Jim Stempel

The Enemy Harassed: Washington’s New Jersey Campaign of 1777 by Jim Stempel. To Be Released, March 21 To order a copy please click here.

PROLOGUE

A light rain had begun to fall out of a pewter grey sky, spattering dirt as the troops slowly made their way toward the river. Each man had been ordered to pack sixty rounds of ammunition and three days’ rations, but few knew where they were going. Most of the troops were dressed in rags; few had overcoats, and many were shoeless. The sun was still a half-hour from setting, and already, the treetops were beginning to slap and bend, a sure sign of foul weather on the wind. It was Christmas Day, December 25, 1776, on the western bank of the Delaware River. Among the tattered, freezing troops at McConkey’s Ferry late that afternoon was General George Washington, architect of a planned strike against a brigade of Hessian troops, three regiments wintering across the ice-choked river at Trenton, New Jersey. It is said that genius and madness are at times virtually indistinguishable, and, considering the state of the American Revolution at the time, a fair observation when weighing Washington’s chances of success, even now, from the distance of 250 years.

The operation was the offspring of pure desperation; a dreadful state of affairs rapidly approaching implosion. Just a month before, the Americans had been defending New York City; an effort that had ended poorly, to say the least. After a string of heartbreaking defeats, Washington’s army had been forced back across the Hudson River into New Jersey, its numbers depleted and morale shattered. Washington set his sights on Pennsylvania at the time, hoping to get across the Delaware River before the British could catch his beleaguered forces on the flat roads that stretched south through New Jersey. For some reason, General William Howe, the British commander, had favored Washington with a less-than-aggressive pursuit, however, allowing him to gain the Delaware by early December and cross what remained of his army over to the Pennsylvania side. Howe, now believing the Americans beaten and with winter closing rapidly, decided against additional pursuit and put his army into winter quarters instead, in posts established uniformly across New Jersey, from Staten Island south to Trenton. Howe then returned to New York City, placing the field command in New Jersey in the hands of Major General James Grant, a Scottish-born aristocrat. Lieutenant General Charles Cornwallis, sharing Howe’s take on the situation, immediately asked for leave to visit his family in England, a request that was promptly granted.

While the British army had suffered a considerable number of casualties during the New York Campaign, the Continental army was a shadow of its former self as Christmas approached. Due to repeated defeats, failures, and retreats, Continental currency was on the verge of collapse, credit nonexistent, and food hard to come by. The American public, its enthusiasm critical for the war effort, was nearing demoralization. Things were looking decidedly grim. On December 18, Washington had written his brother, Samuel, solemnly admitting that “if every nerve is not Straind to recruit the New Army with all possible Expedition, I fear the game is pretty near up.”

Since then, Washington had received reinforcements, bringing his effective strength up to seven thousand, six hundred. But most of those enlistments would expire by month’s end; hence the army would be a phantom by early January—if it continued to exist at all. There are moments so grim that what previously seemed like lunacy suddenly makes perfect sense; the wildest option, the only option, still avail- able. In that sense, on December 25, 1776, for General Washington, the discerning finger of logic was pointing directly and emphatically across the river at Trenton. To bring that logic to life, the general had opted for a sophisticated, three-pronged attack, a plan that even in good weather with well-trained troops might prove challenging, much less in difficult winter conditions with men on the brink of starvation. Nevertheless, the plan was for three separate columns to simultaneously converge on Trenton, one of the most difficult things in warfare to accomplish. The main force—two thousand, four hundred men— was to cross over the Delaware at nightfall, be entirely across—artillery, horses, and all—by midnight, then march nine miles south to Trenton. At the village of Birmingham, north of Trenton, the main force would divide: One wing, under General Sullivan, would continue south along River Road directly into town, and the other wing, under General Nathanael Greene, would loop north and enter the village at the same time from the opposite direction.

Additionally, Brigadier General James Ewing was to cross the river directly opposite Trenton with seven hundred men and seize the bridge over Assunpink Creek south of town, preventing a Hessian retreat in that direction. Lastly, a force of one thousand, five hundred men under Colonel John Cadwalader was to cross over farther south at Bristol, at once creating a diversion while simultaneously blocking potential British reinforcements. The main effort on Trenton proper was to step off at first light on December 26. Indicative of the do-or-die nature of the mission, the password was “Victory or Death.” On paper, the plan looked splendid, but war plans often look splendid on paper. Unfortunately, due to the brutal winter storm then blowing in and heavy ice flows in the river, neither Ewing nor Cadwalader would fulfill their assignments. Washington would be on his own.

