by Ron Carter
In the darkness his eyes opened wide.
The Americans will have all they need to raise another army. And Parliament, and Germain, and the king, will have all they need to convene a hearing at Whitehall. And if they do, I will be the one standing before them.
For a long time he lay in silence before he drifted into a troubled sleep.
Notes
With the British campaign closed for the winter of 1776, General William Howe now had the luxury of enjoying the company of his favorite “lady”: Mrs. Elizabeth Loring. Their affair was common knowledge, even by Joshua Loring, who had accepted Howe’s promotion as commissary of prisoners with the understanding that those duties would frequently take him away from the side of his lovely wife (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, pp. 182, 202).
Word of the Trenton defeat reached General Howe shortly after December twenty-sixth. Lieutenant Jacob Baum escaped Trenton across the Assunpink Creek and traveled almost nonstop for days as he followed orders to deliver the disastrous news to Generals Leslie, Grant, and Howe (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, p. 268).
After Baum’s report, Howe immediately sent for General Charles Cornwallis, revoking his leave to England to visit his wife, who was seriously ill, and assigned Cornwallis the command of 8,000 troops with orders to march immediately on Trenton, retake the town, and destroy Washington’s army. Cornwallis set out that night, marching one thousand troops from Staten Island, through Perth Amboy on the New Jersey coast, and heading for Princeton (see Ketchum, The Winter Soldiers, pp. 283-84).
McKonkey’s Ferry
December 29, 1776
CHAPTER XII
It’s the waitin’ that’s hard. Knowin’ they’re obsessed with revenge, and comin’ with more men and more guns, but not knowin’ when or from where.”
Sergeant Turlock paused for a moment in the bright noon sun with his smoking bowl cradled in his hands. “We stung ‘em good over there at Trenton, and you can believe they got an army of men marchin’ this way right now with cannon and cavalry, and only one thing in their minds. Find us and bury us. All of us.”
He paused to raise the bowl of beef soup and sipped at it gingerly.
Billy Weems broke a piece from his thick slice of heavy, dark bread and dipped it in his soup, then thrust it into his mouth to chew it thoughtfully as he looked about the wood yard where half the Massachusetts Regiment were seated on logs, stacked wood, or chopping blocks with steaming soup bowls in their hands. Following breakfast they had been given thirty minutes to gather around the Reverend Alexander MacWhorter for his usual Sunday-morning sermon, and then the regiment had moved out to its assignments. Billy’s company had gathered at the wood yard to swing the axes and push the saws, and now white wood chips and sawdust from the morning’s work lay heaped and scattered in the snow for fifty yards in every direction. More than twenty cords of kindling wood were stacked at random in the clearing, ready for the fires that must be endlessly fed to cook and to keep men from freezing to death.
At noon, each man had received his ration of beef soup and bread, made from the cattle and flour they had seized from the Hessian stores three days earlier at Trenton, and now they sat quietly, savoring the strong, salty beef soup and the taste of solid, heavy bread. A few of them wore clothing taken from the Hessian stores, though most still wore the rags and tatters remaining from their summer clothing. With some new Hessian blankets to cover themselves at night, they had cut their old blankets into strips and wound them about their feet and legs, then tied them with cord. At least their feet were warm. With steaming soup in their hands, the men were remembering.
Two days ago, when Colonel Glover’s Marblehead Regiment rammed the last of the big Durham boats into the frozen Pennsylvania bank of the Delaware and unloaded the cannon, General Washington had written an open letter to the army and required his officers to read it to their commands. In silence the men had dressed ranks and listened in surprise to the unusual warmth of Washington’s words as he praised them for their “spirited and gallant” service in taking Trenton. He promised them they would share in the food, stores, and medicines they had seized from the Hessians, the most needy first, and he had kept his promise. That day they had slaughtered ten of the forty-five cattle they had brought back, and roasted them on great spits until evening. In the twilight they had cut large chunks of beef into their bowls, with bread and boiled potatoes and strong black coffee, and sat on logs near the fires. For more than an hour they had eaten in silence and sipped at their steaming coffee. They had used the last of their bread to wipe every sliver, every shred of beef and grease from their bowls, and then they had stared into the dancing flames as it settled in their stomachs, and they felt the strength working into their systems. The following morning the officers had begun handing out the blankets and clothing to those who were suffering the most. The others watched in silence, then went on with their duties. They had slaughtered more beef that day to make stew, and today they had added more beef to make thick, strong soup.
Eli wiped his bowl clean with the crust of his bread and chewed, then sipped at the last of his coffee. He set the mug in the snow beside his bowl and raised his face in the bright, frigid sun to peer south across the river, searching for moving dots on the road to Trenton that would be the British army coming with enough men and cannon to wipe the Continental army from the face of the earth.
Turlock glanced at him and raised a pointing finger. “See what I mean? It’s the waitin’. Every man on this side of the river’s looked down there a dozen times this morning just like you’re doin’, watchin’, wonderin’ when the redcoats are goin’ to show up. Pretty soon their nerves are goin’ to get bad, and then they’re goin’ to start wishin’ the British would get here just so they could get it over with, one way or the other.”
