Edward Young
Even before the New York Campaign ended, the Howe brothers--
the younger the commander of the British Army, the older the Navy-- were
pondering their next move. General Sir Henry Clinton, General William Howe's aggressive
second in command, had ideas: destroy the Continental Army, capture
Philadelphia and Congress, or both preferably; and he wanted Henry Clinton to
lead the campaign. Neither of the Howes took his advice, though. How can we
continue to quell the rebellious spirit in the American colonies? they asked.
How can we sustain our commands 3,000 miles from home?
Even victorious military forces get worn out after months of hard campaigning, and the British forces in North America that autumn of 1776 were no exception. Admiral Richard Howe's ships were showing some wear, and so were William's infantry: their red and, for the Royal Artillery and the Hessian mercenaries, blue uniforms were in rags and torn up in places, a shadow of their former selves; some had to go barefoot because they had worn their shoes out. The hard-working quartermasters couldn't sufficiently replace these losses. Provisions were thinning. An unforgiving North American winter was imminent. Thus, William needed to not only replenish his supplies but to find shelter for his troops. True, the British had New York City, but since the fire that broke out there on September 21 took out 50 percent of the buildings, it could only house a few of them. Also, the city's surrounding countryside, having already been bled white by troops from both sides, provided insufficient forage, if anything. As for Richard, New York harbor was far from the ideal winter refuge for his warships; the waters encompassing Manhattan tended to freeze solid back then.
So the brothers decided to begin two campaigns simultaneously.
Richard would occupy Rhode Island-- only the island-- and the town of Newport. The climate was milder there, and the town's harbor was closer to the Gulf Stream; consequently it had less ice and therefore less of a chance of Black Dick's ships being harmed. The province's farms and plantations could feed a huge portion of the army through the winter, and its capture would provide a stepping-stone for the Crown to reclaim all of New England. Then there was the Clinton factor: He was a thorn in William's side, and what better way to remove that thorn than to send it to Rhode Island? Thus, Clinton was given command of this expedition. Contentious Clinton didn't like, but he obeyed. Although he openly criticized Howe, disobeying orders was below him: "The admiral wanted a winter station for his large ships and every other consideration must give way," he grumbled.
William would occupy eastern New Jersey. Forage was bountiful in her lush countryside. His men could spend the winter in her towns. British intelligence sources indicated that the Continental Army was somewhere north of New York City, so it was expected that there wouldn't be much in the way of resistance. The British were to take that part of New Jersey without a major battle, and before the Rebels could turn that lush countryside into a desolate wasteland. More importantly, the Crown would have retaken a third colony.
The brothers' plan was tactically and strategically sound. It put both the army and the navy into consideration; would put more space between General Washington and New York; would involve the reclamation of two more colonies; would allow Loyalists in areas where they were thought to be the majority to receive direct support from the Crown; and, most significantly, would ensure that the Howes still had the initiative and continue to pressure the enemy. Also, it was a perfect stepping stone for next year's campaign... if that was needed at all. To the British commanders, it was starting to look doubtful that the American bid for Independence would go into 1777. Indeed, some of them predicted that the war would end sometime during the coming winter. Hoping for that prediction to become a reality, William and Richard speedily and determinedly implemented their plans.
Even victorious military forces get worn out after months of hard campaigning, and the British forces in North America that autumn of 1776 were no exception. Admiral Richard Howe's ships were showing some wear, and so were William's infantry: their red and, for the Royal Artillery and the Hessian mercenaries, blue uniforms were in rags and torn up in places, a shadow of their former selves; some had to go barefoot because they had worn their shoes out. The hard-working quartermasters couldn't sufficiently replace these losses. Provisions were thinning. An unforgiving North American winter was imminent. Thus, William needed to not only replenish his supplies but to find shelter for his troops. True, the British had New York City, but since the fire that broke out there on September 21 took out 50 percent of the buildings, it could only house a few of them. Also, the city's surrounding countryside, having already been bled white by troops from both sides, provided insufficient forage, if anything. As for Richard, New York harbor was far from the ideal winter refuge for his warships; the waters encompassing Manhattan tended to freeze solid back then.
So the brothers decided to begin two campaigns simultaneously.
Richard would occupy Rhode Island-- only the island-- and the town of Newport. The climate was milder there, and the town's harbor was closer to the Gulf Stream; consequently it had less ice and therefore less of a chance of Black Dick's ships being harmed. The province's farms and plantations could feed a huge portion of the army through the winter, and its capture would provide a stepping-stone for the Crown to reclaim all of New England. Then there was the Clinton factor: He was a thorn in William's side, and what better way to remove that thorn than to send it to Rhode Island? Thus, Clinton was given command of this expedition. Contentious Clinton didn't like, but he obeyed. Although he openly criticized Howe, disobeying orders was below him: "The admiral wanted a winter station for his large ships and every other consideration must give way," he grumbled.
William would occupy eastern New Jersey. Forage was bountiful in her lush countryside. His men could spend the winter in her towns. British intelligence sources indicated that the Continental Army was somewhere north of New York City, so it was expected that there wouldn't be much in the way of resistance. The British were to take that part of New Jersey without a major battle, and before the Rebels could turn that lush countryside into a desolate wasteland. More importantly, the Crown would have retaken a third colony.
The brothers' plan was tactically and strategically sound. It put both the army and the navy into consideration; would put more space between General Washington and New York; would involve the reclamation of two more colonies; would allow Loyalists in areas where they were thought to be the majority to receive direct support from the Crown; and, most significantly, would ensure that the Howes still had the initiative and continue to pressure the enemy. Also, it was a perfect stepping stone for next year's campaign... if that was needed at all. To the British commanders, it was starting to look doubtful that the American bid for Independence would go into 1777. Indeed, some of them predicted that the war would end sometime during the coming winter. Hoping for that prediction to become a reality, William and Richard speedily and determinedly implemented their plans.
