However, though Ben expected to be summoned to headquarters, nothing developed that the boys could see. Notwithstanding this, he felt that below the surface of things a change must be taking place—that the commander and his trusted friends were forewarned, and would now be better prepared to cope with the insidious danger creeping upon the states.
As he marched south once more, Washington left a body of Pennsylvania militia to guard the city; a number of other detachments held the various fords of the Schuylkill; orders were given to unmoor the floating bridge at the south road; every boat upon the west bank was taken to the east, and so an attack was guarded against from this direction. Down the Lancaster road pushed the Americans, horse, foot and artillery, the intention being to outflank the enemy. Howe’s scouts, however, brought him news of this movement, and he at once proceeded to dispose his army so that he might in turn outflank the Americans. About a score of miles from Philadelphia at a place called Warren’s Tavern, the two armies came face to face; but before more than a scattering fire could be exchanged, a deluge of rain descended, so wetting the ammunition of the patriots that the attack had to be abandoned.
Along the streaming roads and under a ceaseless downpour the army once more took up its march of retreat. At Warwick Furnace, which stood near French Creek, a halt was made, and the chilled soldiers given a chance to dry themselves and their ammunition. From this place General Wayne set off with his division to endeavor to form a junction with some Maryland troops which were known to be somewhere in the rear of the British. Two nights later, while hanging upon the left of the enemy, Wayne was surprised by a powerful party under General Gray. Into the camp of the unsuspecting Americans plunged the British, firing no shot, but trusting to the bayonet for their work of death. In this fight three hundred of Mad Anthony’s men were killed, and the remainder fled.
And it was only a short time after this that Howe marched toward Reading as though to seize the American stores gathered in that town. Upon the opposite side of the river Washington kept him in sight. Some two-score miles above Philadelphia, the British made an unexpected move in the night. A swift countermarch, a crossing of a ford, and next morning he was between Washington and the city, which he now proceeded to occupy without resistance. There was a parade of troops through Philadelphia—the second within a few weeks—but how vast was the difference between the two. The first was that of an unkempt, semi-rabble, unshaven, ragged, badly armed, and with little training; the second was brilliant with gorgeously uniformed officers, shining with brass and gleaming with steel; the disciplined troops marched in steady, solid columns; powerful batteries trailed at the heels of great English horses; dragoons, mounted upon fiery chargers, pranced along in seemingly endless ranks. Little wonder if those true to the cause remaining in Philadelphia were shaken with doubt at this splendid display of British power; the Tories were exultant; the patriots looked on with brooding eyes, defiant still, but with despair in their hearts.
Everywhere the detractors of the commander-in-chief of the American army were busy; in the streets and public places of the city, and the towns round about; in the country roads when men met, and in inns where travelers foregathered, the bitter venom of petty spirits was heard, the brutal criticism of minds uninformed upon the points at issue was loud and long.
“We provide him with an army, and he uses it to race the roads with,” would be the cry of one.
“He has trained it to run from the British, and not to fight them,” declares another.
“Give us a general who has a knowledge of the country’s needs,” implores a third. “Washington will remain without striking a blow for so long that we shall be too weak, finally, to ever strike it.”
“Give us Gates as a leader,” proclaimed the friends of that general, “and the country will be saved.”
“Lee would be the man,” cried still another faction who held that general in much esteem. “If Lee were only not a prisoner of the British.”