“Only partially succeeded?” interposed Kate, with real surprise. “Why I thought it was a complete victory. It was so considered in private circles in England.”
“The intention was to cross below, as well as at Trenton, and so cut off the whole series of posts,” replied the Major; “but the driving ice prevented Cadwallader, at Bristol, from achieving his part of the task. Above Trenton, however, Washington succeeded in crossing, and carried all before him, as you say.”
Uncle Lawrence, while the Major was speaking, would have been a study for an unconcerned spectator. His usual calmness of manner had given place to intense, but suppressed excitement; and now, as the Major’s last words recalled the whole scene of that eventful night, he could control himself no longer. The color rose in his aged cheeks, and his eye flashed with youthful fire. In general, he was the last person to speak of events in which he had been himself engaged. But now he seemed to lose his own personality in the magnitude of the transaction he described.
“Such a night as that was,” he said. “The weather had been warm afore, for the season—kind o’ spring-like—but all at once it set in cold, and when we reached the place where we had to cross, the river was full of ice, driving like mad in the dark. At first I thought all was up, for with the great cakes grinding together, it seemed to me as if we’d never get over, leastways with the cannon—we had twenty small brass pieces, you know. Along shore, in many places, the ice was piled ten feet high, where it had jammed, and one bit slid up over another. Often, in the middle of the river, whole fields would come together, so that, for a while, you’d think you might walk across. Then, with a low growl, like thunder miles away, it would split apart, and the whole begin to move agin. The Gin’ral, howsomever, determined to try; the boats were filled, and we set off. It was a hard fight to push ‘em through, a’most as hard as the battle in the morning; and more than once I said, said I, ‘we’ll have to give it up.’ Sometimes a boat would be carried a mile away from the one it started with, in spite of all the rowers could do to make it keep its place. Once our batteau was crushed by getting where several fields of ice met. If we pushed her off from one she ran agin a second; and soon they began to slide over each other; all the time moaning as if in pain, like the great leviathin that we read of in Scriptur’. At last we had to give up, and just wait what the Lord would send, but expecting every minute to be ground to powder. All this time there were twenty others, some with horses on board, as bad off as ourselves; the horses snortin’ and plungin’, frightened mad, poor things! The wind was cutting cold. Our hands got ‘numb, and the water froze on us.
“Howsomever,” continued the old man, “we made the shore at last, but not till four o’clock in the morning, when we ought to have got over by the middle of the night. Washington had crossed among the first, and there he sat, for hours, on a bee-hive, on the shore, watching the rest of us. You may guess how he must have felt! We had nine miles to go, and every minute was precious; for there wasn’t much time wasted, after the cannon was landed. But now the weather, which had been threatening-like all day, set in stormy, snow and sleet mixed together, and the wind sharper than ever. The hail stung our faces; the cold went to the marrow, and some of us were thin enough dressed. Many a poor fellow, who had no shoes, marked the road with his blood. Not a soul met us, to bid us God speed! But I’ve often thought since, that people, asleep in the farmhouses, must have heard us as we went by; but they but half woke up, perhaps, and saying to themselves it was only the Storm, dozed again, little knowing that the fate of America was being decided.
“Well,” continued the veteran, “it was nigh eight o’clock afore we reached Trenton. Long afore, when they told Washington that the wet would spoil our powder, he had said that ‘then we must fight with the baggonet;’ so we all knew that it was to be for life or death. Two of our men had dropped out of the ranks and died; but that only made the rest of us more eager. Not a fife was heard, nor a drum beat, as we marched along; the rumble of the cannon, and the tread of our men was the only sound; but the roar of the gale through the woods was often louder. At last, as I’ve said, we reached Trenton, just as daylight began to break. Washington rode down our line, and pointing with his sword ahead, said, ‘Now or never, my lads!’ He may have said more, but that was all I heerd; and that was enough; for I felt, after it, as if I could fight like a dozen men. I shall never forget how he looked. He seemed as big as a giant through the sleet and fog; and his face, oh! such a face, it said a thousand things.”
Uncle Lawrence paused for a moment, as if compelled by emotion. His listeners hung eagerly on his words, Kate quite as interested as Major Gordon. Directly the old man resumed.
“The Gin’ral had hardly got out of sight, when there was a flash ahead, and patter, patter, came the sound of musket-shots. It was the picket, at the end of the town, which had just found out that an enemy was upon ‘em. We dashed forward, the cannon jolting and leaping past us, the horses at full gallop. Of what came after, I don’t remember much. The fight didn’t seem to me to last five minutes, though I’m told it was five times that at least. I s’pose a hound, when he’s been long held in, and is at last let loose on a deer, feels something like I did, after marching all night to get at the Hessians, and fearing often that we’d come up too late.
“You both know how we whipped ‘em,” said the veteran, resuming in a less excited tone. “They were dancing, and feasting, and drinking, just like Belshazzar, when the Lord sent the Persians agin him; and Col. Rohl, who was killed, was act’lly playing cards, we were told, when we rushed into the town. They wouldn’t believe it in Philadelphy, though, till we marched the Hessians through the streets,” concluded Uncle Lawrence, with a chuckle.