For the other side, the more land the British held, the more
patriot ears were able to hear the Howes' deliberations. Soon, word of the
brothers' intentions reached one of the most important ears of all: General
George Washington, commander of the Continental Army. On November 7, he wrote
New Jersey Governor William Livingston that the enemy would soon launch
"an expedition to the Jerseys." The next day, he wrote one of his
trusted subordinates, Major General Nathaniel Greene, that he had learned from
"various sources of intelligence" that the enemy would soon make a
"penetration into Jersey." Washington continued: move your provisions
from Fort Lee as soon as possible, and request that the locals "drive off
their stock, and remove the Hay, Grain, etc." Should they refuse, destroy
it. On the 9th, the Americans captured some British deserters. Flat-bottomed
boats are going up the Harlem to prepare to cross the Hudson River, the captors
were told. We were ordered to be "ready dressed" with supplies for
five days.
Washington took action. Also on November 9, he had ordered the army to cross the Hudson at Peekskill, and the Americans began to move in accordance to this directive. On the 12th, his new headquarters became the house of Judge Peter Zabriskie in Hackensack. "In his mind, this movement was not a retreat but a shift of front," notes historian David Hackett Fischer. "Washington went into New Jersey to protect the state from attack."
On the 18th, the Royal Navy sailed up the Hudson, "passing the enemy's posts undiscovered," and delivered droves of landing barges and double-ended bateaux, which were then hidden north of Manhattan at Spuyten Duyvil.
Washington took action. Also on November 9, he had ordered the army to cross the Hudson at Peekskill, and the Americans began to move in accordance to this directive. On the 12th, his new headquarters became the house of Judge Peter Zabriskie in Hackensack. "In his mind, this movement was not a retreat but a shift of front," notes historian David Hackett Fischer. "Washington went into New Jersey to protect the state from attack."
On the 18th, the Royal Navy sailed up the Hudson, "passing the enemy's posts undiscovered," and delivered droves of landing barges and double-ended bateaux, which were then hidden north of Manhattan at Spuyten Duyvil.
Orders came
from General Howe late the next day. Receiving them were a total of around
5,000 men under Major General Charles Cornwallis, the first time he had an
independent command: two battalions each of Grenadiers, Guards, Light Infantry, and the 42nd Foot, the Royal Highland Regiment; three battalions of Hessian
Grenadiers; two companies of Hessian Jägers; the 33rd Foot; and detachments of Royal Engineers, Royal
Artillerymen with eight cannons, and 100 men of Robert Roger's corps of
Loyalists.
Those units,
Howe commanded, were to be all packed and ready to march at 9:00 that evening.
The men did not disappoint him. When it came to secrecy, no stone was left
unturned. When darkness came, Cornwallis led the light infantry, grenadiers,
33rd Foot, and 42nd Foot-- the first division of troops to land in New Jersey--
to Sputyen Duvil. There, they boarded the boats.
In 1766,
then-Colonel Cornwallis took command of the 33rd Foot. The men of that regiment
enlisted because they were impoverished and starving. Recruitment being handled
by each British regiment, the 33rd had its recruiters raise oatcakes on their
swords to get volunteers, and it worked. Thus the regiment's nickname:
"the Havercake lads." (Later, as the Duke of Wellington's Regiment,
they would be known as the Dukes.)
The 42nd,
which would gain the famous sobriquet the Black Watch in 1861, contained men
from the glens and lochs of the central Highlands, particularly Perthshire.
Reflecting their clannish society huge portions of the men had the last names
Campbell, Stewart, or Stirling, and they regarded "any disgrace which he
might bring on his clan or district as the most cruel misfortune." In
addition to the British red coat and equipment, the Highlanders hung a plaid
(blanket) behind their left shoulder and wore a regimental kilt, stockings of
bright red and white caddis stockings, a sporran made of either leather or
badger skin, and a bonnet with black bearskin or eagle, vulture, or black cock
feathers. Their commander was Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Stirling, a bilingual
(English and Gaelic) veteran of fighting in the New World. He equipped his men
with Highland broadswords and braces of pistols and taught them how to fight in
open order. Fiercely loyal to regiment, kin, clan, and king, the Highlanders
tended to function as light infantry in North America.
How did the
light infantry function exactly? An innovation of the French and Indian War,
their criteria for selection was intelligence, vitality, and marksmanship. The
"Light Bobs," as they were called in the British Army, were
well-trained in the art of "leaping, running, climbing precipices,
swimming, skirmishing through woods, loading and firing in different attitudes,
and marching with remarkable rapidity." Arguably, these troops help to
refute the myth that the British were unaccustomed to fighting in the North
American wilderness and failed to adapt accordingly. At the time of the
American Revolution, each British regiment on paper had one light infantry
company, but on campaign they were formed into battalions of nine companies
each. Although they wore the regimental uniform, instead of a cocked hat like
the typical British soldier, the Light Bobs wore caps, some companies adding
green feathers to them. Consequently, the Light Bobs were also referred to as
the "Green Feathers"-- the ancestors of the Green Jackets of the 19th
and the Green Berets of the 20th Centuries.
Another
elite were the grenadiers. Every regiment had a company of them as well, and
like the light infantrymen they were formed into composite battalions during
active service. They had prerequisites, too: they had to be really tall and
strong. To add another foot to their already immense height, they also wore
caps, only bigger ones. In war, the grenadiers were always the ones who were
the first to land on enemy beaches, who led attacks on fortifications, and who
the British commanders expected to punch through the enemy line-- and they
always suffered some of the heaviest casualties not surprisingly.
These men--
the Havercake Lads, the Highlanders, the light infantry, the grenadiers-- would
soon be the first British troops to set foot in New Jersey.
The crossing
of the Hudson began at 11:00 P.M. On the river, a cold downpour started to
fall, soaking the men and causing their teeth to chatter and their bodies to
shiver. A thick fog arose from the water. Still the British pressed on, guided
by three loyalists-- William Bayard, manager of the Hoboken ferry; farmer John
Ackerson of Closter; and possibly John Adlington, a brewer in the English
Neighborhood (present-day Leonia). All three were well-acquainted with the
Hudson and the patriot positions.
