Chapter 2

An attentive study of the dispatches of Napoleon Bonaparte will show the importance which he attached to intelligence of this kind. He kept near him at headquarters an officer of rank who had nothing to do but to procure, record, and arrange all the military news which could be gleaned from newspapers, correspondents, and spies. The name of every regiment, detachment, and corps in the enemy's service was written upon a card. For the reception of these cards he had a case made with compartments and pigeon-holes. Every time a movement was reported the cards were shifted to correspond, so that he could know at a glance, when the cards were spread out upon a table, just how the troops of the enemy were distributed or massed. Every few days, the officer in charge had to send the emperor a list of the changes which had taken place. This important matter was intrusted to a person who knew the languages of the different nations engaged in the war.

It was Bonaparte's perfect organization of his spy system which enabled him to carry out his plan of always having a superior force at the point of attack. These two were the great secrets of his tactical system, namely, to have the best information and the most men at the decisive moment.

Bonaparte was a trained soldier; but when Washington took command of the army in July, 1775, he had had very little experience of actual warfare. That little, however, was precisely of the kind to prove the value of correct information. For the want of it, he had seen General Braddock lead an army into the jaws of destruction, and he may have still possessed in some closet of Mount Vernon the coat with four bullet-holes in it which he had himself worn on that occasion. There are no warriors so skillful either at getting or concealing information as Indians, and all his experience hitherto had been in the Indian country and with warlike methods of an Indian character.

Hence it is not surprising to discover that the first important act which he performed at Cambridge was to engage a person to go into the city of Boston for the purpose of procuring "intelligence of the enemy's movements and designs." An entry in his private note-book shows that he paid this unknown individual $333.33 in advance.

A person who serves as a spy takes his life in his hand. It is a curious fact of human nature that nothing so surely reconciles a man to risking his life as a handsome sum in cash. General Washington, being perfectly aware of this fact, generally contrived to have a sum of what he called "hard money" at headquarters all through the war. Spies do not readily take to paper money. There are no Greenbackers among them. In the letters of General Washington we find a great many requests to Congress for a kind of money that would pass current anywhere, and suffer no deterioration at the bottom of a river in a freshet. He preferred gold as being the "most portable." He wrote in 1778 from White Plains:

"I have always found a difficulty in procuring intelligence by the means of paper money, and I perceive that it increases."

It continued to increase, until, I suppose, an offer of a million dollars in paper would not have induced a spy to enter the enemy's lines. In fact, the general himself says as much. In acknowledging the receipt of five hundred guineas for the secret service, he says that for want of a little gold he had been obliged to dispense with the services of some of his informers; and adds:

"In some cases no consideration in paper money has been found sufficient to effect even an engagement to procure intelligence; and where it has been otherwise, the terms of service on account of the depreciation have been high, if not exorbitant."

The time was not distant when paper money ceased to have any value, and Governor Jefferson of Virginia paid his whole salary for a year (a thousand pounds) for a second-hand side-saddle.

During the later years of the war, the city of New York was the chief source of information concerning the designs and movements of the enemy. General Washington, as early as 1778, had always two or three correspondents there upon whose information he could rely if only they could send it out to him. Sometimes, when his ordinary correspondents failed him, he would send in a spy disguised as a farmer driving a small load of provisions, and who would bring out some family supplies, as tea, sugar, and calico, the better to conceal his real object. Often the spy _was_ a farmer, and sometimes quite illiterate. As it was unsafe for him to have any written paper upon his person, he was required to learn by heart the precise message which he was to deliver in the city, as also the information which he received from the resident correspondent.

The messenger frequently entered the city in the disguise of a peddler, a fact which suggested to Horace Greeley, when he was a printer's apprentice in Vermont, the idea of a story which he called "The Peddler-Spy of the Revolution." I once had in my hand a considerable package of his manuscript of this tale; but even as a boy he wrote so bad a hand that I could not read much of it. It is possible that this manuscript still exists.

These methods of procuring intelligence in New York were all abused by real peddlers, who, when they were caught selling contraband goods to the enemy, pretended to be spies, and so escaped the penalty. At length the general chiefly depended upon two persons, one called "Culper Senior," and the other "Culper Junior," who may have been father and son, but whose real names and qualities have never been disclosed. General Washington's secrecy was perfect. His most confidential officers, except one or two who had to be in the secret, never knew enough of these men to be able to designate them afterwards. When Benedict Arnold fled to New York after his treason, the American spies there were panic-stricken, as they very naturally concluded that Arnold must have been acquainted with their names and residences. General Washington was able to assure them that such was not the fact, and it is even probable that only one individual besides himself knew who they were. This was Major Benjamin Tallmadge, a native of Long Island, who frequently received the dispatches from New York and forwarded them to headquarters. The letters were commonly taken across the East River to Brooklyn; thence to a point on the Sound about opposite to Rye or Portchester; and were thence conveyed to camp.

