Part 8

Clinton’s first plan was to strike New Brunswick and embark at the Raritan; but at Allentown, finding Washington in his way, and disinclined to a general engagement under the circumstances, he moved to the right, intending to pass Monmouth Court-house and embark at Sandy Hook. The Americans were now at Kingston. Lee and all the general officers, except La Fayette, Greene, and Wayne, were in favor of continuing the system of annoyance; but Washington at last made ready for a battle. He ordered forward Wayne with a thousand men to support the troops most in advance, giving La Fayette the command of the advanced force—about four thousand in all—while he moved the main body towards Cranberry. On the morning of the 27th, La Fayette arrived at Englishtown. By this time Clinton had made a different disposition of his forces, throwing his grenadiers to his rear, and placing the encumbrances in front under charge of Knyphausen. He made his camp in a strong position near the court-house, in a line three miles in length, protected by woods and marshes. This forced Washington to support his advance strongly, and he sent Lee forward to join La Fayette with two brigades at Englishtown, which placed Lee in command then as senior officer. The corps of Morgan still threatened the enemy’s right, and Dickinson’s force his left. Washington, fearing the enemy would take post on Middletown Heights, determined to attack the rear on a movement in that direction, and sent orders to Lee to prepare for an assault.

The next day, the 28th, was Sunday, and bade fair to be, as it became, one of the hottest days of the season. An hour after midnight, Lee ordered Dickinson forward with a strong party of observation, and directed Morgan to attack the British as soon as they moved. The rest of the troops were ordered to prepare to march, and before dawn, Scott and Varnum’s brigades were moving slowly towards the court-house; at daybreak, Knyphausen, with his Hessians and loyalists; and at eight o’clock Clinton followed with the main body. The whole American army was put in motion, and Lee received orders to attack, unless he saw very powerful reasons otherwise. This discretionary clause had like to have resulted in defeat. Dickinson having received word that the British were about to attack with the main force, which was incorrect, sent the news to Lee, who believed it. He pushed forward across the morass to a narrow road near the parsonage, and joined Dickinson on the heights. Here the news brought was conflicting, and while Lee was trying to get it correctly, Lafayette came up with the rest of the advanced corps. Learning that the enemy was not in force on either flank, he marched on. He had between five and six thousand men, including those under Morgan and Dickinson. He pressed forward, under cover of the woods, formed a part of his line for action, and rode forward with Wayne far enough to see that the British deploying on the left were merely a heavy covering party. Hoping to cut them off from the main army, he detached Wayne with seven hundred men and two field-pieces to make a feint in the rear.

About nine o’clock, the Queen’s Dragoons being observed on a height, apparently preparing to attack, Lee ordered the light-horse to let them nearly approach, and then to fall back on Wayne. This manœuvre would have succeeded, had not a small party under Butler fired at them from ambush, which caused them to fall back. Wayne ordered the artillery to open on them, and then charged, Oswald opening fire from an eminence in the morass. Wayne was attacking with vigor, when to his chagrin he received an order from Lee to move less vigorously, lest he might prevent the latter from cutting off the covering party. Wayne obeyed, but Lee brought his forces from under cover in detachments only. Sir Henry Clinton, fearing that the Americans were massing on both flanks for the purpose of capturing his baggage, faced about to attack Lee, and force those threatening his flanks to come to the latter’s aid. Lafayette seeing this, asked permission of Lee to attempt gaining the rear of the enemy. Lee refused at first, but finally agreed to let him attack the enemy’s left; but weakened Lafayette by withdrawing three regiments to the support of the right. Riding forward to reconnoitre, Lee saw, or thought he saw, a heavy force marching on the Middletown road towards the court-house. He ordered the right to fall back. The British were advancing with the apparent design of gaining the American rear, just as Scott and Maxwell’s brigades were approaching the enemy’s right, the former forming for action. Lee ordered both to fall back, arrange their line in the woods, and await orders. Mistaking the nature of the order, they retreated through the woods towards Freehold meeting-house. As soon as Lee learned this, instead of recalling them, he sent word to Lafayette to fall back on the court-house, which he obeyed, the enemy pursuing him as far as the latter place, where they halted. Both parties suffered from the extreme heat, their men in some instances dropping exhausted. Lee made one stand, and then resumed his retreat. It degenerated into a panic. Numbers were lost in the morass—few perished by ball. There was little firing on either side.