Approaching
the shore of New Jersey, Lieutenant Henry Stirke, who led the 10th Foot's light
infantry company, tried to make out what was before him through the mist. The
sight filled him with awe: gigantic cliffs towering vertically and seemingly
stretching endlessly to his left and right-- the New Jersey Palisades. The
Tories pointed: Do you see that long diagonal fracture on the rock? It's barely
visible. Lieutenant, Stirke's superior ordered him, have your men "push up
the hill, with as much expedition as possible," then command them "to
take post; and maintain it, till sustained." Up that trail, about four
feet wide and angling at 50 degrees at places, the light infantry climbed in
the misty atmosphere, rain continuing to pour down and snaking its way down the
rocky cliffs.
Reaching the
top, the Green Feathers were prepared to be opposed... but not a single Rebel
was there to greet them. General Greene was apparently unaware of this part of
the Palisades. Anyway, the Light Bobs rapidly made a perimeter and sent out
patrols. So far, Providence was smiling upon His Majesty's troops.
More light
infantry, the Highlanders, the Havercake Lads, and the grenadiers followed
Stirke and his men, climbing that same treacherous trail. Most of that night
was spent shuttling men and supplies across the Hudson, the boats going from
one shore to the other...
With the
arrival of dawn, it was time for the second wave, the second division to cross.
At the Philipse Farm on the Philipseberg Manor, located on the east bank and
spanning from Spuyten Duyvil to the Croton River, Guards and Hessians boarded
the landing craft, embarking for the other side at 8:00 A.M. While their
crossing was much easier than the initial wave, the Palisades posed more of an
obstacle: With the second wave were eight field guns, four three-pounders, two
six-pounders, and two howitzers, weighing 2,000 pounds when their carriages are
added to the total. How could one possibly get this artillery over such steep
cliffs? Suffice it to say that the gunners, sappers, soldiers, and seamen
pulled them-- not just the cannons, but the ammunition boxes and limbers too--
up with drag ropes. No doubt the men hoisting these guns up the Palisades
became waterfalls of perspiration.
Daybreak
became morning, and still the Americans were unaware that the British had
landed.
 |
| The landing of the British forces in the Jerseys on Nov. 20, 1776, under the command of Rt. Hon. Lt. Gen. Earl Cornwallis by British officer Thomas Davies, 1776 |
Polly
Wyckoff was in the kitchen of the farm of Matthew Bogert-- "Master
Bogert" to her, for she was his slave. She was doing the normal things
people did in the 18th Century in that room. At one point she looked up from
her work and into the window. Across her owner's fields were men... dressed in
red... carrying guns... coming towards the farm. She knew exactly who these men
were. Dropping what she was doing, she ran into the parlor and shouted,
"Bogert's fields are full of red coats."
In
Hackensack, an American officer on horseback came galloping up to Washington's
headquarters. It was 10:00 A.M. The enemy has crossed the Hudson! he told
General Washington. In an instant, the general was bustling with activity. I
must get troops out of Fort Lee before it is too late, he thought. I do not
desire that it have the same fate as Fort Washington; I can't lose those boys
to the British. To the garrison at Fort Lee, Washington ordered that they
abandon the fort immediately and cross the Hackensack River to the west.
Greene had
failed to promptly obey Washington's orders of more than a week ago. The Rhode
Islander had complained that he possessed insufficient transport for the evacuation
of the fort.
Thus, the
men and supplies were still in Fort Lee that morning of November 20, 1776. Upon
hearing that the British had landed, what discipline the garrison had vanished.
Men ate breakfast with no sense of urgency. Droves of them ran for the woods,
while others broke into the rum supply, inebriating themselves. Nonetheless,
when Washington and Greene arrived on horseback, they managed to form the
majority of the men into a column and have them march on New-Bridge on the
Hackensack River. Although the Americans took with them all the ammunition and
field artillery, due to time constraints, they had to leave 900 tents, all the
entrenching tools, and vast quantities of heavy artillery and provisions.
Back on the
Palisades, the British forces, having been formed into two columns by
Cornwallis, commenced their march toward Fort Lee. Covering the right flank was
a Hessian Jäger company commanded by Captain Johann Ewald. (Jägers, usually
recruited from gamekeepers' and foresters' sons, were the Hessian army's light
infantry.) Before him was "a great glitter of bayonets and a cloud of dust
in the distance." It was the American garrison heading for New-Bridge.
Ewald ordered his men to pursue them. Contact was made with enemy stragglers,
and shots were exchanged between the Americans and Hessians. Ewald requested
reinforcements of light infantry. Unfortunately for him, he would record,
"Instead of the Jägers, I received an order from Lord Cornwallis to return
at once." Ewald obeyed.
Sir, Ewald
told Cornwallis upon his return, I have found a multitude of the enemy heading
westwards.
"Let
them go, my dear Ewald, and stay here," responded Cornwallis. "We do
not want to lose any men. One jäger is worth more than ten rebels." Ewald
was astonished.
Still, when
he returned to his men, he made them advance once more "in hopes of
catching some baggage." They did, taking a coach full of enemy fugitives.
Again, Cornwallis called for Ewald again, telling him to not stray too far from
the column. The captain started to realize what was going on: "Now I
perceived what was afoot. We wanted to spare the King's subjects and hoped to
terminate the war amicably, in which assumption I was strengthened the next day
by several English officers."
Once the
retreating Americans were sufficiently distant, Cornwallis' men entered Fort
Lee. Actually, "fort" wasn't an appropriate name for it. Rather, it
was, in Thomas Paine's words, a "field fort"-- predominantly an
"armed camp, with separate batteries on the cliffs overlooking the
Hudson," according to Fischer. Whatever Fort Lee technically was, it was a
mess on the 20th. To the west, the road was littered with the Continental
Army's rubbish. In the fort itself, the British found it abandoned, save for a
small number of intoxicated Americans... and the supplies, oh the supplies, the
immensity of which caused British and Hessian eyebrows to be raised. Leave the
booty for the troops that will follow, Cornwallis ordered. He had to continue
putting pressure on the enemy... a task that entailed no engagement, of course.
