by Ron Carter
He laid the limp officer next to Billy and spoke. “They’re going to be coming in a minute. Help me get him up on the horse, and then we’ve got to move west fast.”
They made no effort to cover their tracks in the snow as they pushed west, Billy leading the horse at a trot while Eli held the unconscious officer draped across the saddle, arms and head flopping. They had covered half a mile when they stopped to look back. All the campfires were burning brightly, but there were no points of light moving towards them in the blackness. They came to the west end of the small valley and paused at the crest of the low rise, and Billy used the telescope.
“There are two lanterns coming this way. Nearly a mile.”
They settled back into their trot, and half a mile later, with the British camp and the pursuing patrol out of sight on the far side of the rise, Eli called a halt.
“We’re far enough. Give me a hand with this officer.”
They sat the man on the ground and Eli rubbed his face with snow, then slapped his cheeks until his eyes fluttered open. In the light of the full moon he stared at Eli, unable to understand where he was or how he got there.
Eli grasped his coat lapels and spoke. “Can you talk?”
The man nodded.
“What regiment are you with?”
“Fourth Brigade, Seventeenth Infantry.” The man shook his head to clear the cobwebs and suddenly realized what was happening. He stared at the dim shape of a man hunched over him dressed in a wolf skin coat, head covered by a parka, face invisible. “Who are you?” he asked. “How did I get out here?”
Eli ignored him. “What rank?”
“Who are you?” the man demanded hotly.
Eli’s hand was a blur as he swept his belt knife from its sheath and brought it to the man’s throat. “We don’t have much time. Answer and we won’t leave you out here with your throat cut. Lie once and I’ll come see you again. Now, what’s your name and your rank?”
With the cold steel against his throat, the man settled. “Sturgill. Alexander Sturgill. Captain.”
“From Perth Amboy?”
“Staten Island. We came through Perth Amboy.”
“Headed where?”
“Princeton.”
“To do what?”
“Join General Grant and General Leslie to march on Trenton.”
“How many in your column? Officers and all.”
“One thousand regulars, twenty-two officers.”
“Who’s in command?”
“Cornwallis. General Charles Cornwallis.”
Eli heard Billy’s sharp intake of breath.
“How many cannon?”
“Sixteen.”
“Horses?”
“Sixty-eight.”
“When are you to arrive in Princeton?”
“January first.”
“Have they heard about what happened in Trenton four days ago?”
“Yes. Yes. That’s why we’re marching.”
Quickly Eli jerked the scarf from around the man’s neck and wrapped it once through his mouth, then down behind his back to tie his hands, and left him sitting in the snow. He drew Billy fifteen feet away and asked, “Do you believe him?”
“Yes.”
“Take the horse. Go half a mile south, then turn west and ride hard for Trenton. You can make it by daybreak. Tell Washington what you heard and then head north to Princeton. South and a little east of town is a swampy place some call Bear Swamp. It’s frozen now, but there’s a lot of cattails and marsh grass there. Find it and I’ll meet you there sometime around noon tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Drop back and slow down that British patrol that’s following our tracks in the snow. Then go take a look at Princeton.”
Billy hesitated. “What about the officer?”
“He’ll get free in about ten minutes.”
Again Billy hesitated. “If anything goes wrong, there’s these letters in my coat. Would you—”
Eli cut him off. “I’ll deliver them, but nothing’s going to go wrong. Watch for British patrols and stay away from farm lights where the British might be sleeping.”
“You do the same.”
Billy vaulted into the saddle, Eli tossed his musket up to him, and Billy wheeled the horse due south. Eli waited until the sound of the trotting horse faded, then turned back and started east, directly towards the two moving lanterns just over half a mile distant. He passed the officer still tied in the snow and dropped down to wait. The tiny, dancing lights grew and then Eli could hear the crunching of the snow in the clear, freezing air, and then the labored breathing and guttural cursings of the men. He waited until the nearest lantern was less than twenty yards away, and then went to one knee to steady the long rifle.
The crack echoed for miles in the night and the big .60-caliber ball smashed the nearest lantern, shattering the glass and splattering the burning oil onto the overcoat of the man carrying it. Instantly the entire patrol dived into the snow while the man cursed and stripped off his overcoat and tromped it into the snow to kill the blaze. The other lantern went out instantly and Eli sprinted ten steps north, then stopped and jerked out his ramroad to reload.
Three seconds later the patrol fired a volley at the place they had seen the muzzle flash of Eli’s rifle and Eli listened to the musket balls sing past, forty feet away. Thirty seconds later Eli fired again at the place where the musket flashes had been and heard a man grunt and then curse. Again he ran to the north and stopped.
There was no more musket fire, and no more sounds, nor did the second lantern relight. Eli reloaded and sat in the silence for a time before he backed up fifteen paces, then turned northwest and began the swinging trot towards Princeton.