THEATER OF OPPERATIONS

Typically, the crossing got started late. Major James Wilkinson, standing with the troops as they moved toward the boats, provides a glimpse: “Boats were in readiness, and the troops began to cross about sunset but the force of the current, the sharpness of the frost, the darkness of the night, the ice which [was] made during the operation, and a high wind, rendered the passage of the river extremely difficult.” The troops were taken over in Durham boats, obtained from the Durham Iron Works, located on the upper Delaware River. Built to transport ore, timber, and grain downriver, they were large, black vessels, sixty feet in length, with an exceedingly shallow draft— perfect for Washington’s mission. The troops were poled over, often forty men standing, the artillery and horses on larger ferries. Colonel John Glover’s Fourteenth Continental, a regiment of sturdy Marblehead fishermen along with ferrymen, seamen, and longshoremen from Philadelphia supplied the know-how and muscle. Even so, the entire army was not across until three o’clock in the morning, dangerously behind schedule.

John Greenwood, a sixteen-year-old from Boston, was in one of the first groups over and recalled: “We had to wait for the rest and so began to pull down the fences and make fires to warm ourselves, for the storm was increasing rapidly. After a while, it rained, hailed, snowed, and froze, and at the same time blew a perfect hurricane.” The conditions grew worse by the minute, horrible for crossing men and animals across any river. Captain Thomas Rodney of Delaware, who would attempt to cross over later that night, recalled the adventure: “When we reached the Jersey shore we were obliged to land on ice, 150 yards from the shore; the River was also very full of floating ice, and the wind was blowing very hard, and the night was very dark and cold, and we had great difficulty in the crossing but the night was favorable to the enterprise.”

Through the howling winds and blinding snow of a true nor’easter, the column started toward Trenton, Washington riding the line, tirelessly encouraging his troops forward. As temperatures plummeted, bloody footprints marked the route southward. Two exhausted men staggered from the column and collapsed, only to be discovered later, frozen to death. The going was painfully slow, but somehow, the column finally gained Birmingham, where it divided as planned. Washington rode north with Greene as Sullivan continued along River Road. It was well past sunrise before both columns finally found Trenton. Given the weather, Hessian patrols had scaled back their efforts, and the Americans had not been spotted, the raging storm having provided cover. A rider appeared from General Sullivan, advising Washington that due to the sloppy weather, his men’s muskets were inoperable. But retreat, now, was impossible. Fiercely determined, Washington told the courier to return and tell Sullivan: “Use the bayonet. I am resolved to take Trenton.”

Around eight o’clock that morning, and just north of Trenton, General Greene advanced with three brigades, Washington leading the center brigade forward himself. Snow was falling so steadily that the enemy’s advanced posts could not be spotted ahead. According to Wilkinson, “As he [Washington] approached the village, he inquired of an inhabitant, who was chopping wood by the roadside ‘which way is the Hessian picket?’” Frightened, the local man refused to answer. “’I don’t know’ replied the citizen, waiving an answer. ‘You may speak,’ said Captain Forest, ‘For that is General Washington.’ The astonished man raised his hands to heaven, and exclaimed ‘God bless and prosper you, Sir!; -- the picket is in that house, and the sentry stands near that tree.’” Heavy snow was still flying as the Hessian sentry spotted the advancing Americans and shouted, “Der Feind!” (the Enemy!). Shots rang out as the Hessian fired, then retreated before the weight of the American advance. More Hessian infantry rallied, attempting to repulse the Americans on the north side, momentarily leaving River Road undefended.

