<< Go Back

Crucible of War (American Patriot Series #4)

By J. M. Hochstetler

Order Now!

Copyright 2012 by J. M. Hochstetler

Chapter 1

An hour earlier the level of misery had finally surpassed the worst Brigadier General Jonathan Carleton had suffered as a slave of the Seneca.

Things hadn’t improved since then.

“I’ve spent merrier Christmases,” Colonel Charles Andrews shouted, his voice barely audible above the wind’s blast.

Carleton directed a wry glance at the two Shawnee warriors who hunched on either side of him, silent and grim-faced, blankets hooded over their heads beneath their heavy bearskins. Shifting from one foot to the other in the effort to restore a measure of circulation, he drawled, “Not to worry, Charles. Once we make the New Jersey shore we’ve but to march a mere nine miles to reach Trenton.”

“A cheery prospect, considering that, if anything, this infernal storm’s getting worse.”

Squinting through the Stygian gloom against a driving sleet that threatened to scour the skin from his face, Carleton assessed the faintly blacker line of the frozen New Jersey shore still some distance ahead. Their progress was agonizingly slow, and at every moment the water’s surge drove jagged ice floes against their clumsy vessel, threatening to either stave it in or capsize it. Or both.

The rising nor’easter that had plagued the Continental Army all the way to McKonkey’s Ferry, increasing in intensity while they embarked on a fleet of heavy black Durham boats, ferries, and other sturdy craft, showed no signs of diminishing and every sign of worsening. Its shriek whipped away the creak of oars, the slap of water and thud of ice, the stamp of horses’ hooves against the ferry’s planks, and the animals’ occasional agitated squeals when their footing lurched beneath them.

“At least we will not drown—as long as we manage to reach shore,” he returned in the Shawnee language.

“No,” Andrews grumbled in the same tongue. “We will freeze to death instead.”

Red Fox, the older of the Shawnee brothers, grunted. “If the Long Knives defeat our British fathers in spite of Moneto’s mighty north wind, then our people will do well to change their allegiance.”

Carleton’s adoptive cousins, the warriors had also been his trusted lieutenants during the previous summer and fall in the Shawnee’s war against white settlers pushing into Ohio Territory. Until Carleton had been unwillingly drawn back to the life torn from him eighteen months earlier when he’d been captured and enslaved by the Seneca.

He clenched the freezing fingers of one hand around his mount’s reins, with the other clung to the ferry’s rail to steady himself against its pitch and yaw. “You speak wisdom, my brother.”

“No matter the outcome, we will have much to report to the council at Pooshkwiitha, the Half Moon,” Spotted Pony noted.

Red Fox’s eyes narrowed with a shrewd light, and he gave a curt nod.

Carleton returned to his contemplation of the gradually nearing shore, striving vainly to still his shivering. Although he held nothing but the utmost respect for the skill of Colonel John Glover’s regiment of sturdy Marblehead mariners, he’d believed even they would need a miracle to convey Washington’s corps of 2,400 seasoned Continentals across the swift-flowing, ice-choked Delaware in a raging blizzard. Never mind doing so rapidly enough for the army to push south to Trenton in time to attack the isolated Hessian garrison before dawn.

In spite of the worst the heavens could throw at them, each passing moment gave evidence that a miracle might well be delivered. Straight ahead, the riverbank steadily assumed a clearer shape in the faint glow of ice and snow.

“What do you think of Ewing’s and Cadwalader’s chances of getting across?”

Before Carleton could respond to Andrews’s question, the ferry collided with a massive ice floe. The colonel staggered against his squealing horse, losing the reins as he clutched at his hat to keep it from being torn away by the gale.

While the Shawnee quieted their own skittish mounts, Carleton captured the reins of Andrews’s bay, and with the colonel’s servant, Briggs, helped to steady the animal. “Much depends on their determination,” he shouted, handing Andrews the reins. “They’ll likely encounter worse ice downriver near the falls.”

