“Yes, sir,” Robert’s chance had come. He would deliver the message in an hour or die in the attempt.
“Well, simply tell them we are ready.”
Robert bowed, saluted, and then stifling a groan as he hurried away on his bleeding feet, he ran into the gathering twilight and was lost to sight.
In less than an hour he had reached his destination. The Marblehead men understood the message. They had done splendid service in the war before when bravery on the water was needed, they were ready now. They set to work to get every boat in their possession in readiness and all that night and the next day, soldiers on horse and foot advancing from every direction made for the river. The plan had been worked out in secrecy, and now upon this Christmas night the entire army enlarged by recent reinforcements was to be ferried over the icy Delaware in order to attack the British in Trenton on the morrow. It was a mighty and daring attempt, but not a patriot questioned the leader who had planned it. For ten hours the brave fishermen rowed to and fro in the darkness bearing their suffering loads. But,—even while many were frozen—and all endured untold agony from exposure and scanty covering, not a complaint was heard to pass the brave lips. The army was divided in three parts, but with joy Shirtliffe saw that he was in the command under Washington which was headed for a spot nine miles above Trenton, from which point they were to bear down upon the unsuspecting Britishers, then making merry over their Christmas cheer. Shivering and crouching in the stern of one of the boats, Robert thought of all the Christmas nights he could remember. There had been a few which had been bright and joyous—but this one so full of pain and loneliness, was the proudest one of his life.
The division under Washington reached the opposite shore with slight delay, the others were less fortunate, but by eight o’clock the next morning Washington’s command and one under Sullivan dashed down upon the astonished Britishers, who were just resting from their revels, and shook the town by their yells and shots.
The maddened Hessians sprang to line and tried to resist the oncoming foe. Wild excitement prevailed, and above the whizzing of shot rose the triumphant shouts of the ragged, half-frozen patriots. In the thickest of the fray rode always the mighty commander, his clear voice calmly calling out orders, and his steady hand pointing his sword. With eyes ever fixed on that brave form, Shirtliffe stumbled and struggled after, hoping that standing or falling, at the end he would not be far behind his hero. And another thought mingled with that,—he must keep one bullet, in case he fell badly wounded,—he never forgot that.
The fight was fierce, but short; in an hour a thousand of the foe were begging for mercy; the others had fled toward Bordentown at the first alarm.
So Washington gathered his forces in Trenton and the British fell back to Princeton. Cornwallis then took command determining that the “old fox,” meaning Washington, should not find him napping and get away, he, the great Cornwallis meant to put an end forever to the exploits of this daring rebel! And indeed it seemed likely that he might be successful for sickness and cold were enfeebling the patriot army day by day. Their splendid courage strengthened by their late victory bore them up during the after days of suffering, but Washington realized that he must act promptly and wisely if he wished to hold what he had so hardly won.
He could not recross the river. His proud spirit quailed at the thought of retreat, but to engage in another battle just then might mean ruin. In his extremity he called a council of war.
“Cornwallis is advancing,” he said calmly, “our skirmishing lines have but driven the British back this afternoon. At daybreak the attack will be renewed. There is but one thing for us to do.” The eager men listened breathlessly. The glaring red torch lights showed their faces pinched and wan. What was it Washington wanted them to do? Every man was ready to do it!