Stephenson M. Patriot Battles. How the War of Independence Was Fought
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fire and ice 259
the Rall and Lossberg regiments surrendered, followed shortly after
by the Knyphausen regiment, which had tried but failed to cross the
Assunpink. It was all over by 9:30 am.
Given the ferocity of the street fighting (Sergeant Joseph White
recalled that his “blood chill’d to see such horror and distress, blood
mingling together, the dying groans . . . The sight was too much to bear”)
and the overwhelming numerical superiority of artillery and muskets
available to Washington, it is a dramatic illustration of the nature of
the warfare of the period and the effectiveness of its weaponry that
out of 1,500 Hessians, only 22 were killed and 83 wounded (834 were
captured). The Americans losses were astonishingly small: two men
dead of exposure and two wounded: Captain William Washington, a
distant cousin of the commander in chief, shot through both hands; and
a future president, Lieutenant James Monroe, who survived an almost
fatal shoulder wound.
On 26 and 27 December Washington led his triumphant, exhausted,
and drunk army—Joseph Reed reported that “the soldiers drank too
freely to admit of Discipline or Defence,” even though Washington had
ordered forty hogsheads of rum destroyed—with its prisoners and loot
back to Pennsylvania. They had crossed not only the Delaware but also
a psychological barrier: the frontier that separates those who believe
they are condemned to be beaten and those who are convinced they are
destined to win. The battle may have been only a large-scale raid, but
its impact was massive. A Loyalist, Nicholas Cresswell, reported on the
sea change in his patriot neighbors: “A few days ago they had given up
the cause for lost. Their late successes have turned the scale and now
they are all liberty made again.”
15
The raggedy-assed soldiery had done
something extraordinary, and they knew it. Equally extraordinary, they
would be back in Trenton in only three days.
The second battle of Trenton, although given fairly short shrift in most
histories, is full of interest not only for the student of Washington’s
command style but also as a fine example of what might be called the
patriot battles 260
“organic” evolution of strategy: the role of happenstance as an important
factor in warfare (much to the chagrin of those historians who prefer
to ascribe intention and planning that only hindsight lends to what in
reality is the chaotic ricochet of events).
First, Washington had no clearly thought-out strategy after
Trenton.
16
What happened next was taken, in his characteristically
aggressive and opportunistic manner, on the fly. What triggered
Washington’s return to Trenton was, ironically, Cadwalader’s eventual
successful landing in New Jersey on 27 December. There they now were,
1,800 men stuck out on their own limb. After the usual war council
Washington decided to support Cadwalader with everything he had: “a
considerable force,” by Washington’s own estimation.
During the twenty-ninth and the thirtieth Washington sent over
6,800 men and a formidable artillery train to Trenton, ranging them on
the high ground on the southern bank of the Assunpink.
17
In retrospect
it all seemed perfectly logical. Lure Cornwallis to attack a strongly held
defensive position and then, while he banged at the front door, slip out
the back and capture the enemy’s rear bases (including that succulent
£70,000).
It is an appealing theory (seemingly sanctified by events), except
that almost everything points in the opposite direction. Washington had
placed his men in the gravest peril and risked everything to chance.
It is difficult to understand how the strategic benefit could ever have
outweighed the massive risk. He had deployed his army with its back to
the Delaware without what in modern jargon would be called “an exit
strategy.” In fact, many in his army were panicked by the situation in
which they now found themselves. A Virginian, Ensign Robert Beale, in
the American center, recognized the danger: “This was the most awful
crisis, no possible chance of crossing the River; ice as large as houses
floating down, and no retreat to the mountains, the British between
us and them.”
18
Captain Stephen Olney concurred: “It appeared to
me then that our army was in the most desperate situation I had ever
known it; we had no boats to carry us across the Delaware, and if we
had, so powerful an enemy would certainly destroy the better half
fire and ice 261
before we could embark.”
19
One of Washington’s generals, Arthur St.
Clair, referred to the “probability of defeat.”
Before he sallied out of Princeton to do battle with Washington,
Cornwallis had been urged by Colonel von Donop, who knew the
country behind the American lines, to take a route that could be used to
flank the American right. Cornwallis, with the airy self-confidence of
the blinkered, decided to stick with his frontal strategy. It was on just
such arbitrary turns of the cards that Washington’s fate hung.