The vision granted Carleton on the ride to the ferry flooded into his mind. Again he saw the cloud of fire and smoke twining up from the dark earth and towering into the heavens ahead of General George Washington as though leading the rebel army on. Such a visitation had led the ancient Hebrews out of Egypt to the land of promise. The memory warmed Carleton more than a raging blaze and hardened his resolve.

“Whatever comes, we’ve the greater power on our side,” he said, more to himself than the others.

Andrews leaned closer to study his face in the uncertain light of the guttering torches held aloft by the sailors guiding the vessel. After a moment the colonel straightened and, his expression easing, followed Carleton’s calculating gaze toward the dim shore that loomed ahead of them.

~~~

“ ‘Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow? Or hast thou seen the treasures of the hail, which I have reserved against the time of trouble, against the day of battle and war?’ ”

Jeremiah Wainwright let fall the heavy draperies and turned from the window, where he had been observing the lash of the storm across the bleak landscape outside. He directed a glance at Elizabeth Howard and her aunt, his deeply lined face reflecting his usual good humor.

“According to Job, ’twould seem the Almighty has unloosed his storm against one side or the other in this conflict. Or perhaps both,” he amended dryly.

“It’s certain both sides are to suffer from it,” Tess Howard returned, her expression reflecting her concern as she extended her hands toward the fire.

Wainwright’s wife, Lydia, gave Elizabeth a kindly nod. “ ’Tis a blessing thy headache relieved enough for thee to partake of at least a little dinner after all.”

For a moment Elizabeth listened to the moan of the wind and the pecking of sleet and snow against the glass, while strong gusts shook the stone house. She had been gone for less an hour on her clandestine ride to meet Carleton before his brigade left for the ferry. With no one the wiser, on her return she had slipped back into the inn through the rear passageway, narrowly avoiding the young servant girl, Chastity Bridewell.

After creeping soundlessly up the back stairway to shed buffalo robe and boots and tidy her hair and clothing, Elizabeth had joined the others downstairs. Now, although the hour neared midnight, they still lingered, basking in the warm glow of the parlor’s blazing fire, reluctant to seek their cold beds.

“I’m sure it was no more than the cold and strain we’ve all been under,” she said.

“No doubt taking some nourishment helped,” Tess agreed, reaching over to pat her hand. “Your eyes are brighter, and the color has come back into your cheeks.”

“It’s well the army has come so close to thy home in Philadelphia that thou and thy native friend might join thy brother here,” Wainwright noted.

Elizabeth threw him a veiled glance, hastily reviewing the story she and Tess had concocted with Colonel Stern on their way to the inn after their arrival at the rebel camp the previous night. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he harbored some suspicions of their tale, though at the same time she sensed only good will on his part.

“We were most delighted, as you can imagine.”

“Regardless of the storm,” Lydia put in, smiling.

Tess laughed. “We didn’t anticipate such severe weather, but once on the road we were determined not to turn back until we obtained our goal.”

“Blue Sky was so eager to see Charles that we couldn’t delay our visit longer,” Elizabeth agreed.

“She is anxious for her husband?”

Elizabeth followed Lydia’s glance toward Blue Sky, who poised on the edge of a wing chair like a bird about to take flight, her unhappy, longing gaze fixed on the black panes of the window nearest her. “Charles also worries constantly for her welfare as she doesn’t yet speak English well,” she explained. “Thankfully we each have learned enough of the other’s tongue in the past two months to communicate what is needful. But she and my brother are only recently married, and it’s hard for them to be parted.”

“Especially in such danger and at the time some celebrate as the day of our Lord’s birth,” Wainwright put in, raking his fingers through the greying hair that fringed his brow. “Remember, my dear, when thou wast newly with child the first winter of our marriage, and I’d been carried off by our British brethren to supply their army in the war against the French?”

“Well I do,” answered his plump wife, raising her plainly capped head from her sewing to give him a warm glance. “I feared I’d not see thy face again, nor ever would our child.”

