CHAPTER XIV.

THE MARCH ON TRENTON

The old Continentals In their ragged regimentals. —Knickerbocker.

That Spartan step without their flutes. —Brainard.

Another day, the conversation, when Uncle Lawrence was present, happened to turn on the battle of Trenton, and the famous winter campaign of Washington in the Jerseys. The veteran had brought some rye to mill, and while it was being ground, stepped over to the “big house,” as it was called, where Kate, obeying the hospitable custom of the day, had him immediately into the parlor, to drink a glass of wine. Mrs. Warren was absent in the kitchen, scolding the cook.

Never before had Major Gordon heard our heroine exhibit so much interest in behalf of the Americans as on this occasion. Her eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, and she really seemed at last to sympathize with the patriots.

“Do you know,” she said, turning to Uncle Lawrence, “that the great Frederic has declared that battle to be one of the most brilliant strokes of the century?”

“Did he, indeed?” said Uncle Lawrence, his face glowing with gratification. “Did the great King of Prussia, the hero of Rosbach, really say that?”

A century ago, Frederic the Great, it must be remembered, filled something of the same place in military history which Napoleon does now. He was especially the idol of the English and Americans; quoted, strange to say, as the “Protestant Champion;” and considered a marvellous captain, as indeed he was, at least in many respects. Thus even Uncle Lawrence, little as he knew of the doings of the great world across the water, was familiar with the exploits of the Prussian monarch.

“Did the great Frederic,” repeated the old man, putting down his glass only half drained, his whole countenance irradiated with pleasure, “really say that?” And he looked from Kate to Major Gordon, as if half doubting whether the latter, whom he secretly considered a better authority on military matters, would confirm the assertion.

“He is said to have used substantially those words,” said the Major, thus appealed to. “I have no doubt of the truth of the report either, for the movement on Trenton was certainly masterly. The results show that. In ten days, the enemy, though twenty-five thousand strong, and though holding all the principal posts in this state, from the Raritan to the Delaware inclusive, were forced back on New Brunswick, and the whole region rescued from their hands. It is one of my greatest griefs as a soldier that I could not participate in that campaign, being at that time still ill of a wound I had received at Long Island.”

Kate, who heard of this circumstance for the first time, looked with interest at the speaker; for a woman, even if an enemy, regards a soldier who has suffered with something of tender pity.

“You not at Trenton!” exclaimed Uncle Lawrence; and he shook his head, as he added, “Ah, I can understand your grief!”

He paused a moment, and then said, as the memory of that day rose more vividly before him,

“I’ve heerd better men than I can ever hope to be say that we saved the country then; and if so be it turns out to be true, I shall be prouder to have my children say their father fought at Trenton, than if King George had made me a lord.”

Major Gordon instinctively looked at Kate, whose countenance was lighted up with enthusiasm at the words and aspect of the speaker; at least our hero thought so.

“You are right in asserting that the victory at Trenton saved the country,” he replied, with animation. “Miss Aylesford will excuse me, if I speak too boldly. But I know she honors bravery wherever it may be found.” And he bowed respectfully to her.

“Don’t let me be a check on you,” she replied, blushing. “I know that both you and Uncle Lawrence are conscientious in your opinions”.

“Well, then,” resumed the Major, his blood quickening at this acknowledgement, “if our cause triumphs, it will be because Trenton was the turning point in the struggle. Up to that time, with the exception of the evacuation of Boston, everything had gone against us. This was especially true of the period immediately preceding it; I mean the period following the defeat at Long Island. The terms for which most of the soldiers had enlisted were expiring; and but few were willing to renew their engagements. Meantime new recruits came in slowly. The force of Washington, the only one at that time left,” he continued, addressing Kate, “was reduced by loss in battle, by the capture at Fort Washington, and by the expiration of enlistments, to but little over two thousand men. A general panic seized all except the most resolute patriots. The Congress was preparing to fly, for there was no barrier between the capital where it met, and the victorious enemy, but the comparatively feeble one of the Delaware; and the British, twenty thousand strong, were rapidly advancing on that river. Lord Howe considered the revolution virtually at an end, and issued his proclamation, offering pardon to all who, within sixty days, would lay down their arms and take the oath of allegiance. You do not know, Miss Aylesford, you could not, living in England, as you then did, the temptations and terrors which beset men in that awful crisis, especially those who had families. The axe and scaffold, I should rather say the gallows-tree, loomed up before the eyes of every patriot. Many gave way. This was especially true of those who had property. Crowds took the required oath of allegiance. The liberties of the country, the future of mankind, quivered in the balance.”

He paused for a moment for breath, for he had spoken rapidly and impetuously. Uncle Lawrence nodded assent approvingly. Kate, with downcast eyes, but heightened color, sat, playing with a rose, which she had just taken from a vase beside her.

More composedly, the Major resumed—

“In that crisis, if Washington had given way, all would have been lost. But he was like Atlas, who upheld our world. Firm as a rock, when night, tempest, and angry surges combine against it, he stood up, not only unshaken, but unappalled. ‘If we are driven from Philadelphia,’ said he, ‘we will retire beyond the Alleghanies.’ Never, even for an instant, did he think of surrender. And then it was,” added Major Gordon, kindling again, “that he conceived that daring night attack, to strike at all the posts of the enemy on the Delaware, from Trenton to Burlington, which, even though it but partially succeeded, resulted in throwing the royal forces back on Brunswick, and recovering, in ten days, all which the foe had gained during the entire autumn.”