The British and Hessian column was delayed by a hit-and-retreat
maneuver, carried out brilliantly by Colonel Edward Hand and Colonel
Nicholas Haussegger, which bought valuable time for Washington to
consolidate his positions on the Assunpink. Once in Trenton, inspiration
seems to have abandoned Cornwallis, who accepted battle entirely on
Washington’s terms. He ordered attack after attack—all inspiringly
heroic, all bloodily sterile—on the bridge and one or two other main
choke points across the Assunpink, which, of course, Washington had
taken very particular care to defend in depth with his most experienced
troops, interspersed with the more fragile militia units. The fighting
at the bridge was fierce, and Washington’s own conduct there is an
exemplar of the detachment that was so highly prized by officers of
his social class. With his horse’s chest pressed against the bridge rail he
made a flamboyant gesture of nonchalance in the face of danger. “The
firm, composed, and majestic countenance of the General inspired
confidence and assurance in a moment so important and critical,”
remembered Private John Howland.
20
American fire tactics at the bridge provide a valuable insight into
the tendency to shoot high during the stress of battle, perhaps caused
by involuntary flinching at the moment of firing. (The same tendency
had plagued the British attackers at Breed’s Hill and would again at the
battle of Princeton.) To counter it, Colonel Charles Scott instructed his
Virginians:
Now I want to tell you one thing. You’re all in the habit of shooting
too high. You waste your powder and lead, and I have cursed you
patriot battles 262
about it a hundred times. Now I tell you what it is, nothing must
be wasted, every crack must count. For that reason boys, whenever
you see them fellows first begin to put their feet upon this bridge do
you shin ’em. Take care now and fire low. Bring down your pieces,
fire at their legs, one man Wounded in the leg is better a dead one
for it takes two more to carry him off and there is three gone.”
21
As brilliant as Washington’s defense was that evening of 2 January,
one question begged to be answered: what now? Cornwallis’s army of
some 6,000, despite a few bloody noses, was not going away and almost
certainly would eventually have opened up the patriot right flank.
Even with his advantage in artillery (forty compared with Cornwallis’s
twenty-eight) Washington was hardly likely to take the offensive. To
cap it, there were British reserves at Maidenhead and Princeton which,
momentarily, would be mobilized.
Quitting while ahead must have been a particularly appealing
notion to Washington at that point, but there is no evidence he had a
plan to extricate the army from the predicament in which he had placed
it. Washington, in council that evening, expressed his own pessimistic
forecast, as recorded by Major James Wilkinson on the American right
wing: “The situation of the two armies were known to all; a battle was
certain, if he kept his ground until the morning, and in case of an action
a defeat was to be apprehended; a retreat by the only route thought of,
down river, would be difficult and precarious.” He called for advice.
General Arthur St. Clair pointed out the cross-country back-road
route that would lead into the undefended southeastern perimeter of
Princeton six miles away to the east. Brilliantly, it offered the prospect
of escape and a chance to attack. Not only that; it offered the only hope,
and Washington grasped it with both thankful hands.
The night was exceedingly dark, and, true to form, the weather
turned in Washington’s favor. A hard freeze came down, transforming
the glutinous mud of the previous few days into a good solid base—“as
hard as pavement,” noted a soldier—for carts, artillery, and infantry.
Although Washington employed the usual ruses—campfires kept
burning, some men left to make conspicuous noise of entrenching,
fire and ice 263
and so on—his departure was certainly noticed by the British, who,
taking it for a flanking attack, made the entirely understandable but
completely inappropriate dispositions. Most histories have Cornwallis
curling his disdainful aristocratic lip while making a complete ass of
himself by pronouncing, “We will bag the fox tomorrow.” It makes a
good story, but, sadly, there is no evidence he used the phrase (although
foxy Washington certainly was).
Early on the morning of 3 January Washington’s column, marching
undetected up the Quaker Road that approached Princeton from
the southeast, came to the Stony Brook. Here Washington detached
Greene’s division to follow the road that ran alongside the brook, north
to the main Princeton-Trenton road, while he and Sullivan with the
main force (approximately 5,000) carried on toward the town. Greene
was to destroy the bridge where the main road crossed the brook, which
would hinder any attempt by Cornwallis to double back to Princeton.