Smiling, Elizabeth noted their unadorned clothing and serene faces before focusing on her surroundings. The gracefully proportioned room’s furnishings were tidy and comfortable, as were those in the rest of the spacious building. The simplicity of the inn’s accommodations reflected the religious convictions of its devoutly Quaker proprietors, thus no decorations of the season enlivened the space.

The celebration of Christmas was also strictly banned in Boston and in all of New England due to the region’s Puritan heritage. It was not so here in Pennsylvania, and after briefly witnessing the revelry of the troops from the Middle and Southern States in the camp the previous night, Elizabeth found herself longing for such happy distractions to ward off the anxious thoughts that set her heart in turmoil.

Deep in thought, she started when Chastity pushed aside the grey wool blanket that hung over the door and entered, rosy-faced from the cold, with an armload of wood for the fire. The servant girl was perhaps sixteen, slight but sturdy, her pretty face and lively demeanor at odds with her Quaker dress and cap. Through half-closed eyes, Elizabeth watched the girl pile the split logs on the hearth, then stamp the snow from her boots and shake out her shawl before kneeling to build up the fire.

Although a draft seeped around the edges of the windows, Elizabeth’s woolen jacket and heavy stroud petticoats, bolstered by the warm leggings concealed underneath—all acquired during her stay among the Shawnee with Carleton—kept the chill at bay. Heavily swathed in her woolen traveling garb, Tess appeared cheerful as well, but Blue Sky, clothed as warmly, seemed too distracted to note any discomfort.

“To what tribe belongeth thy friend, Eliza?” Wainwright glanced from Tess to Blue Sky, one eyebrow raised.

“The Shawnee,” Tess responded. “I confess that when my nephew first brought her to us I had reservations about his taking a native woman as his wife—which I know to be uncharitable. We doubtless all have our prejudices, and I admit to mine. But she has become like a daughter to me. She also is a child of God, and I warrant there could be no better helpmeet for Charles, nor one he could love the more.”

Elizabeth surmised that her aunt, known to the Wainwrights as Eliza Freeman, also sensed their hosts’ hesitation at harboring an Indian in their home. She raised her cup and studied the depths of the wintergreen tea, by now gone cold, pleased at how neatly Tess had directed the conversation to safer ground.

“She is a believer, then?” Lydia cast another curious glance at Blue Sky, who appeared to take no note of their conversation.

Elizabeth took a sip of the cold tea. “I know you believe in the inner light,” she said with a smile, “and if anyone has it, Blue Sky surely does.”

“The love of God shows no preference,” Lydia murmured, returning her attention to her sewing.

“Thou art right in that, good wife.” Wainwright reclaimed his seat by the fire. “But tell me, what think you of General Washington’s driving forward this desperate venture on such a night? Does he not take a dangerous gamble?”

Elizabeth returned her cup to its saucer on the small table beside her, considering how far they could trust their hosts. “He does, but judging from what Charles told us, he has no choice. Since the army was forced out of New York, their fortunes have sunk so low that the support our glorious cause once enjoyed has declined in proportion. And the largest part of the army is set to disband with the closing of the year if something is not quickly done. It’s a desperate gamble indeed, but unless they meet with success soon, all may be entirely lost.”

“You’re an anomaly among your brethren,” Tess pointed out. “My understanding is that Quakers do not believe in war and killing, and yet you give support to the rebellion.”

Their hosts exchanged a sharp glance. Returning her attention to her sewing, her round face sober, Lydia completed her seam. Mouth pursed, she knotted the thread and snipped it off with her scissors.

Wainwright’s breast rose and fell in a deep sigh. “We have two sons in the conflict, and—”

“Are about to be read out of our meeting because we support their decision,” Lydia finished for him. “We may not agree with Isaac and Joseph in all things, but in matters of conscience thou must follow the inner light thou art given, even if it leads contrary to that given to others.”

“What regiment do your sons serve in?” Tess asked.

“Isaac is an aide to General Greene. Joseph is with the artillery under General Dickinson posted this side of the river, directly across from Trenton.”

Elizabeth regarded their hosts with sympathy. “Colonel Stern told us that you’ve . . . transmitted intelligence to the General.”

“Thou art also spies, I think,” Wainwright countered.