That dark,
cold, and rainy night, the Americans crossed New-Bridge, entering the village
of Hackensack. From the window light, one of the residents "had a fair
view of them": "They marched two abreast, looked ragged, some without
a shoe to their feet, and most of them wrapped in their blankets." For
those who had enlisted in July and August, their summer clothes were now in
rags. A contemptuous British officer encountered a few of them along the road
to Hackensack: "No nation ever saw such a set of tatterdemalions."
These tatterdemalions represented one of the darkest times in their nation's
history.
Pickets were
placed along the Hackensack River's crossing points. While Washington enjoyed
the comfort of the Zabriskie home, his men-- approximately 4,000 Continentals
and militia-- camped outside in the village. Having left all of their tents and
tools at Fort Lee, they did their best to find some sort of refuge from the
cold rain... but misery never completely left them.
Hessian
Jägers and British Light Bobs approached New-Bridge, around two miles north of
Hackensack village, the following morning. Among them was Captain Ewald. The
American rear guard, positioned in houses on both sides of the Hackensack,
obstinately resisted them. Muskets cracked. A Jäger fell here; a Light Bob fell
there. Apparently no one had bothered to tell these Rebels that the Continental
Army had been beaten yesterday. Ewald stated that the Rebeller "defended
themselves very well." Nevertheless, he added, "in spite of this the
post was forced, and the greater part were killed, wounded, or captured."
Beyond
New-Bridge, the determined yet hopeless opposition continued. Jäger and Light
Bob alike were beginning to grasp that these ragamuffins were not to be taken
lightly. "At British headquarters," writes Fischer, "attitudes
of 'featherbed soldiers' toward American troops were very different from those
of British and Hessian infantry on the sharp edge."
Again, those
men didn't stray too far from the bridge, where Cornwallis paused to receive
reinforcements: the 2nd and 4th brigades, a battalion of the 71st Foot, and men
of the 16th Light Dragoons, who were heavily armed (they carried two pistols, a
carbine, and a sword) yet highly mobile troopers. Now, Cornwallis had around
10,000 men.
The British
cavalry did stray far from New-Bridge, though. They pursued the Rebels from
afar, ultimately reaching the east bank of the Passaic; but they had to turn
around.
On the 22nd,
the British crossed New-Bridge, moving southwards to Hackensack, where they
were warmly welcomed by the Loyalist residents. They were surprised, however,
to find the hungry British and Hessians, unable to distinguish between friend
and foe and with no interest in limited war or winning hearts and minds,
sacking their houses as well as the patriots'.
Meanwhile,
the Continental Army was leaving Hackensack. Its destination was Acquackanonk
Landing on the Passaic River, five miles to the south. Rivers, Washington
understood, were the only defensible terrain feature in "dead flat"
country devoid of stone walls. Once across the wooden bridge there, the
patriots demolished it; they didn't want to leave it intact for the British.
They camped on the west bank, enduring another night of cold rain.
Washington's
retreat continued down the resulting muddy road. The Virginian wasn't in front
of his army: "I saw him... at the head of a small band, or rather in its
rear, for he was always near the enemy," wrote Lieutenant James Monroe,
then 18 years old, "and his countenance and manner made an impression on
me that which I can never efface."
On November
22, the Americans reached Newark-- a town with a population of approximately
3,000, mostly Whigs-- in a downpour. At the time of their arrival, the roads
out of Newark were crowded with refugees fleeing from the mighty British host,
transporting their belongings in wagons and herding livestock.
It kept
raining in the night... then there was a brief respite... and then it would rain
again on the 23rd. One man recalled, "The suffering we endured are beyond
description-- no tent to cover us at night-- exposed to cold and rains day and
night." Yet in spite of these sufferings, optimism lingered. Twenty-three
year old Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Blachley Webb of Connecticut, aide-de-camp
to General Washington, wrote, "I can only say that no lads ever showed
greater activity in retreating than we have... Our soldiers are the best
fellows in the world at this business."
As the army
was crossing the Passaic in a downpour on November 22, Thomas Paine,
aide-de-camp to General Greene, had made a significant decision: The same
English radical who wrote Common Sense would write another pamphlet. Paine
deemed it a necessity that in these black times "the country should be
strongly animated."
That rainy
night of the 22nd, Thomas Paine, slumbering soldiers all around him, commenced
writing a rough draft by the light of a fire. He "continued writing it at
every place we stopt," always by firelight and surrounded by a sleeping
army...
It stopped raining
on the 25th. Cornwallis—having been ordered by Howe to move as far as Brunswick
(modern-day New Brunswick), and nothing more—exploited this weather, leaving
Hackensack with his army. However, while the rain had stopped, the roads were
still muddy. The mud as deep as their ankles or more, the British moved at a
snail's pace compared to the Americans.
"All
the army marched in two columns towards Newark, where it was said the rebels
would stand," Captain Archibald Robertson of the Royal Engineers wrote in
his diary. It was 9:00 A.M., November 28. At one in the afternoon, the British
entered the town, but there were no Rebels making a stand. Newark was
abandoned. Colonel Carl von Donop, the commander of the Hessian Jäger Corps,
would tell his superior some weeks later that "the greater part of the
inhabitants have carried away their beds."
The
Continental Army had departed Newark earlier that day. Lieutenant Monroe, a
part of the rear guard, counted the troops as they left: According to him,
Washington's command "amounted to less than 3,000 men." The sick and
wounded headed northwest for the refuge of Morristown on the other side of the
Watchtung Mountains; the remainder, with Washington, headed southwest for Brunswick,
Trenton, Princeton-- heavily populated central New Jersey. Washington could not
protect the civilians as effectively if the whole army went to Morristown, and
he hoped that in central New Jersey he could augment his thinned ranks with
middle state troops, of which there were plenty. The Americans reached
Brunswick at 12:00 P.M. on the 29th.