The dispatches from the Culpers were generally written in invisible ink, which was made legible by wetting the paper with another liquid. It was a matter of no small difficulty to keep the spies in New York supplied with the two fluids, and also with the guineas which were requisite for their maintenance. At first the spies wrote their letters on a blank sheet of paper; but that would never do. General Washington wrote:

"This circumstance alone is sufficient to raise suspicions. A much better way is to write a letter in the Tory style, with some mixture of family matters, and, between the lines and on the remaining part of the sheet, communicate with the stain (the invisible ink) the intended intelligence."

The Culpers served faithfully to the end of the war, and finally had the happiness of sending to the general the glorious news that the British army, the fleet, and the Tories were all evidently preparing to depart from the city, which they had held for seven years. Who were these adroit and faithful Culpers? The secret seems to have died with Washington and Tallmadge.

AN HISTORIC CHRISTMAS NIGHT

"Christmas Day, at night, one hour before day, is the time fixed upon for our attempt upon Trenton."

In this confused way, December 23, 1776, General Washington wrote from his camp, near Trenton Falls, to Colonel Reed, who was posted at Bristol, a few miles further down the Delaware, guarding an important ford.

Before crossing over to the safe side of this wide stream, about twelve hundred feet wide at Trenton, he gave an order so important that, if he had forgotten or omitted it, nothing could have saved Philadelphia from being captured by the British.

He directed that all the boats and barges of the whole region, for seventy miles, everything that could float and carry a man, should be taken over to the western bank of the river, and there carefully concealed, or closely watched.

All the boats and canoes in the creeks and tributaries were also secured, and hidden where they could do an enemy no good. There were many large barges then upon the Delaware, used for transporting hay and other produce, some of which could have carried over half a regiment of foot at every trip.

All of these were hidden or guarded, and as soon as General Washington had got his own little army over, he posted a guard at every ford, and kept trustworthy men going up and down the river, to see that the boats were safe.

If any one desires to see General Washington when he displayed his manhood and military genius at their best, let him study the records of his life for the month of December, 1776. The soldier, the statesman, the citizen, the brave, indomitable man, each in turn appears, and shines in the trying hours of that month.

Only the River Delaware separated the hostile armies, and the enemy waited but for the ice to form, in order to add Philadelphia to the list of his summer conquests.

Congress had adjourned from Philadelphia to Baltimore. New Jersey was ravaged by ruthless bands of soldiers. Disaffection was on every side. The winter, prematurely cold, threatened to make an ice-bridge over the stream in ten days, and within about the same time the terms of most of General Washington's troops would expire, and he might be left without even the semblance of an army. "Dire necessity," as he said, compelled a movement of some kind.

Christmas had come. It was a cold, freezing day. There was already a large amount of ice floating by, and heaped up along the shore, in many places rendering access to the water impossible, and in all places difficult.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, the troops were drawn up in parade before their camp at Trenton Falls. They were about twenty-four hundred in number. Every man carried three days' cooked rations, and an ample supply of heavy ammunition. Few of the soldiers were adequately clothed, and their shoes were in such bad condition that Major Wilkinson, who rode behind them to the landing-place, reports that "the snow on the ground was tinged here and there with blood." The cold was increasing. The ice was forming rapidly. The wind was high, and there were signs of a snow-storm.

Boats were in readiness, and about sunset the troops began to cross. The passage was attended with such difficulties as would have deterred men less resolute. The current of the river was exceedingly swift, the cold intense, and, although it was the night of a full moon, the thick snow-clouds made the night dark.

Colonel Knox, afterward General Knox of the Artillery and Secretary of War, rendered efficient service on this occasion. Soldiers from Yankee Marblehead manned many of the boats, and lent the aid of their practiced skill and wiry muscle. Every man worked with a will, and yet it was three o'clock in the morning before the troops were all over.

It was four o'clock before they were formed in two bodies and began to march, one division close along the river, and the other on a parallel road, some little distance in the country.

It had been snowing nearly all night, and about the time when the troops were set in motion the storm increased, the wind rose, and hail was mingled with the snow. The storm blew in the faces of the men and they had nine miles to go before reaching Trenton, where fourteen hundred of the Hessian troops were posted under Colonel Rahl.

Soon after, it was whispered about among the men that the fuses of the best muskets were wet and could not be discharged. Upon this being reported to General Sullivan, he glanced around at Captain St. Clair and asked: "What is to be done?"

"You have nothing for it," replied St. Clair, "but to push on and charge."