Elizabeth met his piercing gaze with a steady one. “It isn’t safe for us to confide more in each other than civility warrants, Jeremiah. Were you—or we—to be captured . . . ” She let the words trail off.

Wainwright rose and returned to the darkened window. Drawing the shutters closed against the storm, he faced Elizabeth, his expression thoughtful.

“Thou speakest well, Jane Andrews . . . if that indeed be thy name. Thou and Colonel Andrews, though brother and sister, differ greatly in appearance, he being light of coloring and thou dark—though thy complexion be as fair as his,” he conceded.

Elizabeth smiled. “Our father was widowed before he married my mother. I resemble her, and Charles his own mother.”

Wainwright directed his keen glance to Tess. “I take it thou art this child’s maternal aunt.”

“I am,” Tess returned, expression and voice equally calm. “Sadly my sister died in childbirth, but that gave me the joy of rearing both Jane and Charles. He is as dear to me as if he were my own nephew, and so I consider him to be.”

“Forgive me if I am too direct in my curiosity. It interests me greatly that thou hast with thee a Shawnee maiden who is married to an officer of the rebellion. Members of her tribe are not common in the eastern colonies, thus I cannot help but wonder where they met. I’m not ignorant of the border wars—” He raised his hand to silence Elizabeth’s exclamation. “I’ve heard the name White Eagle, and it occurs to me that perhaps thy brother is he.”

Elizabeth shot Tess a quick warning glance.

“Or perhaps White Eagle is another,” his wife interjected firmly. “Cease, husband. Thou art too curious for the circumstances.”

“Thy admonition is well spoken, Lydia.” Appearing crestfallen, Wainwright conceded, “Truly, I’d not know the particulars. Considering our dangerous roles, the less we know of each other, the better for all.”

Elizabeth became aware that Chastity had lingered overlong in building up the fire. Finished, she rose with what Elizabeth thought to be reluctance and turned to leave the room.

“Wouldst thou bring more hot tea, child?” Lydia indicated the teapot. “What little is left has long gone cold.”

“The water is already on the boil, mistress,” Chastity said primly. “I’ll be but half a minute.” Taking the teapot, she left the room.

When she had gone, Elizabeth turned her attention to Blue Sky, whose head was bent over hands clenched so hard the knuckles whitened. Her eyes were closed and her lips moved, though she made no sound.

“Our desperate state may soon find some improvement, however,” Wainwright continued, brightening. “Thou knowest, dost thou not, that Benjamin Franklin left for Paris back in October to join Silas Deane and Arthur Lee in negotiating a treaty with the French?”

Tess leaned forward eagerly. “Rumors have it that France is already supplying us secretly, and that the Dutch and Spanish may also soon join in the war against Britain.”

“Don’t forget the British have spies in every court,” Elizabeth reminded them. “They must be well aware of who’s supplying and advising us. I daresay they’ll bring pressure to bear on our secret allies until they have no choice but to end their support . . . or bring it into the open.”

They all looked up as Blue Sky sprang out of her chair and began to pace up and down, distress evident in every taut line of her body.

“I should have gone with him!” she cried in Shawnee. “Golden Elk should not make me stay here when he—”

Elizabeth rose and flew to her adoptive sister. Taking Blue Sky’s hands in hers, she said, “Do you not think my heart also aches to be with White Eagle? But Golden Elk was right. The storm is too great for a woman to endure, and the battle will be worse. How can they attend to their duties when they are burdened with worry for us? Would we not become a hindrance and so endanger them?”

“How are they to bear this storm any more than we?” Blue Sky protested in anguish. “If they should die—”

It was what Elizabeth most feared but had resolutely barred from her consciousness. Clinging to Blue Sky’s hands, she said, “We must hold them up in prayer. It is the most powerful thing we can do. Moneto will care for them. Surely he will preserve their lives.” Her reassuring words sounded hollow in her ears, but to her relief they seemed to calm Blue Sky.

Hearing movement behind her, Elizabeth turned to see that their hosts regarded the two of them with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. As did the servant girl standing in the doorway holding back the blanket that covered it with one hand and the steaming teapot in the other, a strange look on her face.

None of them understood what she and Blue Sky had said in the Shawnee tongue. Yet Elizabeth feared that she had revealed more than she ought by speaking it with a fluency she had denied.

