by Ron Carter
He shook his head in disbelief. This will go through the colonies like wild-fire! Washington will become the overnight symbol of the American cause. When this reaches Germain—Parliament—the king …
He sobered, staring at the floor. Someone will answer for this, and it is not going to be me. He rounded his mouth for a moment and blew air.
Rall’s the one. He had everything in his favor. I ordered him to build breastworks, redoubts, trenches. He’s the one who will answer.
He walked around the desk to the chair, took up his quill, and began making notes. Rall quit his post. Went on the attack, did not defend the town. Disobeyed my orders to build breastworks, redoubts, trenches. Had he obeyed me, he would not have lost his post.
He did not mention that he himself had strung outposts clear across the state of New Jersey, from Perth Amboy to the Delaware, and down nearly to Philadelphia. He omitted that in doing so he had divided his command into units small enough to become targets for precisely what had happened at Trenton, nor did he mention that General Henry Clinton had hotly advised him against it months earlier. He folded the notes and was placing them in a desk drawer when the front door slammed and boots clattered to a stop. He rose and moved quickly down the hall.
Captain Jonas Welch, gasping for breath from the two-mile run on horseback, came to attention and thrust a paper to him. “Sir, General Cornwallis sends his answer.”
Howe took the message, broke the seal and read the message twice, and spoke to Captain Welch. “That will be all. No one is to know about this.”
“Yes, sir.” Welch stepped back out into the freezing night and Howe returned to the library to wait. Minutes later the front door opened and he heard the aide trotting down the hall.
“Sir, Lieutenant Baum is provided for. Is there anything else?”
“Yes. General Lord Cornwallis will arrive here sometime around midnight. When he does, make him comfortable. I will return here just after midnight.”
“Yes, sir. Where will you be?”
“At the ball. No sense wasting the evening entirely. Get my carriage. I’m late.”
At ten minutes past nine o’clock, General Howe extended his arm to Elizabeth Loring. She laid her hand on his and with the orchestra playing grandly, side by side they led the procession down the center of the great ballroom with Mrs. Loring radiant in her new sky-blue gown. Behind them Governor Tryon and his lady held their chins high and followed. Overhead three thousand candles on three gigantic chandeliers lighted the ballroom floor, while buntings of royal blue tastefully graced the eighteen marble columns supporting the ceiling.
A little past ten o’clock General Howe became aware that too many officers were glancing his way while they spoke quietly among themselves. It was ten-forty-five when Governor Tryon casually stopped beside him at the table with the crystal punch bowl and the five hundred cut crystal cups.
Tryon poured, picked up his punch cup, and sipped for a moment before he spoke. “Have you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“The officers say soldiers arrived from Princeton. There’s a rumor the Americans crossed the Delaware and took Trenton.” Tryon stopped and watched Howe’s eyes intently.
“I heard.”
“If they did, it’s the worst news we could receive.”
Howe shrugged and sipped his punch. “Why? A trifle. We can retake Trenton when we wish.”
Tryon shook his head. “I’m not talking about retaking Trenton. I’m talking about the fact the American army was beaten, ours for the taking. With this victory, Washington is going to become a shining star who will be able to gather an army as never before. Mark my word.”
Slowly Howe set his punch cup back on the table and studied Tryon’s eyes, and then he walked to the place where Elizabeth and Mrs. Tryon were talking, gesturing. They stopped as he approached and Elizabeth smiled at him expectantly. Howe bowed slightly to Mrs. Tryon.
“May I take Elizabeth away from you?”
“Of course.”
Howe extended his hand and Elizabeth took it and he walked her away from the milling throng and spoke quietly. “Something has come up that requires me to leave. I’m sorry.”
“Now? Leave now?” Disappointment was thick in her voice and eyes.
He shook his head. “I’m so sorry. You’ll soon understand.”
