At the time specified by the commander, the muddy roads were frozen hard. The heavy baggage was sent down to Burlington, and a strong party of active men was left to keep bright fires burning, and charged to show themselves as much as possible and make a great commotion by throwing up fortifications and loud talking, with instructions to slip away and join the main body early next day as best they could. At one o'clock in the morning the astonished army started out upon their adventurous journey,—another long cold night march. The untravelled roads were as smooth and hard as iron. With muffled wheels they succeeded in stealing away undetected.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Lion Turns Fox
The Quaker road led southeast from Trenton until it reached the village of Sandtown, where it turned to the northwest again, and it was not until that point was reached that the surprised soldiers realized the daring nature of the manoeuvre, and the character of that night march, which they had at first considered another hopeless retreat. It was astonishing, then, with what spirit and zeal the soldiers tramped silently over the frozen roads; the raw, green militia vied with the veterans, in the fortitude with which they sustained the dreadful fatigue of the severe march. The long distance to be traversed, on account of the detour to be made, rendered it necessary that the men be moved at the highest possible speed. The road itself being a new one, lately cleared, the stumps and roots of trees not yet grubbed up, made it difficult to transport the artillery and the wagons: but the tired men cheerfully assisted the tired horses, and the little army made great progress. The morning of Friday, January the 5th, dawned clear and cold, with the ground covered with hoar frost. About sunrise the army, with Washington again in the lead, reached the bridge over Stony Brook about three miles from the village of Princeton. Leading the main body across the bridge, they struck off from the main highway through a by-road which was concealed by a grove of trees in the lower ground, and afforded a short cut to the town.
General Mercer was an old friend and comrade of the commander-in-chief; he had been a companion of Prince Charles Edward in his romantic invasion of England in '45, a member of Braddock's unfortunate expedition, and wounded when that general's army was annihilated; and sometime commander of Fort Du Quesne, after its capture by General Forbes. He was detailed, with a small advance party comprising the remnants of Smallwood's Marylanders, Haslet's Delawareans, and Fleming's Virginians, and a small body of young men from the first families of Philadelphia, to the total number of three hundred, to continue up the road along the brook until he reached the main road, where he was to try and hold the bridge in order to intercept fugitives from Princeton, or check any retrograde movement of the troops which might have advanced toward Trenton. The little band had proceeded but a short distance on their way, when they unexpectedly came in sight of a column of the enemy.
It was the advance of the British, a part of Von Donop's leading brigade, en route for Trenton to assist Cornwallis in bagging the "old fox" according to orders,—the Seventeenth Regiment, under Colonel Mawhood. Mercer's troops being screened by the wood, their character was not visible to Mawhood, who conjectured that they must be a body of fugitives from the front. Under this impression, and never dreaming of the true situation, Mawhood promptly deployed his regiment and moved off to the left to intercept Mercer, at the same time despatching messengers to bring up the other two regiments, the Fortieth and Fifty-fifth, which had not yet left Princeton. Both parties rushed for a little rising ground on the edge of a cleared field, near the house of a peaceful Quaker named Clark. The Americans were nearer the goal than their opponents, and reached it first. Hastily deploying his column, Mercer sought shelter behind a hedge fence which crowned the eminence, and immediately opened up a destructive fire from his riflemen, which temporarily checked the advancing enemy. The British, excellently led, returned the fire with great spirit, and with such good effect that, after a few volleys, Mercer's horse was wounded in the leg and his rider thrown violently to the ground, Talbot's was killed under him, and several of the officers and men fell,—among them the brave Colonel Haslet, who was mortally wounded. In the confusion thus unfortunately caused, the Americans could hear sharp commands of the English officers, then the rattling of steel on the gun-barrels, and the next moment the red-coated men broke out of the smoke and, unchecked by a scattering fire from the Americans, gallantly rushed up at them with fixed bayonets. There were unfortunately no bayonets in this small brigade of the Continental army. A few of the men clubbed their muskets resolutely as the two lines met, and made a stout resistance; but the on-coming British would not be denied, and, as the charge was pressed home, the Americans wavered, broke, and fell back in some disorder before the vigorous onslaught of the veteran troops. Mercer, filled with shame, strove in vain to rally his men. Disdaining himself to retreat, and gallantly calling upon them to advance, he threw himself upon the advancing British line, sword in hand, followed by his officers, and for a brief space there was an exciting mêlée on the hill. A blow from the butt end of a musket felled the general to the ground. Talbot sprang to his side, and swept the bayonet away from his heart by a blow of his sword delivered with a quick movement of his powerful arm. Mercer profited by the moment's respite to leap to his feet.
"Thank you, my lad," he said.
"Do you get to the rear and rally the men, general," cried Talbot, firing a pistol at short range into the midst of the crowding enemy. "I 'll hold these men in play." But the fighting blood of the old Scotchman was up, and for answer he struck boldly at the man opposite him.
"Surrender, you damned rebels!" cried an officer near them.
"Never!" replied Mercer, cutting down the man with whom he was engaged, while Talbot did the like to the one next him. With a roar of rage the British sprang on the two men. In a trice one of the bayonets got past Mercer's guard and grazed his arm, another buried itself in his bosom, a third struck him in the breast. The old man struck out weakly, dropped his sword and fell, pierced by a dozen wounds, but still breathing. Talbot, who was as yet unharmed, though covered with blood and dust, his hat gone, stepped across his body.