~~~

It was past midnight when the ferry bumped and ground against the shallow bank, jarring men and horses alike. Carleton and his companions wasted no time quitting the vessel. Once disembarked, they mounted and worked their way through a milling Massachusetts regiment that appeared to be in exceedingly high spirits in spite of the storm.

With good-humored banter and curses, the men jostled for position around sputtering fires fed with fence rails and any broken branches and underbrush that could be found in the vicinity, whether dry, wet, or green. Soaked through and shaking with the cold, they beat frostbitten hands together and stamped their cracked and bleeding feet to keep them from freezing completely.

From around one campfire, someone raised his voice in a lusty chorus, quickly taken up by his fellows, while laughter and catcalls offered counterpoint to the singers.



Sir William, he, snug as a flea,

Lay all this time a-snoring;

Nor dreamed of harm as he lay warm

In bed with Mrs. Loring.



“Let’s pray that Howe remains snug abed with his paramour a while longer,” Andrews said with a grin. “At least long enough or us to have our way with the garrison at Trenton.”

Giving a short laugh, Carleton spurred Devil forward. “To our good luck, General Cornwallis is on his way home to England for the winter. I’ve a great deal more regard for his abilities and activity than I do for our newly knighted Sir Willy.”

They hadn’t gone far before Elizabeth’s cousin, Captain Levi Stern, intercepted them. “Pa needs to talk to you,” he shouted over the howling wind.

Motioning them to follow, he reined his horse around and led the way through a snow bank into the lea of a shadowy copse of trees that mercifully afforded some shelter from the elements. They found Colonel Joshua Stern, the regiment’s commander and Elizabeth’s uncle, huddled with Major James Smithson of the Rangers over a sputtering, smoky fire of green wood torn from the surrounding trees and rotted branches pried loose from the frozen ground. Both greeted Carleton’s party with noticeable restraint as they dismounted.

“Are the men and horses all disembarked?” Carleton enquired of the major.

Smithson nodded and blew on his chapped fingers. “I left the captains to get ’em into line and call roll,” he growled. “We encountered a problem I thought you should know about.”

Carleton scrubbed the sleet from his face with his gloved hand. “What’s gone amiss?”

Smithson shifted uncomfortably, darting glances between Carleton, Andrews, and the Shawnee warriors. “Well, sir, the men ain’t takin’ kindly to servin’ with colored troops.”

Stern’s mouth tightened. “Captain Moghrab and his company are all excellent horsemen, and the general and I agreed they’re better suited to his brigade than mine.”

“Colored men ain’t the equal of—”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Carleton cut him off.

“Even the Gen’l don’t want blacks serving—”

“Because he fears a slave uprising.” Carleton waved his hand in dismissal. “All these men are freemen, and His Excellency will discover they’ll fight, and fight well. Anyone voice objections to serving with Indians?”

Smithson gave a curt nod. “Them savages ain’t any better’n the coloreds, if you ask me—”

“I didn’t. Those who object have but to endure it until we return to camp. Then anyone who considers himself a better judge of a comrade’s competence and devotion to duty than his commander will be immediately excused from serving in the Rangers and will be transferred to the infantry, where he may serve with those of equal station.”