On November
30, 1776, flushed with success, the Howe brothers issued a proclamation. It
granted amnesty to anyone who swore an oath of allegiance to George III. For
those who complied within 60 days and promised "a peaceful obedience to
his Majesty," they would be rewarded with "full and free pardon"
as well as
reap the benefit of his
Majesty's paternal goodness, in the preservation of their property, the restoration
of their commerce, and the security of their most valuable rights, under the
just and most moderate authority of the crown and Parliament of Britain.
Many of the
Howes' subordinates didn't like it. Neither did the Tories, who hungered for
retaliation; the fact that radical Whigs had the opportunity to avoid
punishment angered them. When word of the Howes' proclamation reached London,
the Tories there joined in the chorus of criticism, calling it
"lenient" and "liberal." Among them was George Sackville
Germain, First Viscount Sackville, Secretary of the American colonies and a
proponent of Shrecklichkeit-- the
German term for total war. Yet in spite of these condemnations, the Howes put
their feet down.
In response
to this measure, the patriots proclaimed that they would give a free pardon to
those who renounced their oath. That move, other than the fact that the war
wasn't going well for the Whigs, probably made the British proclamation even
more of a success.
It was
partly sunny and a little above freezing the morning of December 1—a date
Washington had been dreading, for it marked the expiration of enlistments for
2,000 of his men; they could go home now. Captain William Beatty of the
Maryland Line was one of them:
Two or three days after our arrival
at Brunswick, being the first of December, and the Expiration of the flying
Camp troop's time, Our Brigade march'd to Philadelphia leaving our Brave Genl
with a very weak army.
Washington
requested they continue serving, but to no avail. "Two brigades left us at
Brunswick," Nathanael Greene attested, "notwithstanding the enemy are
within two hours march and coming on."
This time
Washington decided to let them come. He would stand his ground on the southern
bank of the Raritan River... for a time. The river, which in some areas was
only knee-deep, could be forded, and his army was "totally
inadequate" to do anything but buy time.
Light
dragoons were spotted at the Brunswick ferry at that river's northern bank in
the early afternoon. At that moment, Washington was writing a letter to John
Hancock: "1/2 after 1. O'Clock P.M. The Enemy are fast advancing, some of
'em are now in sight," he hurriedly added to it. Also in a rush were the
Americans trying to destroy the bridge over the Raritan, but it was only damaged
when they were driven from it by Light Bobs and Jägers. American riflemen in
houses started firing, inflicting heavy casualties on the Hessians. Cornwallis,
greatly desiring that bridge, summoned his artillery to get the Rebels off the
bank.
One of the
units Washington had selected to cover the army's withdrawal across the river
was the Independent Company of New York State Artillery, numbering 68 officers
and enlisted ranks and commanded by a 20 year-old captain named Alexander
Hamilton. These men and their guns, pulled by teams of horses being urged
onward by teamsters, came up to the modern-day campus of Rutgers University,
from where they contested the enemy artillery on the other side of the Raritan.
Lieutenant Enoch Anderson of Colonel John Haslet's Delaware Continentals
recorded that "in the afternoon... a severe cannonading took place on both
sides, and several were killed and wounded on our side." Now it was partly
cloudy at intervals. Hamilton managed to keep the British at arm's length while
the Americans withdrew. The exchange of fire, noted Anderson, ceased "near
Sundown," at which time "orders were given to retreat."
The Delaware
Continentals could obey that order... but their equipment, none of which had
been lost yet, couldn't, for the regiment had no wagons to transport it.
Anderson was approached by the colonel: Lieutenant, Haslet ordered, "take
as many men as" you think "proper, and go back and burn all the
tents. 'We have no wagons,' said he 'to carry them off, and it is better to
burn them than they should fall into the hands of the enemy.' Then I went and
burned them-- about one hundred tents," wrote Anderson.
When we saw them reduced to ashes, it
was night and the army far ahead. We made a double quick-step and came up with
the army about eight o'clock. We encamped in the woods, with no victuals, no
tents, no blankets. The night was cold and we all suffered much, especially
those who had no shoes.
Anderson and
his comrades were camping outside at Kingston.
Thirteen
miles to the north, the British for the most part remained on the northern side
of the Raritan, camping there for the night. The bulk of Cornwallis' force
didn't cross the river until the following fair morning, repairing the bridge
that had been damaged by the Rebels and entering Brunswick. The men, unable to
turn the flour they had into bread, were hungry, their horses tired. Several of
the Hessians had worn out their shoes and therefore were barefoot. Fortunately,
Captain Ewald told his diary, this problem was addressed when they took two
coastal sloops in the Raritan River containing "a large quantity of shoes
and long trousers on board, which came at just the right time, because our men
could no longer proceed in their boots." In accordance with Howe's orders,
Cornwallis halted at Brunswick.
His decision
proved to be a controversial one. Many of his subordinates and Tories,
perplexed and furious, thought that his failure to press on was absolute folly.
Taking into consideration Howe's orders, Captain Charles Stedman, then serving
under Cornwallis, writes in The History of the Origin, Progress, and
Termination of the American War that had Howe left him "to act at his own
discretion... he would have pursued the weakened and alarmed enemy to the
Delaware, over which, without falling into his hands, they never could have
passed." That seems unlikely, for the Continental Army had demonstrated in
their evacuation from Long Island earlier in the year that it was capable of
crossing rivers. Captain Ewald suspected that the British commanders were in
favor "of ending the war amicably, without shedding the blood of the
King's subjects in a needless way." Others claimed it was due to the
latest peace initiative that Cornwallis failed to pursue Washington, a belief
that has yet to be substantiated... and would be made even more improbable the
next few days.