During this time Washington was moving to Lee’s support. For Lee, when he discovered the large covering party in the enemy’s rear, and had planned to cut them off, sent word to the commander-in-chief of his purpose. On the receipt of this message, Washington had despatched Greene with the right wing by Freehold Meeting-house, to prevent the enemy turning that flank, while he prepared to move the left in the rear of Lee, in support. Suddenly came the news that Lee was retreating, with Clinton in pursuit. Washington was astounded. There had been little firing to indicate battle, and, riding forward, he met the head of the retreating force. Halting it, he pushed on and found Lee at the head of the second column. He demanded in an angry way the meaning of the confusion, and Lee, who also lost his temper, replied harshly. A few hasty and bitter words passed, when Washington rode on, stayed the troops, and ordered Oswald to check the progress of the enemy with his cannon. The men under Stewart and Ramsay were formed in battle order. Then Washington turned to the chafed Lee, and said, “Will you command in that place, sir?” Lee replied in the affirmative. “Then,” said Washington, “I expect you to attack the enemy immediately.” “Your command shall be obeyed, sir,” replied Lee, “and I will not be the first to leave the field.”

While Washington was bringing order out of the confusion elsewhere, and disposing properly of Greene’s forces, and the left wing under Stirling, Lee vigorously carried out his orders; but the force of the enemy was too overwhelming. After a vigorous fight, he brought them under cover of a fire by Ogden, detailed for that purpose, he being “the last to leave the field,” and forming them in line on the slope, reported to Washington for further orders. Washington seeing the men were worn out, ordered him to arrange them at Englishtown, while he attacked with the main body. The action now became hot all along the line, and was pursued with varying success, until at length, towards sunset, the British army, badly worsted, fell back upon the heights held by Lee in the morning. It was a strong position, flanked by forest and morass, but Washington prepared to attack it. The darkness coming on, the men were ordered to sleep on their arms, and to move at daylight.

But this was unneeded. At midnight, Clinton silently stole off; and when dawn came he was so far away towards New Brunswick, that pursuit was useless. The Americans lost in the battle sixty-seven killed, one hundred and sixty wounded, and one hundred and thirty missing; but a number of the last had been merely prostrated by the extreme heat, and afterward rejoined their commands. There were two hundred and forty-nine of the British left dead on the field, of whom fifty-nine died of sunstroke. The number of their wounded is unknown.

_BATTLE OF MONMOUTH._

Four-and-eighty years are o’er me; great-grandchildren sit before me; These my locks are white and scanty, and my limbs are weak and worn; Yet I’ve been where cannon roaring, firelocks rattling, blood outpouring, Stirred the souls of patriot soldiers, on the tide of battle borne; Where they told me I was bolder far than many a comrade older, Though a stripling at that fight for the right.

All that sultry day in summer beat his sullen march the drummer, Where the Briton strode the dusty road until the sun went down; Then on Monmouth plain encamping, tired and footsore with the tramping, Lay all wearily and drearily the forces of the crown, With their resting horses neighing, and their evening bugles playing, And their sentries pacing slow to and fro.

Ere the day to night had shifted, camp was broken, knapsacks lifted, And in motion was the vanguard of our swift-retreating foes; Grim Knyphausen rode before his brutal Hessians, bloody Tories— They were fit companions, truly, hirelings these and traitors those— While the careless jest and laughter of the teamsters coming after Rang around each creaking wain of the train.

’Twas a quiet Sabbath morning; nature gave no sign of warning Of the struggle that would follow when we met the Briton’s might; Of the horsemen fiercely spurring, of the bullets shrilly whirring, Of the bayonets brightly gleaming through the smoke that wrapped the fight; Of the cannon thunder-pealing, and the wounded wretches reeling, And the corses gory red of the dead.

Quiet nature had no prescience; but the Tories and the Hessians Heard the baying of the beagles that were hanging on their track; Heard the cries of eager ravens soaring high above the cravens; And they hurried, worn and worried, casting startled glances back, Leaving Clinton there to meet us, with his bull-dogs fierce to greet us, With the veterans of the crown, scarred and brown.

For the fight our souls were eager, and each Continental leaguer, As he gripped his firelock firmly, scarce could wait the word to fire; For his country rose such fervor, in his heart of hearts, to serve her, That it gladdened him and maddened him and kindled raging ire. Never panther from his fastness, through the forest’s gloomy vastness, Coursed more grimly night and day for his prey.

I was in the main force posted; Lee, of whom his minions boasted, Was commander of the vanguard, and with him were Scott and Wayne. What they did I knew not, cared not; in their march of shame I shared not; But it startled me to see them panic-stricken back again, At the black morass’s border, all in headlong, fierce disorder, With the Briton plying steel at their heel.

Outward cool when combat waging, howsoever inward raging, Ne’er had Washington showed feeling when his forces fled the foe; But to-day his forehead lowered, and we shrank his wrath untoward, As on Lee his bitter speech was hurled in hissing tones and low: “Sir, what means this wild confusion? Is it cowardice or collusion? Is it treachery or fear brings you here?”

Lee grew crimson in his anger—rang his curses o’er the clangor, O’er the roaring din of battle, as he wrathfully replied; But his raging was unheeded; fastly on our chieftain speeded, Rallied quick the fleeing forces, stayed the dark, retreating tide; Then, on foaming steed returning, said to Lee, with wrath still burning, “Will you now strike a blow at the foe?”