Little was said as the carriage worked its way to the Loring home, where the general took her to the door, bowed, said his good night, and strode quickly back to the coach. The driver raised the team of matched black geldings to a trot as he worked his way through the narrow cobblestone streets and pulled them to a halt before the portico of the Jacobson mansion at midnight. Five minutes later Howe was in his second-story bedroom changing into his uniform. At twenty minutes past midnight Captain MacKenzie strode down the hall and rapped.
“What is it?”
“General Lord Cornwallis has just arrived, sir.”
“I’ll be right down.”
Three minutes later the men faced each other, seated on opposite sides of the large, dark desk in the library, and Cornwallis, large, roundfaced, fleshy, spoke.
“My apologies, sir, for taking time, but half of my baggage was already aboard the ship bound for England when I got your message. I had to go identify it so it could be unloaded. I’m afraid the captain was not pleased.”
“I’m sorry for the tremendous inconvenience to you, and the disappointment you must feel in being denied the opportunity of seeing your wife. I trust her health is improved.”
“She remains ill.”
Howe leaned forward. “Let me come directly to it. A German lieutenant named Jacob Baum arrived about five hours ago with a message. He had ridden for two days, with no food and only four hours sleep, on orders from General Grant at Brunswick to tell me the American army crossed the Delaware the night of December twenty-fifth and on the morning of December twenty-sixth took Trenton. They killed or captured nearly the entire German garrison.”
Cornwallis froze. For ten seconds the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and then Cornwallis spoke, his voice nearly a whisper. “The Americans took Trenton from Colonel Rall? Impossible!”
“The news is in the streets right now. I heard it in the Murdock ballroom two hours ago.”
Cornwallis swallowed, battling to recover from the worst shock he could remember. “What of Colonel Rall?”
“Baum thinks Rall’s dead, along with Dechow and some other officers.”
“Who led the Americans?” In his heart Cornwallis already knew.
“The messenger didn’t know. I think it had to be General Washington himself.”
“How many Americans?”
“The messenger estimates between four and five thousand.”
Cornwallis shook his head. “I doubt it. Last report, he had less than half that with him at McKonkey’s Ferry.”
“I know. The question is, what do we do now?”
Cornwallis eased back in his chair, mind beginning to work with the facts. He began shaking his head slowly. “When this reaches England there will be a reckoning. A terrible reckoning.”
Howe nodded and remained silent.
Cornwallis pursed his mouth for a time, forcing his thoughts, reaching for a conclusion. “We have no choice. We mount a force large enough to retake Trenton regardless how large Washington’s forces are, and we destroy the American army.” He paused and leaned forward, intense, focused. “And we do it now. Starting tonight.”
Howe eased back in his chair, uncertain whether Cornwallis had just delivered him the worst insult of his military career, or was doing what he could to prevent further damage to Howe’s reputation before Germain, Parliament, and the king. Or both. Howe was keenly aware of the vicious murmurings that were rampant among his own officers, accusing him of having formed a plan to use the war with America for his own gain by purposely winning a series of small victories while refusing to end it by simply crushing Washington
in one all-out battle. After all, Howe had already held Washington in the palm of his hand at Long Island, Brooklyn, Manhattan Island, White Plains, and again on the banks of the Delaware, each time to dawdle and delay and refuse to end it just long enough to allow Washington and the Continental army to escape. His officers were angry, then enraged when the king rewarded Howe with the promise of knighthood! Why, they fumed, should Howe change his tactics when refusing to end the war had gained him knighthood?
However, of one thing Howe was certain. The man seated across his desk was one of the most able generals in British history, and the most beloved by the men he led, and Germain, Parliament, and the king knew it. Howe chose to pass over Cornwallis’s inference that delay was no longer to be tolerated.
“I agree. I want you to take command of that operation.” He waited for Cornwallis to react.