At this point events began to unfold with the randomness that is more
characteristic of battle than chess-game tidiness.
The commander of the Princeton garrison, Lieutenant Colonel
Charles Mawhood, had been instructed by Cornwallis to bring part of
his garrison across to Trenton, and at 5:00 am on the third he duly set
off down the main road with the 17th and 55th Foot (700 or so men in
total) and eight guns, leaving the 40th Foot to hold the town. Not far
into their journey, the British column spotted Sullivan and Washington
over to the east. Greene’s force, 1,500 strong and working its way up the
ravine of Stony Brook, remained undetected, though it soon became
aware of the redcoats on the main road.
Princeton
3 January 1777
Post Road
Nassau Hall
Frog’s
Hollow
Ravine
Worth’s
Mill
T o T renton
William
Clark’s apple
orchard
Princeton
Mawhood with
17th and 55th
Foot starts for
Trenton
Mawhood sights
Washington’s
main force and
turns around
Greene and
Mercer peel off
from main column
Washington
and Sullivan
Sullivan
continues
to
Princeton
Mawhood and
17th Foot strike
Mercer in
orchard
55th and 40th
Foot retreat
when pressed by
Sullivan
Mercer
overrun
by
Mawhood
Mercer
killed
B
r
i
t
i
s
h
r
e
t
r
e
a
t
M
e
r
c
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r
a
n
d
G
r
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e
n
e
Washington peels
off to support
Cadwalader
40th Regiment
55th
Regiment
S
t
o
n
y
B
r
o
o
k
S
t
o
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y
B
r
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k
American
British
American movements
British movements
fire and ice 265
Mawhood immediately decided to attack Sullivan. He sent the 55th
and most of the artillery to occupy a small hill to the south of the road,
had his remaining infantry (supported by two fieldpieces), about 450
men, drop their packs and head off east in interception. At this point,
Greene’s vanguard (about 500 strong), commanded by General Hugh
Mercer, debouched from the ravine and moved to engage Mawhood,
who had no option but to turn his attention to this totally unexpected
threat. They clashed in an orchard on William Clark’s farm, and a brisk
firefight and artillery exchange developed.
What next transpired was a classic illustration of the vulnerability
of the rifle in a volley-fire situation. Although the British fired high
(“Their first shot passed over our heads”), it took much longer for
the patriot riflemen to reload, and this gave a critical advantage to
the British musketmen, armed with their murderous fourteen-inch
bayonets. Cohesion, unity, and discipline were key to eighteenth-century
battles where big, solid punches of concentrated fire counted far more
than the dissipated effect of numerous jabs. At this critical juncture
the American ranks began to lose their coherence despite attempts to
pull it back together. With a formality that would not have been out of
place at Minden or Malplaquet, Captain John Fleming instructed his
First Virginians, “Gentlemen, dress before you make ready.” It was a
classic command of eighteenth-century combat, intended to compact
the troops and intensify their volley, but Fleming was shot down as soon
as the words were out of his mouth, and the cohesion he was trying to
create fell apart. Mawhood, although considerably outnumbered, took
his opportunity, and the British moved in quickly. Mercer was bayoneted
multiple times (and would die some hours later), and his men broke,
streaming back into and destabilizing Cadwalader’s Pennsylvania
Associators as they moved up in support. It was the critical point of the
battle.
Washington’s personal intervention at the moment of crisis sheds
another light on his complex personality. All too often he is depicted
as a masterful civil servant, the great moderator, the inspired military
bureaucrat—all Eisenhower and no Patton. But here he showed those
characteristics so admired by his age: heroism and physical courage
patriot battles 266
displayed with imperturbability—the studied insouciance of the ancient
Roman. It was an inspiration, if also an agony, for those who watched
him only thirty yards or so from the British line with, as he later recalled,
“a thousand deaths flying around him,” rallying Cadwalader’s militia
and bringing his reinforcements into play. The tactical center, which
had disintegrated under the centrifugal force of panic, he now drew
back together again, tightened and unified it, and sent it forward to
deliver, as Washington ordered, “a heavy platoon fire on the march.”