At the words Lee drew up proudly, curled his lip and answered loudly: “Ay!” his voice rang out, “and will not be the first to leave the field;” And his word redeeming fairly, with a skill surpassed but rarely, Struck the Briton with such ardor that the scarlet column reeled; Then, again, but in good order, past the black morass’s border, Brought his forces rent and torn, spent and worn.

As we turned on flanks and centre, in the path of death to enter, One of Knox’s brass six-pounders lost its Irish cannoneer; And his wife who, ’mid the slaughter, had been bearing pails of water For the gun and for the gunner, o’er his body shed no tear. “Move the piece!”—but there they found her loading, firing that six-pounder, And she gayly, till we won, worked the gun.

Loud we cheered as Captain Molly waved the rammer; then a volley Pouring in upon the grenadiers, we sternly drove them back; Though like tigers fierce they fought us, to such zeal had Molly brought us That, though struck with heat, and thirsting, yet of drink we felt no lack: There she stood amid the clamor, busily handling sponge and rammer, While we swept with wrath condign on their line.

From our centre backward driven, with his forces rent and riven, Soon the foe re-formed in order, dressed again his shattered ranks; In a column firm advancing, from his bayonets hot rays glancing Showed in waving lines of brilliance as he fell upon our flanks, Charging bravely for his master: thus he met renewed disaster From the stronghold that we held back repelled.

Monckton, gallant, cool, and fearless, ’mid his bravest comrades peerless, Brought his grenadiers to action but to fall amid the slain; Everywhere their ruin found them; red destruction rained around them From the mouth of Oswald’s cannon, from the musketry of Wayne; While our sturdy Continentals, in their dusty regimentals, Drove their plumed and scarlet force, man and horse.

Beamed the sunlight fierce and torrid o’er the battle raging horrid, Till, in faint exhaustion sinking, death was looked on as a boon; Heat, and not a drop of water—heat, that won the race of slaughter, Fewer far with bullets dying than beneath the sun of June; Only ceased the terrible firing, with the Briton slow retiring, As the sunbeams in the west sank to rest.

On our arms so heavily sleeping, careless watch our sentries keeping, Ready to renew the contest when the dawning day should show; Worn with toil and heat, in slumber soon were wrapt our greatest number, Seeking strength to rise again and fall upon the wearied foe; For we felt his power was broken: but what rage was ours outspoken When, on waking at the dawn, he had gone.

In the midnight still and sombre, while our force was wrapt in slumber, Clinton set his train in motion, sweeping fast to Sandy Hook; Safely from our blows he bore his mingled Britons, Hessians, Tories— Bore away his wounded soldiers, but his useless dead forsook; Fleeing from a worse undoing, and too far for our pursuing: So we found the field our own, and alone.

How that stirring day comes o’er me! How those scenes arise before me! How I feel a youthful vigor for a moment fill my frame! Those who fought beside me seeing, from the dim past brought to being, By their hands I fain would clasp them—ah! each lives but in his name; But the freedom that they fought for, and the country grand they wrought for, Is their monument to-day, and for aye.

_JOHN BERRY, THE LOYALIST._

There is scarcely a native of Bergen County, in New Jersey, who has not heard of Jack, the Regular, and by the older residents there are still told a number of stories of his cruelty and rapacity. That there was such a person, that he was an active loyalist during the Revolutionary war, and that he was finally killed by the Van Valens, and his lifeless body brought into Hackensack in a wagon, there seems to be no doubt. But with all my industrious endeavor I have never been able to get particulars as to his family, the date of his birth, or when he was killed. I find that his real name was John Berry, and that he managed to gain rank as a captain—probably of loyalists. His nickname arose from a boast he made that he was no marauder, but held a regular commission from his Gracious Majesty. Hence those who sided with the Americans called him Jack, the Regular, and he was scarcely ever known by another name.

So far as I can learn he was killed on the slope of the Palisade ridge, not far from what is known as the Ridgefield station, on the Northern Railroad, and by a long shot. It was merely fired in vexation by Van Valen, who was astonished when the partisan fell, and hesitated for some time to verify the fact of his death. Jack’s band at that time had been broken up, or he was in some disgrace; for he had had apparently no command for some time before he was killed, and was with but one companion at the time.

_JACK, THE REGULAR._

In the Bergen winter night, when the hickory fire is roaring, Flickering streams of ruddy light on the folk before it pouring; When the apples pass around, and the cider passes after, And the well-worn jest is crowned by the hearers’ hearty laughter, When the cat is purring there, and the dog beside her dozing, And within his easy-chair sits the grandsire old, reposing, Then they tell the story true to the children hushed and eager, How the two Van Valens slew, on a time, the Tory leaguer, Jack, the Regular.