Slowly Cornwallis drew in a great breath and he felt deep pain in his heart. More than his military career, more than anything else in the world, Charles Cornwallis loved his wife, and she loved him. It had been suggested by some physicians that her failing health was the result of a heart broken by her husband’s absence. When Cornwallis learned of it, he instantly requested to be relieved of his duties in America to be at her side. Nothing else in the world would have driven him to turn away from his duty to his beloved England. Seated across the desk from Howe, he bowed his head for a long time while Howe waited, barely breathing. In his heart, Cornwallis was torn between his love for his wife, and his sworn oath as a British officer to the Crown. Never had he been so torn between love and duty.
He raised his head. “I must see your maps showing the present locations and strengths of our troops, and who our officers are, and where their troops are located and who is in command.”
Howe began to breathe again. Three minutes later the two men were standing, leaning over the desk, while Cornwallis traced the string of outposts with his finger, ending at Bordentown on the Delaware River. He then backtracked and tapped the map.
“How many men here, at Brunswick?”
“About a thousand.”
“Who’s in command?”
“General Grant.”
“I thought he was at Princeton.”
“He left General Leslie in charge at Princeton. He went to Brunswick to take charge personally of moving our supplies and money to other locations in case the Americans take Brunswick.”
“How many men at Princeton?”
“Perhaps six thousand.”
“And here, at Perth Amboy?” He tapped the map on the New Jersey coast opposite the southern shores of Staten Island, less than two hours from New York by longboat.
“I’ve ordered one thousand over there, prepared to march.”
“Do you know where General Washington is now with his forces?”
“No. His arrival in Trenton was a total surprise. Where he has gone from there has not yet been reported.” Howe paused for a moment and Cornwallis peered at him, waiting. “There is one thing that could become critically important to your planning.”
Cornwallis straightened. “What is that?”
“We intercepted a letter written by General Washington himself to their ‘Congress.’ That letter sets out the date that the enlistments expire for nearly every soldier in the Continental army.” Howe paused and the room became silent. “Midnight, December thirty-first. By morning of January first, I expect General Washington will have almost no army remaining.”
Cornwallis stared in silence for a few seconds before he spoke. “Are you certain?”
“I have the letter. Would you care to read it?”
Cornwallis shook his head. “Not if you are convinced it’s true.”
“I believe it’s true.”
“Do you think the soldiers will reenlist?”
“I doubt it. I anticipate General Washington will lose most of them.”
“I hope that occurs. However, I must assume I will still be facing his army as it is now.”
Once again Cornwallis leaned over the table to study the maps. “I propose that I take the men here at Perth Amboy and march them to Princeton. While we’re marching, send orders to General Grant in Brunswick to march his men to Princeton, and send orders to General Leslie to prepare his command in Princeton to march, while he waits for General Grant and myself to arrive. That will give us about eight thousand seasoned, fresh soldiers with three generals to march on to Trenton. I have no question that such a force can do whatever is necessary to retake Trenton and destroy Washington’s rabble altogether. That accomplished, it is my conclusion we will be in a position to demand the unconditional surrender of the Americans.”
“Artillery?”
“We take nearly all of it from Perth Amboy and leave only enough at Brunswick and Princeton to defend the towns in event of attack. The rest of it comes with us. When we engage General Washington, I want everything we can reasonably spare. I plan to end this war.”
“When do you plan to start?”
“The minute I leave here. I’ll go directly to Perth Amboy and I’ll have that garrison with artillery marching for Princeton by noon tomorrow, provisioned and with their artillery. I believe we can be in Princeton with eight thousand men and our artillery within seventy-two hours and on down to engage Washington at Trenton the next day. I’ll send messengers ahead advising Generals Grant and Leslie of the plan, and to be prepared.”
“Washington will have scouts out. They’ll know about this in time to vacate Trenton.”
“Let him. We’ll have scouts out too, and there is no place he can run that we cannot follow. I am convinced our army is better prepared for a winter campaign than his, and sooner or later he will have to stand and fight, or surrender. Either way, the outcome will be the same. And the terrible stigma of this Trenton disaster will be largely erased and forgotten.”