Dawn broke stark and clear on a frozen world as Billy reined in the weary horse, hide steaming, breath making clouds of vapor. He stood tall in the stirrups and raised the telescope to peer west along the creekbed he had been following. In the distance he counted two houses and three barns clustered close.
Sandtown. Trenton’s about two more miles.
With the sun a frigid golden ball one hour high in the east, he reined the horse down to a walk at the Continental army camp strung out for more than three miles along the south bank of the Assunpink Creek, east of the Queen Street bridge. He moved through the camp, watching for the Massachusetts Regiment, when a voice from his side came high.
“All right, you lovely, you’re back. Where’s Stroud?”
Billy turned towards Turlock. “Headed for Princeton. Where are General Washington’s headquarters?”
Turlock pointed west. “Down there half a mile. You two get into any trouble?”
Billy shook his head. “Not much.”
“Whose horse did you steal, ours or theirs?”
“Belongs to a British officer.” He smiled. “He said we could take it.”
“Better climb down and get some coffee. It’s ready.”
“No time. I got to report to the general.”
“Come back when you’re through.”
Billy turned the horse west and five minutes later stopped in front of the big command tent of General Washington. He dismounted and the picket challenged him.
“I’m Corporal Billy Weems, here to report to General Washington on a scout.”
Two minutes later he was inside the tent, standing across a plain table from General Washington who rose to meet him, intense, focused.
“Report.”
“There’s a column coming from Perth Amboy to Princeton to join Generals Grant and Leslie, and they intend coming here. They’ve heard about what we did here. One thousand men, twenty-two officers. Sixteen cannon, sixty-eight horses. They’ll arrive at Princeton sometime January first.”
“Who’s in command?”
“General Charles Cornwallis.”
Washington’s eyes dropped for a moment. “How did you get this information?”
“Captured one of their officers, a captain.”
“Where’s Mr. Stroud?”
“Gone up to Princeton. I’m going up to meet him.”
“Is he all right?”
“Yes.”
Washington slowly took his chair, working with his thoughts. “General Howe knows about Trenton and has sent General Cornwallis to retake it. It appears we’ve provoked Howe. The remaining question is how many men has Howe committed to his plan? One thousand with Cornwallis, but how many from Grant’s command, and Leslie’s command? How many can we expect to arrive here, and when?”
Billy nodded. “Eli’s up around Princeton trying to get some of those answers, sir.”
“Good. You’ve done well. You’ll need food and rest.”
“With due respect, sir, I need to get up there and find Eli. He might need some help.”
“You two work together?”
“Pretty much.”
“As you wish. Do you need a horse?”
“I have a British cavalry horse outside. I’ll trade him for a fresh one.
Washington looked amused. “You appropriated a British horse?”
“Yes, sir. I had to use the horse hard to get here overnight.”
“I’ll arrange for the trade.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Washington worked with pen and quill for a moment, then walked to the door and called an aide.
“Take Corporal Weems to Major Summers and arrange for a fresh saddle mount.” He handed the paper to the aide and turned back to Billy. “Thank you for your report. I trust I will receive further information as it beomes available.”
“Yes, sir.”
Billy followed the young aide back into the bright sunlight, gathered the reins to the jaded horse and walked with him fifty yards west to where the horses were held in a rope pen. Mounted, Billy headed east riding a fresh, big-boned, brown gelding through the camp, noticing for the first time that some of the men were rolling their small gathering of worldly possessions into their blankets and tying both ends. He came to Turlock’s fire and Turlock rose and walked to meet him with a mug of steaming coffee in each hand. Billy dismounted and followed him back to the fire, where they both stood near the warmth and worked at their coffee.
“Some of the troops are leaving?”
“Yep. Mostly the ones that can’t go farther.” He sipped at his coffee. “It got testy yesterday. Washington himself talked to the Delaware Regiment. At first not one of them was going to stay, so he talked to them again.” Turlock’s face became thoughtful. “I never heard him talk like that—never knew he could.”
Billy lowered his coffee mug. “What did he say?”
“It wasn’t so much what he said, it’s where it come from. Right out of his heart. He told them this army, right here, right now, has a chance to do something for this country and liberty that we won’t have the chance to do ever again, and we better think that over before we fail.” Turlock turned his face to Billy. “I never before saw anything like the look in his eyes that was there when he spoke.”
“What happened?”
“One old soldier stepped out and then another one and then a boy, and pretty soon everybody who could walk was out there with him. The other regiments seen it and it wasn’t any trouble at all when it came their turn. Somethin’ a man won’t never forget.”
“How many finally stayed?”
“Don’t know. We got more comin’, though. Cadwalader, Arnold, Mifflin, and maybe some others. We lost most of Glover’s command.”
Billy gaped. “Glover left? Why?”
Turlock shrugged. “Depends on who you listen to. Some say his wife was ailing and he wanted to be near her. More people are saying he wanted to go privateering. I know he talked with Washington, but I don’t know what they said. Whatever his reasons, he’s gone.”