Major Smithson’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Sir, you can’t—”

“Try me.” Teeth gritted, Carleton brought his face close to the major’s. “If you believe yourself superior to another man simply because of the color of your skin, you’d better be prepared to prove it in battle.”

~~~

After going over their orders in detail with his officers, Carleton reviewed his brigade with approval mingled with caution. While in Virginia, Andrews had recruited three troops of light cavalry and two troops of light infantry with support personnel, outfitting them in buckskin hunting shirts and breeches, knee-length boots, and cocked hats, and equipping them with sabres, carbines, and pistols. For the night’s work, Carleton had detached his two best mounted troops, fit, ready, and eager for duty.

A number of the Rangers were personal acquaintances from Carleton’s youth, men he had grown up with, but who seemed strangers to him now because of the intervening years when he had lived in England, and then among the Shawnee. Yet he was surprised that the anguish, anger, and alienation he had struggled against since leaving Grey Cloud’s town eased as he interacted with them. The familiar habits of discipline and command, whether of warriors or of soldiers steadied him, and a welcome confidence dispelled the turmoil of emotions.

The pleasure several of his former acquaintances expressed at his presence would not let him forget the treacherous ground he stood on, however. He and Washington had discussed the possibility of somehow concealing from the British his return to command the Rangers, but had quickly concluded that it was a practical impossibility to keep the news from leaking out. If he were taken prisoner, his fate would be a hasty—and very public—execution, and Washington had made it clear that Carleton was to take every precaution to avoid capture. Considering the high price on his head, however, that would be a task easier to assign than to accomplish, and Carleton determined not to worry about it.

What concerned him more at the moment was the undercurrent of tension among his men. Doubtless some measure of disquiet was due to the attitudes Smithson had expressed. Yet Carleton sensed there was more to it.

Officers and rank and file alike were well aware that the majority of the army’s enlistments would expire on December thirty-first. And almost to a man the soldiers were determined to return home regardless of any inducements to stay.

And who could blame them? They were worn out with the fatigues of marches and battles, often deprived of even the basic necessities of existence. At home their women and children suffered hardship, struggling to maintain farms and businesses in their men’s absence. They had already endured more than anyone should be expected to, and if they stayed, only more sacrifice lay ahead of them.

Their departure would reduce the Continental Army to a shadow of 1,400 men, a force so small that the British would brush them aside like a flea. That had to concern newly enrolled troops, such as his Rangers, as well. Washington had to make a bold stroke without delay or the game would be up once and for all. With nothing to lose and everything to gain by going on the offensive, their commander had decided to strike before the end of the year in hopes that success might persuade many of the men to stay, while also hardening civilian opposition to Britain.

To the rebels’ good fortune, after driving Washington’s corps out of New York, through New Jersey, and across the Delaware into Pennsylvania, British General William Howe had inexplicably neglected to follow up his advantage by pushing on to capture Philadelphia. Instead he had closed the campaign in mid December and given leave to General Charles Cornwallis to return to England. Then the British commander in chief had retired to New York to receive the red ribbon of a Knight Commander of the Bath from his sovereign and while away the winter with his mistress, leaving his army scattered in a string of lightly manned garrisons spread across the eastern half of New Jersey under the command of General James Grant.

The relative isolation of the southernmost outposts, especially the three forward positions along the Delaware, offered possibilities too tempting for Washington to resist. Posted six miles downriver at Bordentown on the river’s eastward bend lay a detachment of Hessian grenadiers, Jägers, and artillery under Colonel Carl von Donop. Several miles below, Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Sterling commanded the Forty-second Highland Regiment and a grenadier battalion at Black Horse.

But it was the exposed northernmost position at Trenton, on the opposite side of the river from the rebel camp, on which Washington had fixed his sights. And twelve miles behind it, the strongly manned garrison at Princeton, where Grant had established his headquarters.

Since fleeing across the Delaware in early December, Washington’s army had more than doubled in size to 6,000 effectives, bolstered by the arrival of a remnant of captured Colonel Arthur Lee’s brigades, General Horatio Gates’ corps, and two brigades under General John Sullivan, which for once gave Washington an advantage over his nearest opponents.

Fourteen hundred Pennsylvania and New Jersey militia had increased that advantage. Although sorely lacking in clothing and equipment, they harbored rage enough to overcome those minor deficiencies. After initially declaring their loyalty to the king in exchange for promises of protection, the residents of New Jersey had instead been subjected to widespread senseless murders, the ransacking and plunder of their homes and churches, and the wanton rape and abuse of their wives and daughters by the occupying British and Hessian troops. Over the past weeks the eastern New Jersey militias had risen in violent revolt. Driven past the breaking point, they had swarmed to Washington’s standard in droves, determined to visit retribution on their tormentors.

In a council of war held little more than twenty-four hours earlier, Washington had outlined a daring plan to do just that, one that would take advantage of the Christmas celebrations for which the Germans were famous. That night, the twenty-fifth of December, while Colonel Johann Rall’s three Hessian regiments were assumed to be still engaged in revelry, General John Ewing was to cross just below the town at Trenton Ferry with 800 Pennsylvania and New Jersey militia and seize the bridge across Assunpink Creek to prevent the Trenton garrison from escaping to the south. Meanwhile, Colonel John Cadwalader was assigned to cross the river at Burlington with a combined force of 1,800 Pennsylvania Associators and Continentals to prevent von Donop’s detachment from coming to Rall’s aid.

At the same time, the main American column, commanded by General Nathanael Greene and personally led in the attack by Washington, would strike Trenton. The men had been ordered to observe a profound silence until reaching the outskirts of the town, and no one was allowed to quit his ranks on pain of death. If they achieved success against Trenton, Washington hoped to lead the combined force in an immediate move against Princeton and Brunswick.

The countersign for the day was Victory or Death.