Howe folded the maps and set them aside as he pulled paper, ink, and quill before his chair and sat down. He wrote thoughtfully for several minutes, sprinkled the salts to dry the ink, dumped the residue into the basket by his knee, folded the document and sealed it with hot wax impressed with his seal. He handed it to Cornwallis.
“Those written orders should provide you with whatever you need.” He stood. “The German lieutenant who brought the news is billeted nearby. His name is Lieutenant Jacob Baum. If you wish to speak to him my aide can take you. Is there anything else?”
Cornwallis slipped the sealed orders inside his coat. “If you have talked with Lieutenant Baum I do not need to. May I have those maps?”
Howe quickly handed them to him. “Anything else?”
“Nothing I can think of at the moment. If something arises, I’ll send a messenger.”
Howe nodded and a look of interest bordering on humor crossed his face. “Do you intend going to Perth Amboy from here and rousing that command in the night?” He could not believe Cornwallis intended rousting an entire command out of their beds without notice, before four o’clock on a winter’s morning.
The answer was instant and firm. “Yes. They’ll be finished with morning mess by eight o’clock and marching with full provisions and artillery by noon.”
“In the dead of winter?”
“In whatever weather the Almighty sends.”
Howe reached to shake the thick-fingered hand. “Thank you.”
“I shall keep you advised of developments.” Cornwallis bowed slightly, turned on his heel and walked steadily out of the library, down the hallway, and out the front door into the frigid night air. Howe followed him to the door and stood in the rush of frigid air to watch him mount his waiting carriage. The armed escorts closed the door and the driver slapped the reins on the rumps of the four horses as the whip cracked, and the carriage lurched into motion with vapor billowing behind the horses’ heads.
The carriage disappeared in the dark and Howe stood for a moment, pensive, thoughtful, listening to the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestones as the sounds faded in the night.
Had he done it right? If he had personally left New York to take command of the forces preparing to march to Trenton to destroy the Americans, would it be seen by Germain and Parliament and the king as an admission that the Trenton disaster was the result of his own unforgivable mistake? By handling it casually, sending a subordinate officer to clean up the mess, would they believe it was only a minor interruption, not worthy of the personal attention of the commanding officer? that it was one of those insignificant incidents so common to an otherwise successful campaign?
He did not know. Shivering, he stepped back inside the mansion, closed the door, and slowly made his way back to the library. For a time he sat in his chair, searching his memory, pondering.
The night of December twenty-fifth? There was a storm that night—a bad northeaster. Did Washington cross the Delaware in that storm? horses, cannon, his army? If he came into Trenton from the west, where did he cross? His army was nine miles away at McKonkey’s Ferry. If that’s where he crossed, he marched his men nine miles in a blizzard after they were on the New Jersey side, and he caught the Hessians by total surprise. How? How did he do it?
A strange unsettling feeling crept over him.
If that’s what he did, what else is he capable of? Is it possible he will find a way to beat Cornwallis? eight thousand of our best? He shook his head. He might have caught the Hessians by surprise, but there is no way under the sun he’s going to surprise Cornwallis.
He rose and turned off the lamps in the library and made his way upstairs to his luxurious bedroom. His aide had hung his new ballroom suit in his closet and as he hung his uniform beside it, he paused to touch the beautiful sky-blue coat.
I wonder if Elizabeth will ever forgive me.
Later, in the darkness, as the warmth of his bed settled in, he saw once again in his mind Lieuteunant Jacob Baum, professional Hessian soldier: dirty, exhausted, beaten, able to recall little more than the blasting of American cannon and American soldiers with muskets and bayonets running over the top of the Hessian garrison. The thought crept back into Howe’s consciousness.
If Washington could do that with what was left of his army, could he find a way to beat Cornwallis? And if he does somehow beat Cornwallis, what will be the result?