In his own
defense, Cornwallis did have a point: "I could not have pursued the enemy
from Brunswick with any prospect of material advantage, or without greatly
distressing the troops under my command." Not only was he following
orders, he was exercising prudence.
"When
we left Brunswick we had not 3,000 men," Nathanael Greene would tell Rhode
Island Governor Nicholas Cooke, "a very pitiful army to trust the
liberties of America upon." The Continental Army, taking King's Highway,
kept getting smaller and smaller as it did a forced march in a south westerly
direction to Princeton, arriving there on December 2. Lieutenant Anderson
recalled that "here we had comfortable lodgings in the College [it had
been closed since November 29]. The whole army was now about twenty-five
hundred men, and as their enlistments expired, they went off by the
hundreds."
Washington
intended to take that dwindling army even further, across the Delaware and into
Pennsylvania. "It being impossible to oppose them with our present force
with the least possible prospect of success," he had explained to Hancock
on the first, "we shall retreat to the west bank of the Delaware." He
divided his army into two halves: one-- two brigades of 1,400 men under General
William Alexander-- stayed at Princeton in the hope that it would hold off the
enemy for awhile, preferably five days; the remainder continued on to Trenton.
Also on December 1, he had secretly written an order to Colonel Richard
Humpton:
You are to proceed to the two ferry's
near Trentown and to see all the boats there put in the best Order, with a
sufficiency of Oars and poles, and at the same time to Collect all the
Additional boats you [can] from both above and below and have them brought to
those ferry's and Secured for the purpose of Carrying over the Troops and
Baggage.
You must,
Washington added, "particularly attend to the Durham Boats which are very
proper for the purpose."
From Princeton,
wrote Enoch Anderson,
we continued on our retreat;-- our
Regiment in the rear, and I, with thirty men, in the rear of the Regiment, and
General Washington in my rear with pioneers-- tearing up bridges and cutting
down trees, to impede the march of the enemy. I was to go no faster than General
Washington and his pioneers.
The
Americans entered Trenton at about noon. Boats were waiting for them in
abundance, and they started using them to carry their cannons, provisions,
wagons, and, of course, themselves across the Delaware.
Aiding
Washington were the Philadelphia Associators, a Pennsylvania volunteer militia
founded by Benjamin Franklin in 1747. They snaked their way up the Delaware in
boats, the sails of which were their tents. Observing the army from the
Pennsylvania side, artist Charles Willson Peale, who commanded a company in the
Associators, witnessed
the most hellish scene
I ever beheld. All the shores were lighted up with large fires, boats
continually passing and repassing, full of men, horses, artillery and camp
equipage... The Hollowing of hundreds of men in their difficulties of getting
Horses and artillery out of the boats, made it rather the appearance of Hell
than any earthly scene.
Something
called the Pennsylvania Navy also lent a hand. Commodore Thomas Seymour had
nine of his gallies transfer men and supplies from Jersey to his home state,
while four others kept watch on the river like hawks.
The
evacuation of New Jersey would last for five days, never stopping till it was
complete, the camp fires piercing the darkness of the night as boats kept going
from one side of the river to the other...
Washington
was waiting for the British to continue their advance, but so far they hadn't.
So he, perhaps foolishly, decided to seize the initiative from them. He turned
the men under his immediate command around to give the enemy the engagement he
did not want. Washington imparted his logic to Hancock on December 5:
Nothing but necessity obliged me to
retire before the Enemy & leave so much of the Jerseys unprotected. I conceive it my duty, and it corresponds
with my Inclination to make head against them so soon as there shall be the
least probability of doing it with propriety. I shall now... face about with
such Troops as are here fit for service, and march back to Princeton and there
govern myself by circumstances and the movements of Genl Lee.
But halfway
to Princeton, the British began marching once more.
General
Howe, with General James Grant and his brigade, rode into Brunswick on December
6. Now having taken the reins of command, Howe ordered his men to resume the
advance and take the western half of New Jersey too. "The possession of
Trenton was extremely desirable," he would state.
The British
and Hessians, in three columns, departed Brunswick the next day, entering
Princeton at 4:00 P.M.—precisely an hour after the American rear guard, upon
hearing of their approach, had left it. "Princeton is a nice little
town," observed Captain Friederich Münchausen, Howe's Hessian aide,
"and has a fine college... A remarkably excellent library has till now
been spared by the war." "Our army when we lay there spoiled and
plundered a good library that was in it," Sergeant Thomas Sullivan of the
64th Foot would tell his journal. The campus of the College of New Jersey would
be virtually turned into a fort, and Nassau Hall would become a storehouse and
barracks.
When Washington heard of their approach on
December 7, he was several miles to the east of Trenton. He immediately ordered
his men to go back… again. However, his column retreated slowly for a
considerable amount of time. The British could have annihilated them if they
tried, but they didn’t; they followed at a slow pace, too. Münchausen wrote in
his diary, “The rebels were always barely ahead of us. Since General Howe was
with the vanguard, we advanced very slowly, and the rebels had time to withdraw
step by step without being engaged.”
Washington’s
troops that were “fit for service” began withdrawing across the Delaware that
night.
Under an
overcast sky on the foggy morning of December 8, Continental troops marched
past Captain Peale. Then,
a man staggered out of line and came
toward me. He had lost all his clothes. He was in an old dirty blanket jacket,
his beard long and his face full of sores... which so disfigured him that he
was not known by me on first sight. Only when he spoke did I recognize my
brother James.
Ensign James
Peale had joined Colonel William Smallwood's Maryland Continentals when it had
more than 1,000 men. Now the regiment was down to 100 battle-hardened veterans,
including him.