Eli said nothing and continued peering across the river.
Billy set his empty bowl down. “I wonder what the plan is. Are we just going to sit here and wait? Let them come to us?”
Turlock shook his head. “I doubt it. Too much at stake. What General Washington did at Trenton is going to shock the whole British army. Provoke ‘em. They got to get him quick or run the risk of havin’ this whole war take a strong turn in our favor. What that means is, Washington’s done the impossible once, and he better figure a way to do it again or lose what he’s gained. He better come up with another plan like the one at Trenton, and that don’t include sittin’ here waitin’ for them to make the next move.”
Billy thought for a moment. “The officers met all afternoon two days ago at Washington’s headquarters. Any idea what they decided?”
“No. I been waitin’, but so far no one’s give any orders about a move. Like I said, the waitin’s the worst of it.”
Eli sensed movement to his left and turned his head as a captain wearing the green sash that identified him as an aide to General Washington strode into the clearing and his voice rang through the wood yard.
“Attention to orders. Attention to orders. The general has ordered all regiments to be prepared to cross the river tomorrow morning starting at daybreak. We’re to form up on the New Jersey bank ready to march to Trenton.”
Dead silence held for two seconds before talk erupted from soldiers all over the wood yard and into the great encampment in the woods, down to the riverbank.
Turlock shook his head and turned to Billy. “There she is. The general’s plan. We’re goin’ back across to finish what we started.”
Billy started to answer, then stopped and rose to his feet as the captain with the green sash came striding and slowed to a stop. He eyed Eli and his wolf skin coat for a moment before he spoke.
“You must be Stroud. Eli Stroud.”
Eli came to his feet. “I’m Stroud.”
“General Washington wants you at his headquarters as soon as you can get there. You and Billy Weems.” He turned to Billy. “Are you Weems?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You two know where his headquar
ters are?”
“Over in the clearing?”
“Yes. The Keith house.”
“We’ll be right there.”
The officer nodded and handed a paper to Billy. “Here’s a pass. Show it to the guard on duty at headquarters.” He turned on his heel and was soon lost in the mix of men as they stood and worked with stiff muscles for a moment before they once again picked up their axes and crosscut saws.
Billy put the paper inside his coat and looked at Eli. “Wonder what it is this time?”
Turlock interrupted. “That doesn’t take much of a guess. He needs to know where the British are comin’ from and how many, and to get that he needs scouts. You two are it.”
Eli shrugged, then reached for his rifle. Billy scooped up his musket, then spoke. “We’ll be back when we can.”
Turlock pulled a sour expression. “Take yer time, take yer time. Cuttin’ this wood’s so much fun I’ll likely get resentful if you get back too soon.”
Eli picked a path already formed in the snow and Billy fell in behind as they moved silently west towards the large, stately Keith house, five hundred yards west where Washington had established his headquarters. They walked in silence, each pondering what the general had in store for them. They approached the back entrance and stopped as the picket challenged them, eyes narrowed as he studied Eli’s coat.
Billy replied. “I’m Corporal Billy Weems and this is Scout Eli Stroud. An officer ordered us to report here to General Washington. Here’s the pass he gave us.”
The picket read the document, nodded, handed it back to Billy, and opened the door. They entered a room, cold and unheated, with wall pegs for winter wraps, and the picket gave orders.
“Leave your weapons here and hang your coats and clear your feet of snow. I’ll tell the general you’re here.”
They leaned their guns in the corner, Eli unbuckled his weapons belt and hung his knife and tomahawk on a peg, and they shrugged out of their coats and hung them over their weapons. They stood in the chilly room, waiting until the picket reentered and held the door while warm air from the house flooded around them.
“Follow me. The general’s waiting.”
The picket’s boots clicked on the hardwood floor while Eli’s moccasins and Billy’s wrapped feet made little sound as they walked down the hall. They stopped at the first door and the picket rapped.
The familiar voice came from within. “Yes. Who is it?”
“Corporal Billy Weems and Scout Eli Stroud, as ordered, sir.”
Ten seconds later the door opened and the three men faced General Washington. He was in full uniform, tall, calm, reserved. He appeared weary except for his eyes. They were alive with an inner fire. The picket stepped back as Washington spoke.
“Thank you for coming.”
They entered the small private room and stood facing a square, plain desk with papers folded on one side. Washington stood on his side of the desk, picked the top paper from the stack, unfolded it, and spread it on the desktop before he raised his head and spoke. There was a sense of impatience, and he wasted no words.
“Gentlemen, I anticipate the British are moving, probably towards Trenton. Tomorrow morning we cross the river and move down to meet them. Until I know their numbers and which direction they are coming from I will not know where to place our men, or in what numbers.” He gestured to the paper covering the desktop. “This is a map of the area north and west of here. Let me show you.”
In that instant both Billy and Eli knew what was coming, and they felt a grab in their chests as their breathing slowed. They moved to the leading edge of the desk as Washington began.