Down on River Road, once the rattle of musketry rose clear in the morning air, Sullivan moved forward, Colonel John Stark of New Hampshire leading the vanguard. “It was now broad day, and the storm beat violently in our faces; the attack had commenced on the left, and was immediately answered, Colonel Stark in our front, who forced the enemy’s picket and pressed it into the town, our column being close on his heels. Sullivan, after chasing off the Hessian pick-et-post, advanced into Trenton virtually unopposed, Stark in the lead. Trenton was then a small town, about one hundred houses—now mostly deserted of inhabitants—built on two central streets, King and Queen. Myth has it the Hessians had been drinking and partying heavily on Christmas, hence sleeping or hungover as Washington’s troops attacked, but this is folklore. The Hessian Brigade—three regiments, one thousand, five hundred combined strength—were under the command of Colonel Johann Rall, a veteran commander with a sound, if uninspiring, reputation. They had arrived on December 14 and had eschewed defensive fortifications but had patrolled regularly, on the lookout for raiding parties. The Hessians—fierce warriors with a reputation for barbarity from the German principality of Hesse- Cassel—had a low opinion of both American fighters and leadership; hence, they expected minor, aggravating raids but hardly a major blow. Now, faced with an overwhelming force, confusion ensued.

American artillery quickly unlimbered at both ends of town and began sweeping the streets as Continental troops advanced. Rall formed two of his regiments across King Street, but they were quickly broken under intense artillery fire. Fearing encirclement, the Hessian leader attempted to lead an advance, but this, too, was blown apart. Street fighting ensued, but the Hessian’s weapons fouled due to the snow, and many were cut down in the streets and alleyways. Rall eventually led two regiments to an orchard east of town, where he tried to outflank Washington’s position. But this effort was spotted and shredded by enfilading musketry and artillery fire. Rall, struck twice by musket fire, fell from the saddle. An officer riding with Washington recalled the Hessian retreat: “They retreated towards a field behind a piece of wood up the creek, from Trenton, which I expected would have brought on a smart engagement from the [American] troops who had formed very near them, but at that instant, as I came in full view of them, from the back of the wood, with his Excellency General Washington, an officer informed him that the party had grounded their arms, and surrendered prisoners.” Overwhelmed, some Hessians tried to flee south across Assunpink Creek, but most were eventually surrounded and forced to surrender.

It was all over in less than an hour. Washington’s desperate gamble had paid off, and he grasped at once just what he and his men had accomplished. As the Hessians were throwing down their arms, Major Wilkinson, tasked with receiving new orders from the commander in chief, galloped over to where he was sitting his horse. “On my approach,” Wilkinson writes, “the commander in chief took me by the hand, and observed ‘Major Wilkinson, this is a glorious day for our country,’ his countenance beaming with complacency”—a rare display of satisfaction from a man who, of necessity, had always kept his emotions under strict control.

The Hessians had suffered twenty-two killed (including Rall), eighty-three wounded, and 896 taken prisoner, while the Americans suffered only five wounded and two dead—the two who had frozen to death on the march. Additionally, falling into American hands was over two thousand small arms, barrels of ammunition, six excellent artillery pieces, horses, and the Hessian’s entire supply of food, drink, shoes, and clothing. For the weary Americans, it proved an enormous haul.

Amazing as these totals were, they fail to grasp in any meaningful sense the true impact the engagement would soon have on the country. It would not be an overstatement to suggest that news of Washington’s victory utterly electrified an American public previously benumbed by the war. Of Trenton, author Mercy Otis Warren wrote: “From the state of mind bordering on despair, courage was invigorated, every countenance brightened.” Nevertheless, those accolades were still in the future as Washington gauged the extent of his victory, the prospect of advancing still further, and, lastly, the condition of his troops. A conference of officers was held, and opinions naturally varied from pressing on to an immediate withdrawal back across the Delaware. Ultimately, reality prevailed as the weather remained horrendous, the men continued in a state of near exhaustion despite their soaring spirits, and lastly, some of them had gotten into barrels of Hessian rum stored at Trenton, which had rendered them drunk and useless in moments only. So it was agreed to return to Pennsylvania and to fight again another day. James Wilkinson wrote: “The general impulse excited by passion was now approved by reason, and the American community began to feel and act like a nation determined to be free.”

They did not have long to wait. Only three days later, in fact, Washington wrote to John Hancock at Congress, explaining his desire to again cross the Delaware in pursuit of what he still fancied a foe in retreat.

"I am just setting out, to attempt a second passage over the Delaware with the Troops that were with me on the morning of the 26th. I am determined to affect it, if possible but know that it will attend with much fatigue & difficulty on account of the Ice, which will neither allow us to cross on Foot or give us an easy passage with Boats…I have taken every precaution in my power for subsisting of the Troops, & shall without loss of time and as soon as circumstance will admit of, pursue the Enemy in their retreat – try to beat up more of their Quarters and in a word, in every instance, adopt such measures as the exigency of our affairs requires & our situation will justifye."