Nonetheless,
despite the Maryland Continental’s size, it was positioned along with the other
American regiments to guard significant crossing points on the west bank of the
river. “Here we remained in the woods, having neither blankets nor tents,”
Lieutenant James McMichael of the Pennsylvania Line recorded in his diary. The
regiments stretched for 25 miles, depriving Washington of the concentration of
force necessary for defense. Many of the Virginian’s subordinates recognized
this problem. “The river is not and I believe cannot be sufficiently guarded,”
Colonel Joseph Reed, Adjutant of the Continental Army, wrote Washington on the
12th. “We must depend upon intelligence of their motions.”
At two in
the afternoon on the 8th, Howe, his aides at his side, rode into to
Trenton. Now the weather was fair, with wind blowing briskly. To his diary, Münchausen
confided, “Some of the inhabitants came running towards us, urging us to march
through the town in a hurry so we could capture many of the enemy who were just
embarking in boats and were about to cross.”
Along with
three aides and Cornwallis, Howe rode down to the Delaware. Once out in the
open, defiant American artillery—Münchausen counted 37—from the Pennsylvanian shores
“opened a terrific fire”: Boom... Boom…
Boom! As cannonballs fell all around them, throwing up dirt and leaves, the
Jägers and light infantry scattered to find any kind of refuge from this hail
of death. Howe refused to do likewise, though, subjecting himself to the most
intense of the barrage with “the greatest coolness and calm for at least an
hour.” The Hessian recalled that “wherever we turned the cannon balls hit the
ground, and I can hardly understand, even now, why all five of us were not killed.”
One landed so near to him that the soil from the impact spattered his entire
figure—countenance, legs, neck, torso, all of it. Another cut the leg off his
horse. Crying in pain, the creature fell, resulting for its rider in “a small
contusion on my knee.” The American bombardment killed and wounded 13 men.
What made
Howe, Cornwallis, and the other officers foolishly expose themselves to such
punishment? It was that honor—Dienst
to the Germans— that the European aristocracy wanted to uphold, and honor could
not be maintained by finding a safe place; that was the manner of the coward. It
could only be maintained by displaying bravery in battle.
Back at
Trenton, officers were sending troops up-river and down-river in search of
boats, but their findings were almost nil. Washington’s orders been carried out
very successfully. Actually, it wasn’t just those orders that were the reason
behind the rarity of boats on the east bank of the Delaware. The Pennsylvania
Council of Safety had ordered Captain Thomas Houston of the Pennsylvania Navy
to take his ship the Warren—a small
but heavily armed black galley with one 32 pounder, four 24 pounders, eight 18
pounders, and a crew of 30—up the river, extricate all water-going vessels from
the eastern to the western shores. Above the Trenton falls, New Jersey Captains
Jacob Gearhart, Daniel Bray, and Thomas Jones of the 2nd Regiment,
Hunterdon County militia hunted for “boats of every kind” at the Lehigh and
Delaware Rivers, hiding what they found in creeks and behind the small wooded
islands on the Pennsylvania shore. The Americans did their work so well that
Tory Joseph Galloway, looking for any sort of water transportation, discovered
only a scow, four bateaux, and two boats in a millpond.
Could you
find materials to construct boats,
rafts, or pontoons? One of the engineers requested of Galloway. This time the
loyalist was more successful: “48,000 feet of boards, a quantity of wire, and
there was timber enough about Trenton for that purpose.”
Howe,
however, had other plans, and they did not include crossing the Delaware into
Pennsylvania. The forces he had were stretched to the limit, maybe even above
it. With occasional snow gusts and “hard frost”—as he put it—“the weather” in
his opinion was “too severe to keep the field.” Besides, unless there was a
great sense of urgency, armies of the 18th Century didn’t usually
campaign in the winter due to the adversities it entailed. To Howe, having
victory almost within his grasp wasn’t under the category of dire
circumstances.
So he ended
the campaign, sending his army into winter quarters… and astonishing his
subordinates not surprisingly. “It became clearly evident that the march took
place so slowly for no other reason than to permit Washington to cross the
Delaware safely and peacefully,” Ewald assessed in his diary. Captain Stedman
would muse, “General Howe appeared to have calculated with the greatest
accuracy the exact time necessary for the enemy to make his escape.”
Indeed, it
wouldn’t even have taken the British an entire day to reach Philadelphia, the
patriot capital.
Thomas
Paine, having crossed the Delaware with the rest of the Continental Army,
arrived in that city with his rough draft for his pamphlet, which was now
essentially finished and would become The
American Crisis. Philadelphia was a shadow of it former prosperous self.
Paine was alone, the streets having been abandoned… Everywhere he looked there
were closed windows… He noted that “the public presses stopped, and nothing in
circulation but fears and falsehoods.” All of these sights shocked him.
What
happened was that as word spread of the approaching British, panic followed in
its wake. “The black times of Seventy-six,”
Paine would observe to Samuel Adams on New Year’s Day 1803, “were no other than
the natural consequence of the military blunders of the campaign.” It was said
that the British were “at least 12,000 strong, determined for Philadelphia.”
Margaret Morris was told by “a person from Philada” that the city was “in great
commotion, that the English fleet was in the River & hourly expected to
sail up to the city; that the inhabitants were removing to the Country.”
Panic was
accompanied by suspicion in many cases. Morris wrote in her journal of
several persons of considerable
repute had been discovered to have formed a design of setting fire to the City
& were summoned before the Congress and strictly enjoined to drop the
horrid purpose. My heart almost died within me, & I cried surely the Lord
will not punish the innocent with the guilty, and I wished there might be found
some interceding Lots and Abrahams amongst our People.
Such threats resulted, on December 8, in martial law being
declared in the city and Israel Putnam, the commander of all American forces in
Philadelphia, being given extraordinary powers. The following day, Putnam
ordered all shops to close, and militiamen began patrolling the streets.
Then news arrived of British forces in Princeton, and on the
east bank of Delaware. People started to flee. “Where shall we go; how shall we
get out of town? was the universal cry,” one lady recollected. “Few families
had the means to leave town. Coaches were few and mostly owned by Loyalists who
were happy to stay. Happy was he who could press a market-wagon, or a milk-cart
to bear off his little ones.” Once in the countryside, refugees were “thankful
if they could find a hut or barn, in any region of security.”
