“Your friend Colonel Cadwalader told me about it afterward. ‘If you doubt my word, put me under arrest until you can ask Anthony Wayne or Persie Frazer if I am a man to be believed!’ said Cheney, getting red in the face. The staff—some of the young men, it seemed—had laughed at the queer figure the old fellow cut on his horse. ‘I’d have you know that I have this day’s work as much at heart as e’er a one of ye!’ quoth Cheney, and at that His Excellency ordered a change of face, and part of the army moved up to the support of Sullivan.
“You know what happened after that. You saw the fugitives and the wounded when you rode to Philadelphia, Hadley. It was a sad day, and all because one man made a mistake,—either foolishly or willfully,—and another man did not consider the fate of the first city in the land of sufficient importance to have every report brought to him corroborated. Sullivan must bear the brunt of this thing,—as his men bore the brunt of the enemy’s charge—because he was in command at that end of the line. But they’re trying to make out that Anthony Wayne could have saved the day with his troops had he wished. They’d not talk so bold had they faced those bloody Hessians as we did.”
“It seems awful that there should be friction in an army of patriots,” Hadley said, thoughtfully. “They are all patriotic—they all desire the freedom of the Colonies.”
“What some of them desire it would be hard to say,” declared Prentice, gloomily. “And we are not patriots until we win. We’re rebels now—and rebels we shall go down into history unless the Great Jehovah Himself shall strike for us and give us a lasting victory over the British. I tell you, boy, I am discouraged.”
And it was a discouraged column of 1,500 men who marched that night to Tredyfrrin, where Wayne had been ordered by the Commander-in-Chief “to watch the movements of the enemy, and, when joined by Smallwood and the Maryland militia, to cut off their baggage and hospital trains.”
On the 19th, after waiting in vain for Smallwood’s reinforcements, Wayne again crossed the river, and was, at Paoli, able to advance within half a mile of Howe’s encampment. He reported to General Washington that the enemy was then quietly washing and cooking. The British seemed to consider this advance on Philadelphia more in the light of a picnicing party than anything else. To his commander, however, Wayne said that the enemy was too compactly massed to be openly attacked by his small force, and begged that the entire army might come to his aid and strike a heavy blow. But neither Smallwood’s brigade nor any other division of the American forces arrived to aid the little party at Paoli on that day, nor the one following.
Scouts brought in the tale that Howe was about to take up his line of march, and so, as the night of the 20th drew near, Wayne determined to attack in any case, reinforcements or not. The watchword that night in the American camp was, “Here we are and there they go!” and the troops were eager to follow their beloved leader into the very heart of the British encampment. It was believed that the night attack was unsuspected by the British, but it proved later that vigilant Tories had wormed the information from somebody on Wayne’s staff and hastened with it to the British camp.
So confident was Wayne that his plans were unsuspected that, when informed by a friendly citizen, between nine and ten in the evening, that a boy of the neighborhood, who had been in the British camp during the day, had overheard a soldier say that “an attack on the American party would be made during the night,” Mad Anthony would not credit it. It did not seem probable that if such an attack was being considered by the British leaders, it would be common camp talk.
However, believing that surplus precaution would do no harm, he multiplied his pickets and patrols and ordered the troops to repose on their arms, and, as it was then raining, made the men put their ammunition under their coats. He was thus prepared to meet an attack or withdraw, as circumstances might direct.
Ere this, Captain Prentice had been sent to headquarters, almost by force, indeed, because his wound had become inflamed, and Hadley, being simply a volunteer, was obliged to take pot-luck where he found it, and was even without a blanket or pouch in which to carry his rations. He would have been more comfortable on picket duty that night, only volunteers were not trusted in such serious matters; and perhaps, if he had been, the youth would not have gotten out of the terrible engagement alive.