What Washington did not know at the time, however, was that Howe had gotten news of the debacle at Trenton and, as a result, had canceled Cornwallis’s leave, ordering him back into the field to confront Washington and rectify the damage as soon as possible. From Jersey, the commander in chief had received word from New Jersey militia, now at Burlington, that the British and Hessians had fled the area and that opportunity appeared to be smiling, therefore, on the American cause. Another strike appeared opportune. Thus, as Washington was preparing to cross over the Delaware once again, unknown to him, Cornwallis was already on the move, marching hard for Princeton.

The second American offensive was set for December 29, this time crossing over at eight fords rather than one. This proved even more difficult than the Christmas crossing; the river now far more tumultuous. At one point, the Delaware was frozen hard enough for the men to cross, but the artillery and wagons crashed through while making the attempt. Eventually, all made it over, but very soon, another emergency arose. Those enlistments—the very thing that had engendered the Christmas operation in the first place—were now up, and most of the men were looking toward home. Word came to Washington that Thomas Mifflin had had success by offering each man a ten-dollar bonus for one month of extra service. On December 27, Congress had fled Philadelphia for Baltimore, fearing the British were headed for Philadelphia, passing an ordinance that had given General Washington virtually dictatorial powers. In part, it read:

The Congress having maturely considered the present crisis, and having perfect reliance on the wisdom, vigour and uprightness of General Washington, do hereby resolve, that General Washington shall be, and he is hereby vested with full, ample and complete powers to raise and collect together, in the most speedy and effectual manner, from any or all of these United States, sixteen battalions of infantry, in addition to those already voted by Congress;

With these powers in hand, Washington rode out before the formed regiments and, in the most favorable manner possible, implored the troops to stay on—but hardly a man was moved. So the general tried again, turning and riding before them once again, explaining in the most evocative terms he could imagine how desperately their country needed them. “My brave fellows,” he began, “you have done all I have asked you to do, and more than could be reasonably expected; but your country is at stake, your wives, your houses, and all that you hold dear. You have worn yourselves out with the fatigues and hardships, but we know not how to spare you. If you will consent to stay one month longer, you will render that service to the cause of liberty, and to your country, which you probably can never do under any other circumstances.” Slowly, the men stepped forward—at first, a few, then about half. When asked by an officer if the men should be newly enrolled, the commander in chief waved the protocol aside as superfluous. “No,” he replied, “men who will volunteer in such a case as this, need no enrollment to keep them to their duty.” It was, without question, a profound declaration of respect from the general for his men.

The troop situation had been resolved—at least for the moment. The Continental army, commanded by George Washington, was then deployed amongst the various states, while what was generally referred to as the Grand Army—that is, that fighting force directly under the general’s command—was to consolidate again at Trenton, where they might fight on ground of their own choosing. During the previous campaign, high ground had been spotted below Assunpink Creek, south of town. The Delaware protected its left; the creek, its front, and there were swamps bordering the right. With their artillery (finally floated across the Delaware), they could turn the position into a fortress, it was thought, and force the British to hurl themselves at it in desperate, frontal assaults, easily savaged by musketry and artillery. It was, to say the least, an optimistic plan. Nevertheless, Washington sent word out to his scattered units, and the army began concentrating upon Trenton.

Reports were coming in routinely that British forces were concentrating in great strength at Princeton. But Washington had also received intelligence of a backroad from Trenton to Princeton from Cadwalader, along with information that there were gaps in the British defenses there. While the Crown forces were most certainly marshaling strength for an offensive operation, news of Washington’s stunning victory at Trenton also had many of them on edge. For years, they had operated with an attitude of such martial superiority that news of the American’s recent victory cracked wide that sense of invincibility. Captain Johann Ewald, a Hessian officer marching with Cornwallis’s troops, offers this remarkable psychological insight:

"Thus had times changed! The Americans had constantly run before us. Four weeks ago we expected to end the war with the capture of Philadelphia, and now we had to render Washington the honor of thinking about our defense. Due to the affair at Trenton, such a fright came over the army that if Washington had used this opportunity we would have flown to our ships and let him have all America. Since we had thus far underestimated our enemy from this unhappy day onward we saw every- thing through a magnifying glass."