The gallant Stark of Vermont was in command of the advance guard, and perhaps near him marched the father of Daniel Webster. Colonel Stark told his men to get their muskets in the best order they could as they marched, and an officer was sent to inform General Washington of this mishap.

"Tell your General," said the Commander-in-chief, "to use the bayonet and penetrate into the town; the town must be taken, and I am resolved to take it."

The soldiers overheard this reply, as it was given by the aide to General Sullivan, and quietly fixed bayonets without waiting for an order.

About eight in the morning both parties arrived near the village of Trenton. General Washington, who rode near the front of his column, asked a man who was chopping wood by the roadside:

"Which way is the Hessian Picket?"

"I don't know," replied the Jerseyman, unwilling to commit himself.

"You may speak," said one of the American officers, "for that is General Washington."

The man raised his hands to heaven and exclaimed: "God bless and prosper you, sir! The picket is in that house, and the sentry stands near that tree."

General Washington instantly ordered an advance. As his men marched rapidly toward the village with a cheer, Colonel Stark and his band answered the shout and rushed upon the enemy.

The Hessians made a brief attempt at resistance; first, by a wild and useless fire from windows, and then by an attempt to form in the main street of the village. This was at once frustrated by Captain T. Forest, who commanded the battery of six guns which had caused much trouble and delay in crossing the river.

At the same time Captain William Washington and Lieutenant James Monroe, afterward President, ran forward with a party to where the Hessians were attempting to establish a battery, drove the artillerists from their guns, and captured two of them, just as they were ready to be discharged.

Both these young officers were wounded. Colonel Stark during the brief combat, as Wilkinson reports, "dealt death wherever he found resistance, and broke down all opposition before him."

Colonel Rahl, who commanded the post, was roused from a deep sleep by the noise of Washington's fire. He did all that was possible to form his panic-stricken and disordered troops, but soon fell from his horse mortally wounded. From that moment, the day was lost to the Hessians.

During the combat, General Washington remained near Captain Forest's battery, directing the fire. He had just ordered the whole battery, charged with canister, to be turned upon the retreating enemy, when Captain Forest, pointing to the flagstaff near Rahl's headquarters, cried, "Sir, they have struck!"

"Struck!" exclaimed General Washington.

"Yes," said Forest; "their colors are down."

"So they are!" said the commander.

General Washington galloped toward them, followed by all the artillerymen, who wished to see the ceremony of surrender. He rode up to where Colonel Rahl had fallen. The wounded man, assisted by soldiers on each side of him, got upon his feet, and presented his sword to the victor.

At this moment Wilkinson, who had been sent away with orders, returned to his general, and witnessed the surrender. Washington took him by the hand, and said, his countenance beaming with joy: "Major Wilkinson, this is a glorious day for our country!"

In a moment, however, the unfortunate Rahl, who stood near, pale, covered with blood, and still bleeding, appeared to be asking for the assistance which his wounds required.

He was at once conveyed to the house of a good Quaker family near by, where he was visited by General Washington in the course of the day, who did all in his power to soothe the feelings of the dying soldier.

This action, reckoning from the first gun, lasted but thirty-five minutes. On the American side two officers were wounded, two privates were killed, four were wounded, and one was frozen to death. Four stands of colors were captured, besides twelve drums, six brass field-pieces, and twelve hundred muskets. The prisoners were nine hundred and forty-six in number, of whom seventy-eight were wounded. Seventeen of the Hessians were killed, of whom six were officers.

We can scarcely imagine the joy which this victory gave to the people everywhere, as the news slowly made its way. They were in the depths of discouragement. There had been moments when Washington himself almost gave up Philadelphia for lost, and it was from Philadelphia that he drew his most essential supplies.

The capture of the post at Trenton, a thing trifling in itself, changed the mood and temper of both parties, and proved to be the turning-point of the war. It saved Philadelphia for that season, freed New Jersey from the ravages of an insolent and ruthless foe, checked disaffection in minds base or timid, and gave Congress time to prepare for a renewal of the strife as soon as the spring should open.

It was a priceless Christmas present which the general and his steadfast band of patriots gave their country in 1776, and it was followed, a week later, by a New Year's gift of similar purport--the capture of the British post at Princeton.

JOHN ADAMS AND THE QUESTION OF INDEPENDENCE.

It was an act of something more than courage to vote for Independence in 1776. It was an act of far-sighted wisdom as well, and it was done with the utmost possible deliberation.

The last great debate upon the subject took place on Monday, the first of July, 1776. Fifty-one members were present that morning, a number that must have pretty well filled the square, not very large, room in Independence Hall, which many of our readers visited during the Centennial year.

