. He needed the space. He had eight, sometimes ten, aides now, and he wanted at least some of them to have rooms near his quarters, partly for convenience’s sake when work was required, partly because he could relax in the presence of most of these young men. The space in the tavern also was convenient for Martha, who joined him in mid-March and stayed for eight weeks. There was a kitchen and dining room downstairs, facilities that could be useful both for conferences and for entertainment. Another house or two stood near the Green, but most of the forty to fifty dwellings spread out from the town, remote from one another in the manner of little farming communities. The more accommodating among the prosperous families volunteered rooms in these dwellings to the highest-ranking officers; otherwise, men lived in tents, or in hurriedly constructed log cabins. From a security standpoint Morristown was a good choice, although the comforts of the previous winter outside Boston were not likely to be available to most of the soldiers.1
The first decision that Washington made following his arrival was to have his army inoculated against smallpox. Since it was a process that would debilitate many of his soldiers for several weeks (the ordeal included a few days of preparatory dieting, then up to two weeks of discomfort, including days of headaches and nausea), he evidently discounted the likelihood of any British movement. But he could not be certain, and during the next few weeks he puzzled and fretted over Howe’s intentions while he toyed with plans of his own. All he knew was that the British command had assembled a large force of redcoats at New Brunswick; whether it was for offensive or defensive purposes he had no idea. To rid himself of this adversary was his first aim, although he soon began to think along more grandiose lines. He ordered General Heath to make a feint at New York from his base in the Highlands, a ploy that he hoped might compel the recently burned British to summon virtually every soldier in New Jersey to Manhattan. Washington pleaded with the officials in New England to provide Heath with militia personnel, then he told the general to act as though he was about to fall on the city. If the British responded as he hoped, Washington planned to swoop down on the city with most of the disparate Continental forces and whatever militia he could scrape together; he presumed that the British had not had time to stockpile adequate provisions, and if that were the case the redcoats would have to fight their way through the American siege lines or face starvation. Thus, only a week after Princeton, Washington again was dreaming of seizing the initiative.2
Not much came of this enterprising scheme, however. In mid-January Heath, who had only trainbandsmen under his command, marched to Fort Independence, the British installation that guarded the Kingsbridge entrance to Manhattan Island; once there he desultorily fired a few artillery rounds at the garrison, then he produced a rather grandiloquent document demanding that the British surrender. But when the British refused to comply, Heath simply withdrew and the operation fizzled. Indeed, all that came of the planning was that Heath’s conduct propelled Washington into a rage—feelings that he hardly tried to hide, for he told Heath straight away that his retreat after issuing a surrender summons not only invited the ridicule of the adversary but insured that the British in New York remained unhindered in their foraging endeavors.3
Even though that opportunity was gone, Washington continued to harass British food-gathering activities throughout the winter. He repeatedly ordered American detachments of five hundred or more men into the field to impede the enemy, a tactic that compelled Howe to send out quite large foraging parties, units that often exceeded two thousand men. Washington’s plan was simple: render the adversary’s horses so weak that they would be unable to take the field in the spring, and in the meantime provoke as much distress as possible within the redcoats’ ranks. To a remarkable degree Washington’s strategy worked, although, inexplicably, the significance of the achievement often has been overlooked. Perhaps it has been largely ignored by historians because the British troops quartered in New York had few problems with their food supply, having wisely stockpiled enough comestibles to see them through the winter and spring. Neither their horses nor their comrades in New Jersey fared so well, however. Long Island, which the British had thought would supply fodder for their horses, proved a disappointment, whereas the Continentals’ vexing raids became a real hindrance to the supplying of both men and beasts in the camps from New Brunswick to Amboy. But these were only part of their difficulties. When Britain’s transatlantic supply train failed to arrive before the army entered its winter quarters, Howe’s problems were exacerbated, and when his logistical deficiencies grew evident, America’s perspicacious Yankee farmers quickly increased the prices of their precious commodities. By late spring the redcoats were being bled white through a continual series of Lexington-Concord type firefights with the Continentals’ flying columns as well as with swarms of militiamen, losing perhaps more men in these operations than they had lost in all the combined battles since August. Moreover, the undependability of an American food supply eventually forced Howe to revise his thinking; thereafter, he was compelled to rely largely on the government at home for certain items, even though the American navy and privateers at times threatened to render that source untrustworthy as well.4
The victualing requirements of an eighteenth-century army were enormous. The British soldier was supposed to have a daily ration of one pound of bread and either one pound of beef or nine ounces of pork; in addition, oatmeal, cheese, peas, rice, butter, molasses, rum, and porter (a dark beer made from browned malt) were supposed to be a regular part of his diet, and all this might be supplemented by vinegar, sauerkraut, or various fresh vegetables when available. Multiply these per capita requirements by an army that normally exceeded twenty thousand men, and it is obvious that Britain’s logistical problems would have been considerable even if the American forces had not attempted to impede its operation. While Washington’s harassing activity did not immediately end the war, it did make the redcoats dependent on London for the barest necessities. Thereafter, Britain would have to ship approximately 20 million pounds of bread, flour, and rice to America each year, as well as 2 million pounds of salt beef and 10 million pounds of salt pork, plus still more incredible quantities of additional staples. And that was just to feed the men. About 28 million pounds of hay and 12 million pounds of oats were required each year for the horses. Then came munitions and weapons, uniforms and tents, cooking utensils and medical supplies, skilled artisans and replacements for dead and wounded soldiers and the equine corps, even coal and wood had to be shipped across the Atlantic, and all this had to compete for space on the British ships that plied the trade lanes of the Empire. Coordinated by a bureaucracy that was anything but streamlined, it was all Britain could do to keep an army the size of Howe’s in the middle states and Carleton’s in Canada well supplied; to raise and supply sizable legions of Loyalists was out of the question.5
While this war for supplies proceeded unheralded and often unreported, Washington wondered at his adversary’s winter intentions, even speculating that “a Storm will burst soon, somewhere.” He remained alert in case Howe should plan a strike at his army, or for the remote possibility that the British might either assail New England or march on Philadelphia. Six weeks after his arrival in Morristown he better understood his indolent foe, and, because Howe had elected not to fall on America’s debilitated army in the hills of New Jersey, Washington now characterized the general as a “Man of
no enterprize.”6
What was Howe up to that winter? That he had abundant problems is clear. Finding housing for his men was a gigantic burden, for a large section of New York City had been consumed by fire soon after the Americans’ hurried escape in September. Looking after considerable numbers of American prisoners of war, not to mention having to care for the Tories that besieged his army for protection, also were full-time jobs. And there was the constant worry over supplies. But, in truth, it was not simply these perplexities that impeded General Howe. His torpor was nothing new. What was new was that whereas Sir William had had good reasons for his inertia during the previous winter, there no longer was much justification for his languor and his excessive caution. His army had a huge numerical advantage over Washington’s shrunken little force, an edge that was all the greater in that during those months the American army principally consisted of trainbandsmen. Supplying his troops over America’s muddy winter roads would have been difficult, but if he could have made Washington abandon Morristown the American commander then would have faced the same supply problems with which the British grappled. Washington also had the advantage of terrain at Morristown, but his position was not unassailable; indeed, the Continental army’s emplacement lacked the topographical barriers that supposedly had made Fort Washington impregnable. But Howe made no move, and, in fact, he seems never to have seriously considered such a step.
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