“Only partially succeeded?” interposed Kate, with real surprise. “Why I thought it was a complete victory. It was so considered in private circles in England.”

“The intention was to cross below, as well as at Trenton, and so cut off the whole series of posts,” replied the Major; “but the driving ice prevented Cadwallader, at Bristol, from achieving his part of the task. Above Trenton, however, Washington succeeded in crossing, and carried all before him, as you say.”

Uncle Lawrence, while the Major was speaking, would have been a study for an unconcerned spectator. His usual calmness of manner had given place to intense, but suppressed excitement; and now, as the Major’s last words recalled the whole scene of that eventful night, he could control himself no longer. The color rose in his aged cheeks, and his eye flashed with youthful fire. In general, he was the last person to speak of events in which he had been himself engaged. But now he seemed to lose his own personality in the magnitude of the transaction he described.

“Such a night as that was,” he said. “The weather had been warm afore, for the season—kind o’ spring-like—but all at once it set in cold, and when we reached the place where we had to cross, the river was full of ice, driving like mad in the dark. At first I thought all was up, for with the great cakes grinding together, it seemed to me as if we’d never get over, leastways with the cannon—we had twenty small brass pieces, you know. Along shore, in many places, the ice was piled ten feet high, where it had jammed, and one bit slid up over another. Often, in the middle of the river, whole fields would come together, so that, for a while, you’d think you might walk across. Then, with a low growl, like thunder miles away, it would split apart, and the whole begin to move agin. The Gin’ral, howsomever, determined to try; the boats were filled, and we set off. It was a hard fight to push ‘em through, a’most as hard as the battle in the morning; and more than once I said, said I, ‘we’ll have to give it up.’ Sometimes a boat would be carried a mile away from the one it started with, in spite of all the rowers could do to make it keep its place. Once our batteau was crushed by getting where several fields of ice met. If we pushed her off from one she ran agin a second; and soon they began to slide over each other; all the time moaning as if in pain, like the great leviathin that we read of in Scriptur’. At last we had to give up, and just wait what the Lord would send, but expecting every minute to be ground to powder. All this time there were twenty others, some with horses on board, as bad off as ourselves; the horses snortin’ and plungin’, frightened mad, poor things! The wind was cutting cold. Our hands got ‘numb, and the water froze on us.

“Howsomever,” continued the old man, “we made the shore at last, but not till four o’clock in the morning, when we ought to have got over by the middle of the night. Washington had crossed among the first, and there he sat, for hours, on a bee-hive, on the shore, watching the rest of us. You may guess how he must have felt! We had nine miles to go, and every minute was precious; for there wasn’t much time wasted, after the cannon was landed. But now the weather, which had been threatening-like all day, set in stormy, snow and sleet mixed together, and the wind sharper than ever. The hail stung our faces; the cold went to the marrow, and some of us were thin enough dressed. Many a poor fellow, who had no shoes, marked the road with his blood. Not a soul met us, to bid us God speed! But I’ve often thought since, that people, asleep in the farm-houses, must have heard us as we went by; but they but half woke up, perhaps, and saying to themselves it was only the Storm, dozed again, little knowing that the fate of America was being decided.

“Well,” continued the veteran, “it was nigh eight o’clock afore we reached Trenton. Long afore, when they told Washington that the wet would spoil our powder, he had said that ‘then we must fight with the baggonet;’ so we all knew that it was to be for life or death. Two of our men had dropped out of the ranks and died; but that only made the rest of us more eager. Not a fife was heard, nor a drum beat, as we marched along; the rumble of the cannon, and the tread of our men was the only sound; but the roar of the gale through the woods was often louder. At last, as I’ve said, we reached Trenton, just as daylight began to break. Washington rode down our line, and pointing with his sword ahead, said, ‘Now or never, my lads!’ He may have said more, but that was all I heerd; and that was enough; for I felt, after it, as if I could fight like a dozen men. I shall never forget how he looked. He seemed as big as a giant through the sleet and fog; and his face, oh! such a face, it said a thousand things.”

Uncle Lawrence paused for a moment, as if compelled by emotion. His listeners hung eagerly on his words, Kate quite as interested as Major Gordon. Directly the old man resumed.

“The Gin’ral had hardly got out of sight, when there was a flash ahead, and patter, patter, came the sound of musket-shots. It was the picket, at the end of the town, which had just found out that an enemy was upon ‘em. We dashed forward, the cannon jolting and leaping past us, the horses at full gallop. Of what came after, I don’t remember much. The fight didn’t seem to me to last five minutes, though I’m told it was five times that at least. I s’pose a hound, when he’s been long held in, and is at last let loose on a deer, feels something like I did, after marching all night to get at the Hessians, and fearing often that we’d come up too late.

“You both know how we whipped ‘em,” said the veteran, resuming in a less excited tone. “They were dancing, and feasting, and drinking, just like Belshazzar, when the Lord sent the Persians agin him; and Col. Rohl, who was killed, was act’lly playing cards, we were told, when we rushed into the town. They wouldn’t believe it in Philadelphy, though, till we marched the Hessians through the streets,” concluded Uncle Lawrence, with a chuckle.