No spectators were present beyond the officers of the House. John Hancock was in the chairman's seat. In the room overhead the legislature of Pennsylvania was in session. Out of doors, in the public squares and grounds adjacent, troops were drilling, as they had been every day for months past, and a great force of men was at work fortifying the Delaware below the city.

This day had been set apart for the final and decisive consideration of Independence. The draft of the Declaration, as written by Mr. Jefferson, had been handed in three days before, and lay upon the table--perhaps visibly so, as well as in a parliamentary sense.

The question had been discussed, and discussed again, and again discussed, until it seemed to the more ardent minds a waste of breath to argue it further; but it requires time, much time, as well as great patience, to bring a representative body to the point of deciding irrevocably a matter so momentous, involving their own and their country's destiny.

_Ought_ we to sever the tie which binds us to the mother country? That was not so very difficult to answer; but there was another question: _Can_ we? Britain is mighty, and what are we? Thirteen colonies of farmers, with little money, no allies, no saltpetre even, and all the Indians open to British gold and British rum. Then there was another question: Will the people at home sustain us?

At nine o'clock President Hancock rapped to order. The first business was the reading of letters addressed to the Congress, which had arrived since the adjournment on Saturday. One of these, from General Washington in New York, contained news calculated to alarm all but the most stalwart spirits: Canada quite lost to the cause; Arnold's army in full, though orderly, retreat from that province; a powerful British fleet just arriving in New York harbor, three or four ships drifting in daily, and now forty-five sail all at once signalled from Sandy Hook.

"Some say more," added General Washington, "and I suppose the whole fleet will be in within a day or two."

The whole fleet! As if these were not enough; and, in truth, the number soon reached a hundred and twenty, with thousands of red-coats in them abundantly supplied with every requisite. Washington's own army numbered on that day seven thousand seven hundred and fifty-four men, of whom, as he reported, eight hundred had no guns at all, fourteen hundred had bad guns, and half the infantry no bayonets. Add to this fifty-three British ships just arrived at Charleston, with General Clinton's expedition on board.

We must bear this news in mind in order to appreciate what followed in Congress that day. When General Washington's letter had been read, the House went into committee of the whole, "to take into consideration the question of Independence."

The boldest man upon that floor could not avoid feeling that the crisis was serious and the issue doubtful. As if to deepen this impression, there soon rose to address the House John Dickinson, of Pennsylvania, a good man and a patriot, an able speaker and better writer, but rich, not of robust health, and conservative almost to timidity.

From the first, while opposing the arbitrary measures of the King, he had been equally opposed to a Declaration of Independence; and to-day, refreshed by the rest of Sunday, and feeling that it was now or never with his party, he spoke with all the force and solemnity of which he was capable.

"I value," said he, "the love of my country as I ought, but I value my country more, and I desire this illustrious assembly to witness the integrity, if not the policy, of my conduct. The first campaign will be decisive of the controversy.

"The declaration will not strengthen us by one man, or by the least supply, while it may expose our soldiers to additional cruelties and outrages. Without some preliminary trials of our strength we ought not to commit our country upon an alternative where to recede would be infamy, and to persist might be destruction."

In this strain he spoke long, urging all the reasons for delay which an ingenious mind could devise, and clothing his argument with the charm of a fine literary style.

He ceased. There was a pause. No one seemed willing to break the silence, until it began to be embarrassing, and then painful.

Many eyes were turned toward John Adams, who for eighteen months had been the chief spokesman of the party for independence. He had advocated the measure before Thomas Paine had written "Common Sense," and when it had not one influential friend in Philadelphia. Early in the previous year, when it first became known by the accidental publicity of a letter that he favored the Declaration of Independence, the solid men of Philadelphia shunned him as if he had had the leprosy.

"I walked the streets of Philadelphia," he once wrote, "in solitude, borne down by the weight of care and unpopularity," and Dr. Rush mentions that he saw him thus walking the streets alone, "an object of nearly universal scorn and detestation."

But he was on the gaining side. The cruel burning of Falmouth on the coast of Maine weaned New England from the mother country, and the burning of Norfolk completed the same office for Virginia.

To-day he stood with a majority of the people behind him. To-day he spoke the sentiments of his country. To-day he uttered the words which every man on the floor but John Dickinson wished to hear uttered.

Yet he did not immediately rise; for he wished some one else, some one less committed to Independence than he was, to take the lead in that day's debate. At length, however, since every one else hung back, he got upon his feet to answer Mr. Dickinson.

The speech which he delivered on this occasion was deemed by those who heard it the most powerful effort of his life, though he had made no special preparation for it beforehand. He had thought of the subject from his college days, and had never ceased to regard the Independence of his country as only a question of time. During his professional life, it had been the frequent theme of his reflections, and he was perfectly familiar with every phase of it.