Some Whigs
became Tories, as some of the signatures to the Howes Proclamation attest. One
who complied with the brothers’ merciful gesture was Richard Stockton. Having
been captured by Loyalists in Monmouth County, New Jersey and imprisoned by the
British, Stockton gave “his word of honor that he would not meddle in the least
in American affairs” and put his signature on a declaration of allegiance to
King George—the only signature that is also on the Declaration of Independence.
Washington wrote that “the late treachery and defection of those who stood
foremost in the opposition, whilst fortune smiled upon us, make me fearful that
many more will follow their example.”
This
defeatism spread beyond Pennsylvania and New Jersey to all of the 13 states. In
Leesburg, Virginia in early December, Nicholas Cresswell wrote in his journal,
many a patriot “had given up the cause for lost… Their recruiting parties could
not get a man (except they bought him from his master).”
With this
dire situation, Paine knew he had must act: “I sat down, and in what I may call
a passion of patriotism, wrote the first number” in a final draft of his
pamphlet, which he title The American
Crisis. The power of its opening has not ebbed in more than 230 years:
These are the times that try men’s
souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink
from the service of his country; but he that stands it NOW deserves the love
and thanks of man and woman.
The anxious
atmosphere of Philadelphia prevented its publication for ten days. At last, the
first number made its way into the Pennsylvania
Journal on December 19, 1776. On the 23rd, The American Crisis started to be printed as a pamphlet, which on
Paine’s insistence was sold for two pennies—an amount that sufficed to cover
the printer’s expenditures. As for its author, he wanted, and received,
nothing, and allowed printers from across the 13 states to copy his work.
On the,
“December Crisis,” as he referred to it, Paine possessed great insight on human
nature in his essay:
Tis surprising to see how rapidly a
panic will sometimes run through a country… Yet panics in some cases have their
uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the
mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer habit than before.
As Fischer notes, Paine had a “unique gift for
expressing a popular feeling that was already stirring in other hearts.” It
wasn’t, as he later told Sam Adams, that his fellow countrymen saw the many
disasters that befell the Continental Army “as proceeding from a natural
inability to support its cause against the enemy, and might have sunk under the
despondency of that misconceived idea.” Rather, a revival was under way among
the patriots, and The Crisis
contributed greatly to it.
James
Cheetham, a political opponent of Paine’s who would write a biography of his
rival after his death, recorded that in his native state
the convention of New York, reduced
by dispersion, occasioned by alarm, to nine members, was rallied and
reanimated. Militiamen who already tired of the war, and straggling from the
army, returned. Hope succeeded to despair, cheerfulness to gloom, and firmness
to irresolution.
Before the
Congress left Philadelphia on December 12, it reformed its conduct of the war.
Previously, they meddled in the American generals’ affairs. Now it resolved
that “until Congress shall otherwise order, General Washington be possessed of
full power to order and direct all things relative to the department, and the
operation of war.”
The states
came to the rescue of the Continental Army, which was abundant in guns,
ammunition, and powder but deficient in clothing, shoes, blankets, and
stockings. Having learned of that army’s supply situation, the Virginia
Legislature, on December 6, requested Governor Patrick Henry to procure
blankets all over the state. Thirteen days later, he composed and dispatched
letters to all the county militia heads:
In Pursuance of a Resolution of the
Legislature, I am to appoint a fit Person in every County to collect from the
Inhabitants of this Commonwealth all the BLANKETS and RUGS they are willing to
spare for the Use of the Soldiery. I have to beg of you, Sir, to accept of that
Appointment for Your county, and to draw upon me for the Amount of the
Purchase. When it is considered that those who are defending their Country are
in the extremest Want of Blankets, and that our Army cannot take the Field
without a supply of that article, I have Hopes that our worthy Countrymen will
spare from their Beds a part of that Covering which the exposed Situation of
the Soldier teaches him to expect from the Humanity of those for whom he is to
fight.
All of them
would fulfill Henry’s wishes.
As for the
army to which those blankets and rugs would be sent, wrote Cheetham, Paine’s
pamphlet was “read in the camp, to every corporal’s guard, and in the army, and
out of it had more than the intended effect.” Reforms were made in the brigade,
in the artillery. Capable officers were promoted, rising quickly in the ranks.
Washington’s command was augmented by militiamen and the other commands of the
Continental Army. More importantly, as the number of men rose, so did the
army’s morale. A Connecticut officer conveyed this sanguine sentiment in a
letter home:
As for what few troops
we have, you would be amazed to see what fine spirits they are in, and the
continental troops really well disciplined, and you may depend will fight
bravely, and doubt not before one week you will hear of an attack somewhere,
when I trust we shall do honour to ourselves.
Colonel
Webb, writing to Joseph Trumbull, commissary general of the Continental Army,
on December 16, expressed the same feelings:
You ask me our Situation. It has been
the Devil, but is to appearance better. About 2,000 of us have been obliged to
run damn’d hard before about 10,000 of the enemy. Never was finer lads at a
retreat than we are… No fun for us that I can see; however, I cannot but think
we shall drub the dogs.
Paine told
his readers in The American Crisis, “By
perseverance and fortitude we have the prospect of a glorious issue.” The revival
would soon make that glorious issue possible… at a little town named Trenton…
Sources:
Bonk,
David. Trenton and Princeton, 1776-77: Washington Crosses the Delaware.
Oxford ; New York: Osprey,
2009. Print.
Fischer,
David Hackett. Washington’s Crossing. Oxford, England ; New York: Oxford
University Press, 2004. Print.
Lengel,
Edward G. General George Washington: a Military Life. Random House Trade
Pbk. ed. New York: Random House Trade Paperbacks, 2007. Print.
McCullough,
David G. 1776. 1st Simon & Schuster pbk. ed. New York: Simon &
Schuster Paperbacks, 2006. Print.