Billy’s coffee was cooling as he sipped at it. “I got to go meet Eli up north near Princeton. I better get going.”
“You two run into any British last night?”
“Yes. They were coming from Perth Amboy to Princeton.”
“How many?”
“One thousand.”
“Who’s in command?” He held his coffee cup poised, waiting.
“Cornwallis.”
Turlock’s eyes widened and he rounded his lips and blew air. “The best they got. If he joins up with the troops in Princeton and Brunswick he’ll have enough to make real trouble.” He glanced at the Delaware River behind them. “If they catch us here, it’ll all be over quick.”
“Washington plans to stay here?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t say. But if he does, the only thing we got in our favor is that little ridge to the north. If they cross the Assunpink further up the north and come down with troops on our right, and then come over the top of that rise, we’re trapped. We got the river out there behind us, but with the big boats still up there at McKonkey’s Ferry we can’t get out.”
Billy studied the rise to the north, then the Assunpink and the single bridge crossing to the left, then the open country to the right, and he felt a rise of concern. “I doubt Washington intends staying here.”
Turlock shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Billy handed him the empty coffee mug and gathered the reins to his horse. “The coffee was good.”
“Hadn’t you better sleep for an hour or two?”
“I’m all right. Eli might need help.”
“Got anything to eat?”
“Yes. In my coat.”
“You two be careful.”
Billy nodded and swung onto his horse when Turlock raised a hand to stop him, then dug inside his coat.
“I nearly forgot. I got a letter here for Stroud. Came yesterday.”
Billy stared. “A letter for Eli? From who?”
“A British doctor in New York. Purcell.” He drew the paper from his coat. “Want to take it to him?”
Billy pondered for a moment. “Maybe I better. Can’t tell what might happen in the next day or two.”
Turlock handed it up to him and Billy tucked it inside his coat, then turned his horse back towards the single bridge that crossed the Assunpink. The horse’s hooves thumped hollowly as they crossed, and Billy turned north up King Street, still strewn with battle wreckage, deserted, quiet, eerie. North of town he raised the horse to a gentle lope traveling east for a mile and a half, then turned north on the Quaker Road.
Billy held the pace for two miles, then slowed the horse to let it blow before he raised it to a canter, then back to a walk, pacing it as he worked north the ten miles to Princeton. He passed the low, flat place to his left that he remembered marked “The Barrens” on the map, and pushed on. At the halfway point the horse clattered across the Quaker bridge where it crossed the frozen, winding Assunpink, with Billy watching ahead for anything that moved, but there was nothing in the bright, frigid sunlight. He pushed on, feeling the rhythm of the horse’s stride and breathing, slowly covering the frozen miles, until he clattered across the bridge spanning Stony Brook two miles south of Princeton.
Coming off the bridge Billy caught the first flash of movement ahead to his left and instantly reined the horse off the road to the right into a stand of maple and pine, and dismounted. He grasped the reins beneath the bit and held the horse steady, wishing he had the telescope that still hung around Eli’s neck. He narrowed his eyes against the bright snow, waiting, and then there was movement again. He saw the black dots strung out in a line in the white world, and twenty seconds later they became mounted cavalry half a mile away. They were moving at an angle that would intercept the Quaker Road about two hundred yards north of where Billy was hidden. Billy’s breathing slowed.
British or American?
The horse moved its feet and Billy spoke low to it and it stopped, blowing vapor from its belled nostrils. Billy went to one knee in the snow, eyes nearly closed to cut out the sun’s glare, and he studied the riders intently. They were less than a quarter mile away when he suddenly recognized they were Americans. He pivoted and s
wung onto the brown gelding and spurred him back onto the road heading north at a gallop. Instantly the small column of cavalry stopped and spread while the men unslung their muskets and brought them up to cover Billy. He came into them with the reins in his left hand, his right hand raised and his fingers spread. He reined the brown in and covered the last twenty yards at a walk and stopped before the officer in charge, who had studied him intently as he rode in.
“Sir, I’m Corporal Billy Weems, Boston Regiment. I’m here on scouting assignment by orders of General Washington.”
The officer nodded. “I think I’ve seen you before. I’m Colonel Joseph Reed. The patrol with me is the Philadelphia light cavalry.”
“I know, sir. General Washington told us we may find you up here.”
Reed straightened in his saddle and quickly looked around. “We? Who’s with you?”
“Eli Stroud, sir. Scout. I’m to meet him at noon over at Bear Swamp, somewhere to the east.”
“You didn’t come together?”
“We left together yesterday, sir, traveling east to see if British were coming from the coast. We found them and I took the information back to General Washington while Eli came this way.”
“Are they coming from the east?”
“Yes, sir. One thousand from Staten Island under General Cornwallis.”
Reed froze. “Cornwallis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know that?”