Near a hundred years ago, when the maddest of the Georges Sent his troops to scatter woe on our hills and in our gorges, Less we hated, less we feared, those he sent here to invade us Than the neighbors with us reared who opposed us or betrayed us; And amid those loyal knaves who rejoiced in our disasters, As became the willing slaves of the worst of royal masters, Stood John Berry, and he said that a regular commission Set him at his comrades’ head; so we called him, in derision, “Jack, the Regular.”

When he heard it—“Let them fling! Let the traitors make them merry With the fact my gracious king deigns to make me Captain Berry. I will scourge them for the sneer, for the venom that they carry; I will shake their hearts with fear, as the land around I harry; They shall find the midnight raid waking them from fitful slumbers; They shall find the ball and blade daily thinning out their numbers; Barn in ashes, cattle slain, hearth on which there glows no ember, Neatless plough and horseless wain—thus the rebels shall remember Jack, the Regular.

Well he kept his promise then, with a fierce, relentless daring, Fire to roof-trees, death to men, through the Bergen valleys bearing. In the midnight deep and dark came his vengeance darker, deeper— At the watch-dog’s sudden bark woke in terror every sleeper; Till at length the farmers brown, wasting time no more on tillage, Swore these ruffians of the crown, fiends of murder, fire, and pillage, Should be chased by every path to the dens where they had banded, And no prayers should soften wrath when they caught the bloody-handed Jack, the Regular.

One by one they slew his men: still the chief their chase evaded; He had vanished from their ken, by the fiend or fortune aided— Either fled to Paulus Hoek, where the Briton yet commanded, Or his stamping-ground forsook, waiting till the hunt disbanded. So they stopped pursuit at length, and returned to toil securely— It was useless wasting strength on a purpose baffled surely; But the two Van Valens swore, in a patriotic rapture, They would never give it o’er till they’d either kill or capture Jack, the Regular.

Long they hunted through the wood, long they slept upon the hill-side; In the forest sought their food, drank when thirsty at the rill-side; No exposure counted hard—theirs was hunting border fashion; They grew bearded like the pard, and their chase became a passion. Even friends esteemed them mad, said their minds were out of balance, Mourned the cruel fate, and sad, fallen on the poor Van Valens. But they answered to it all, “Only wait our loud view-holloa When the prey shall to us fall; for to death we mean to follow Jack, the Regular.

Hunted they from Tenavlie to the shore where Hudson presses On the base of trap-rocks high; through Moonachie’s damp recesses; Down as far as Bergen Hill; by the Ramapo and Drochy, Overproek and Pellum Kill—meadows flat and hill-top rocky— Till at last the brothers stood where the road from New Barbadoes At the English Neighborhood slants towards the Palisadoes; Still to find the prey they sought leave no sign for hunter eager; Followed steady, not yet caught was the skulking, fox-like leaguer, Jack, the Regular.

Who are they that yonder creep by those bleak rocks in the distance, Like the figures born in sleep, called by slumber to existence? Tories, doubtless, from below—from the Hoek sent out for spying. “No! the foremost is our foe—he so long before us flying! Now he spies us! See him start! wave his kerchief like a banner, Lay his left hand on his heart in a proud, insulting manner. Well he knows that distant spot past our ball—his low scorn flinging— If you can not feel the shot, you shall hear the firelock’s ringing, Jack, the Regular.”

Ah! he falls! An ambuscade? ’Twas impossible to strike him. Are there Tories in the glade? Such a trick is very like him. See! his comrade by him kneels, turning him in terror over, Then takes nimbly to his heels. Have they really slain the rover? It is worth some risk to know; so, with firelocks poised and ready, Up the sloping hill they go, with a quick lookout, and steady. Dead! The random shot had struck, to the heart had pierced the Tory— Vengeance seconded by luck! Lies there cold and stiff and gory Jack, the Regular.

“Jack, the Regular, is dead! Honor to the man who slew him!” So the Bergen farmers said as they crowded round to view him. For the wretch that lay there slain had, with wickedness unbending, To their roofs brought fiery rain, to their kinsfolk woful ending. Not a mother but had prest, in a sudden pang of fearing, Sobbing darlings to her breast when his name had smote her hearing; Not a wife that did not feel terror when the words were uttered; Not a man but chilled to steel when the hated sounds he muttered— “Jack, the Regular.”

Bloody in his work was he, in his purpose iron-hearted; Gentle pity could not be when the pitiless had parted; So the corse in wagon thrown with no decent cover o’er it— Jeers its funeral rites alone—into Hackensack they bore it, ’Mid the clanging of the bells in the old Dutch church’s steeple, And the hooting and the yells of the gladdened, maddened people. Some they rode and some they ran by the wagon where it rumbled, Scoffing at the lifeless man, all elate that Death had humbled Jack, the Regular.