He tapped the map. “This is Trenton.” He continued to speak as he moved his finger south down the Delaware River naming the towns. “Bordentown, Bristol, Burlington.” He paused before moving his finger back to a point above Trenton. “This is Princeton, ten miles northeast of Trenton. There are two main roads between the two towns. The Princeton Road, here, and to the east is the Quaker Road, here.” His finger traced the two roads, each of which connected the two towns, but separated from each other to form an elliptical shape with the roads about three miles apart at the center of the ellipse.
“The Princeton Road is the better road, and I expect it is the one they will use if they come from Princeton.”
He paused a moment to allow them time, then again moved his finger northeast from Princeton. “This is Brunswick.” He lifted his finger and moved it due east a considerable distance. “Here is Perth Amboy, about fifty miles northeast of Princeton, on the New Jersey coast, very close to Staten Island.”
“Now observe,” he continued, moving his finger. “Moving from Princeton towards Trenton on the Princeton Road, Stony Brook is here, Eight Mile Run here, the road to Pennington here, Five Mile Run here, and the Shabbakonk Creek, here. There are bridges across each creek.”
He shifted his finger to trace the Quaker Road. “Coming on Quaker Road, there is Stony Brook here, Assunpink Creek here, Miry Run here, and a branch of the Assunpink Creek here, all with bridges.” He pointed once more. “Here, on the Quaker Road, just north of the branch of the Assunpink, about two miles from Trenton, are about five homes. The settlement is called Sandtown.”
Again he paused for several seconds as both men intently studied the map. Then he asked, “Does this give you a general idea of the area?”
Billy answered, “Yes, sir. I remember some of it from when we passed through coming from Fort Lee.”
Washington looked at Eli, who said, “I remember.” He did not mention the names of Griggstown or Honeyman, and Washington nodded silent approval. Then Washington straightened and for a moment locked eyes with Eli, then Billy, and the two young men saw the iron determination and the need in the stoic face as Washington spoke.
“I want you men to go over there immediately and do whatever is necessary to find out where the British are coming from, and in what numbers. If you can, find out which officers are in command.” He drew a breath before he continued. “And be certain to get a count of their cannon. I must know how many, and from which direction they’re coming.” He stopped, and for five seconds the room was locked in silence before he put the question directly before them.
“Can you do it?”
Neither man hesitated. Eli shrugged and Billy nodded. “Yes, General Washington.”
“Good. I must give you a few details about what to expect over there. I have ordered Colonel Joseph Reed and a squad of Philadelphia light cavalry to ride up the Princeton Road until they make contact with the British, and then report back. General Cadwalader is on the New Jersey side of the river now. Most of his men are at Bordentown, but he has patrols out somewhere between there and Princeton. I’ve also sent orders to General Heath who remained north of Brunswick with a small command to stir up as much trouble as they can north of Princeton, as a distraction. General de Fermoy is going to be north of Trenton with a small command, too. I tell you all this so you’ll know we have people over there and generally where they are.”
Eli’s eyes narrowed as he put the information in its place, and Billy nodded his understanding.
“Now perhaps you’ll understand what I am about to tell you. You will have to use your own best judgment as to where you go and what you do, bearing in mind that I am depending on you to get critical information back to me as quickly as possible about the British numbers, artillery, and their officers as best you can. That’s why I’m sending two of you. If in your judgment you run into something that is critical, one can return instantly while the other continues with your assignment.”
Both men remained silent, aware of the unspoken reason Washington was sending both of them. If either of them were killed, the other could continue. They accepted it and moved on.
“I cannot be more specific because I lack the information I need to do so. Do you have any questions?”
Eli asked, “Who is General de Fermoy?”
“A French general approved by th
e Continental Congress. He was with us at Trenton.”
Billy spoke. “May we take a telescope, General?”
“Yes. I’ll get one for you before you leave.”
Eli gestured at the map. “Do you have a copy of that?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
Eli shrugged. “Will it make any difference if we’re seen over there?”
“No. We’ll have several patrols over there and so will they.”
Billy asked, “Is there any reason we should not shoot if we have to?”
“None. I anticipate there will be skirmishes that will get worse until the heavy battle begins.”
Eli asked, “When should we be back here?”
“No later than dark on January first. But within the next two days I would like a report on what you’ve learned. One of you can bring it back, or send it back with one of the other American patrols you might find coming this way.”
Billy leaned over the map to point at the coastal town of Perth Amboy, fifty miles to the northeast. “Do you expect British troops to be coming from here?”
Washington paused to consider the question of how much critical information to reveal to a private and a corporal. For a moment he studied the two men before him and made his decision. “Yes. Let me explain.” He paused to search for words. “When we took Trenton we inflicted an unforgivable humiliation on the British, and they simply cannot let it go unavenged. I fully expect General Howe to send enough men and artillery to annihilate us altogether, and I expect them to come from every place he has troops. He has a large garrison on Staten Island, and if he sends them, they’ll come through Perth Amboy. They’ll probably go to Princeton first, and gather there with other British forces to march on Trenton. Right now there are no patrols out towards Perth Amboy, and it is critical to know if the British are sending troops from there.”