22
Overwhelming numbers did the rest, and Mawhood’s corps broke and
ran. In the pursuit, Washington’s mask slipped for a while and he joined
in exuberantly, unrestrainedly, thoroughly enjoying himself—until
drear duty brought him back.
Mawhood’s stand had cost him dearly. For example, the 17th Foot
took 45 percent casualties (101 killed and wounded out of 224); the
British artillery lost 50 percent of its men. But it cost Washington more.
Princeton was taken, but the patriot army had been drained by the battle,
and there was no time to move on to Brunswick. As Washington would
later report to Congress, “In my judgement Six or eight hundred fresh
Troops upon a forced March would have destroyed all their Stores and
Magazines: taken (as we have learnt) their Military Chest containing
70,000 pounds and put an end to the war.”
23
But Cornwallis was now
closing in fast, and Washington’s only option was to head in to the high
lands around Morristown and hunker down for the winter.
17
The Philadelphia Campaign
BRANDYWINE, 11 SEPTEMBER 1777;
GERMANTOWN, 4 OCTOBER 1777;
AND MONMOUTH COURTHOUSE,
28 JUNE 1778
M
ost historians seem to agree—that it is impossible to agree.
Of all the campaigns of the war, none is as confusing, when
it comes to intention and execution, as that undertaken by
General William Howe in the late summer and early fall of 1777, which
led to his capture of Philadelphia (the seat of Congress and the unofficial
capital of the new United States).
One line of argument holds that Philadelphia was not important
strategically (as events would prove when the British eventually
abandoned it in 1778); nor, among a loose confederation of often
contentious states, did it have the symbolic potency of a national
capital. Howe, so the argument goes, was simply deluded, or stupid, or
both, to target it. But if he was, he was joined by George Washington
among others, who certainly thought the city worth the contention.
The political pressure that would compel the patriot commander to
defend the city was, from Howe’s point of view, a double blessing. It
prevented Washington from interdicting General John Burgoyne, as
he descended from Canada,
1
and it offered the chance of bringing the
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patriot army to battle.
2
The most common accusation against Howe
has been his supposed predilection for the classic eighteenth-century
notion of maneuvering for territorial possession while avoiding battle,
and many have highlighted this as the main reason for Howe’s failure
during his years in command of the Royal Army in North America. A
counterargument can be made that Howe sought to bring Washington
to a decisive battle (Howe’s strategy in New Jersey in June is a prime
example), and on those occassions when annihilation of the enemy
seemed likely (for example, at Brooklyn, and the chase across the
Jerseys in 1776), the British were foiled more through the exhaustion
of their troops and tactical considerations than a lack of intent or the
commander’s venality and sloth.
Another arena of debate concerns the method Howe chose to get
within striking distance of the city and the risks and benefits involved.
Following his setbacks at the two battles of Trenton and at Princeton,
he had drawn in his horns in New Jersey and relinquished most of
the territory he had once held. From his main bases at Amboy and
Brunswick he tried unsuccessfully during June 1777 to bring the patriot
army, now reduced to about 4,000, to battle. But Washington, ensconced
in solid defensive positions at Morristown and Bound Brook, was not
inclined to take the bait. By 30 June Howe gave up on the cat-and-
mouse game in New Jersey and pulled his army back to New York (and
in consequence delivered his Loyalist supporters to the tender mercies
of their patriot neighbors).
Although many of his officers disagreed, the British commander in
chief ruled out an overland approach across the Jerseys to Philadelphia.
No sane commander, he argued, would want an army strung out over
ninety miles with a highly aggresive enemy chewing on its flanks. So
Howe went back to an earlier plan: an approach to Philadelphia by sea
and via the Chesapeake (which was only later amended to the Delaware
River route). On 9 July he embarked about 13,000 men and left them as
Howe’s officers complained “pent up in the hottest season of the year
in the holds of the vessels”
3
while he waited for news of General John
Burgoyne’s satisfactory progress down from Canada en route to Albany
(which he received on the fifteenth) and Henry Clinton’s arrival from