"Thank you, sir," said the men, eagerly, darting off in the darkness.
"That's a proper spirit, isn't it? Well, to your stations, gentlemen! We have nothing to do now but wait. Don't allow the men to lie down or to sleep, on any account."
And wait they did, for four long hours, the general sitting motionless and silent on his horse, wrapped in his heavy cloak, unheeding, alike, the whirling snow or the cutting sleet of the storm, which grew fiercer every moment. He strained his eyes out into the blackness of the river from time to time, or looked anxiously at the troops, clustered about the fires, or tramping restlessly up and down in their places to ward off the deadly attack of the awful winter night, while some of them sought shelter, behind trees and hillocks, from the fury of the storm. Filled with his own pregnant thoughts, and speaking to no one, he waited, and no man ventured to break his silence. At half after three General Knox, whose resolute will and iron strength had been exerted to the full, and whose mighty voice had been heard from time to time above the shriek of the fierce wind, was able to report that he had got all the artillery over without the loss of a man, a horse, or a gun, and was ready to proceed. The men were hastily assembled, and, leaving a strong detail to guard the boats, at four o'clock in the morning the long and awful march to Trenton was begun, the general and his staff, escorted by the Philadelphia City Troop, in the lead. The storm was at its height. All hopes of a night attack and surprise had necessarily to be abandoned. Still the general pressed on, determined to abide the issue, and make the attack as soon as he reached the enemy. It was the last effort of liberty, conceived in desperation and born in the throes of hunger and cold! What would the bringing forth be?
CHAPTER XXV
Trenton—The Lion Strikes
The route, for the first mile and a half, lay up a steep hill, where the men were much exposed and suffered terribly; after that, for three miles or so, it wound in and out between the hills, and through forests of ash and black oak, which afforded some little shelter. The storm raged with unabated fury, and the progress of the little army was very slow. The men were in good spirits, however, and they cheerfully toiled on over the roads covered with deep drifts, bearing as best they might the driving tempest. It was six in the morning when they reached the little village of Birmingham, where the two columns divided: General Greene's column, accompanied by Washington, taking the longer or inland road, called the Pennington road, which entered the town from the northeast; while Sullivan's column followed the lower road, which entered the town from the west, by way of a bridge over the Assunpink Creek. As Greene had a long detour to make, Sullivan had orders to wait where the cross-road from Rowland's Ferry intersected his line of march, until the first column had time to effect the longer circuit, so that the two attacks might be delivered together. General Washington himself rode in front of the first column. It was still frightfully cold.
About daybreak the general spied an officer on horseback toiling through the snowdrifts toward him. As the horseman drew nearer, he recognized young Martin.
"What is it now, sir?"
"General Sullivan says that the storm has rendered many of his muskets useless, by wetting the priming and powder. He wishes to know what is to be done, sir?"
"Return instantly, and tell him he must use the bayonet! When he hears the firing, he is to advance and charge immediately. The town must be taken, and I intend to take it."