~~~

Carleton found forty-four-year-old General George Washington wrapped in his cloak and seated on a wooden box, brooding over the ruin of his plan. His back to the wind, the General’s mulatto slave, Will Lee, hunched over him, turbaned head bent, face impassive as he tried to shelter his master from the driving wind and snow while clutching the reins of his mount and the General’s tall white gelding, Blueskin.

Nearby, heavily cloaked, hats secured to their heads with wool kerchiefs, Washington’s aides, handsome, broad-shouldered, young Irish Colonel John Fitzgerald and twenty-four-year old George Baylor, stared pensively across the Delaware. Barely visible through the driving sleet, the random assortment of vessels still fought their way through the jagged ice floes to deliver another load of troops to the New Jersey shore.

Generals Greene, Sullivan, Mercer, and Stirling clustered around their commander. Stamping their feet and clapping their hands to maintain circulation, they milled restlessly about, clearly eager to move forward before they all froze. Washington resolutely ignored them.

Dismounting, Carleton exchanged curt nods with the other officers before saluting. “We await your orders, Your Excellency.”

Washington glowered at him. “Curse this storm! We are already three hours behind schedule, and as the last of the artillery will not be brought over for at least another hour, there is little chance of our reaching Trenton before dawn. My first concern was to maintain secrecy until the moment of attack, but there is no hope of ensuring that now.”

“This storm will afford us a great measure of concealment,” Carleton pointed out. “Surely Colonel Rall won’t expect an attack in such weather.”

“Having been the instrument of our defeat a time or two already, I doubt he considers us a threat of any consequence to begin with,” Fitzgerald noted.

“All to our advantage,” Carleton returned with a smile. “Sometimes our best plans go awry for a reason.”

Washington grimaced. “You believe Providence has blessed us with defeat and followed it up with a blizzard for our benefit?”

Carleton raised an eyebrow. “Judging from my own experience, I’d not put such measures past the Almighty.”

Washington gave him a keen look, an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I have had a few such experiences myself,” he conceded. “As I recall, one of them brought us together.”

Carleton bowed. “So it did, Your Excellency.”

Rising, Washington drew himself up to his full height and shook the snow from his cloak. “As soon as the last of the artillery arrives, form your men into column,” he barked to his officers. “Tell the others to do the same. We cannot afford to linger one minute more than necessary.”

When they made to move off, he raised his hand. “Any time you must conscript goods, you are to assure the owners that the army will pay a fair price for them. And remember that in all circumstances women and children are to be tenderly treated. I will personally see to it that those responsible for any cases of abuse are severely punished.”

Scanning their faces, his eyes narrowing, he added, “If we do no better than the king’s men, we shall not deserve the loyalty of our fellow citizens—or the blessing of God.”

Order Now!

<< Go Back