Late on the evening of January 1—New Year’s Day—Cornwallis arrived at Princeton, where some ten thousand British troops had been collected. The general—hardly reflecting the sudden lack of confidence his troops in the field were apparently feeling—decided to advance straight down Post Road from Princeton to Trenton and overwhelm whatever resistance he found there. At Princeton, Cornwallis had eight thousand British and Hessian troops at his disposal and substantial heavy artillery. Orders were immediately issued to have a fighting force of five thousand, five hundred troops prepared to march at dawn, drawn up and ready, along the road to Trenton. Cornwallis intended to crush the rebels and put an end to this rebellion business once and for all.

Washington soon had information in hand of Cornwallis’s strength and intentions. To this, he responded by sending out a strong skirmish force of about one thousand, two hundred riflemen supported by artillery, which took up positions along Post Road from Maidenhead (modern-day Lawrenceville) to Five Mile Run. Cornwallis was on the road by dawn, headed for Trenton, only thirteen miles away. But the roadway, turned heavy mud by a recent thaw, proved problematic. Soon, as well, the British struck the American skirmishers. “Colonel Hand took command of the troops,” Major Wilkinson tells us, “and retired leisurely before the enemy, until orders were received from the commander in chief, to dispute every inch of the ground where practicable; Colonel Hand faced about, and advanced to meet the enemy, when a skirmish commenced, that was continued at intervals throughout the day, in which Colonel Hand’s riflemen and Captain Forest’s artillery were particularly distinguished.” The American skirmishers fought furiously, slowing, but having no real ability to stop such a sizable force. By late afternoon, the British had pushed the Americans back through Trenton, where they discovered Washington’s army, arrayed for battle on the high ground below the Assunpink. British Captain Archibald Robertson maintained a diary throughout the war, and he was with Cornwallis’s advance. As the Americans faded back through Trenton and the British advanced, he saw the American position looming just ahead. This is what he saw: “their main body was drawn up, about 6 or 7,000, with the Creek and the Bridge in front and a Number of Field pieces. We lost a few men with the Cannonade but durst not attack them.” Robertson, an engineer, studied the American position from afar and instantly grasped its strength. “They were exactly in the Position Rall should have taken when He was attack’d from which He might have retreated towards Borden’s Town with very little loss.”

Cornwallis then began deploying his battalions in line on high ground opposite the Americans. This took time but served as an intimidating experience for Washington’s troops, who had never faced such massive force, fully arrayed for battle. To them, the British battalions appeared an enormous red floodtide, soon to break across their defenses and overwhelm them. With an unpassable river at their backs and no avenue of retreat, for many, it seemed a moment of intense crisis. Private John Howland recalled, “On one hour, yes, on forty minutes, commencing at the moment the British troops first saw the bridge and creek before them, depended on the all-important, the all-absorbing question whether we should be independent States or conquered Rebels!” Wilkinson also felt the weight of the moment, writing, “If there ever was a crisis in the affairs of the revolution, this was the moment.”

There was now less than an hour of daylight left for maneuver and assault. But if Cornwallis moved swiftly, the result he had come for was still there for the taking, a fact that many on the American side seemed to understand. But the British had endured a difficult march through mud and musketry, and operational daylight was now fading.

A decision had to be made. A number of fierce, probing attacks were launched by the British, but these were broken by concentrated artillery and musket fire. The Redcoats retreated, leaving many dead and wounded behind. The American line held.

Daylight was now almost gone. Cornwallis called for a council of war, and it was generally agreed that the Americans were pinned against the Delaware and would be dispatched with ease come first light. Custom has it that only one British officer objected: Sir William Erskine, who said, “My Lord, if you trust those people tonight, you will see nothing of them come morning”—surely, some of the most prescient military advice ever offered, if true. But, of course, it was rejected. Cornwallis, still flushed with the same overconfidence that had created the Trenton debacle in the first place, elected to await the dawn. That night, a severe cold front blew in from the northwest. The temperature dropped rapidly, freezing the ground and muddy roads that ranged out from Trenton like spokes. The British infantrymen had little choice but to bed down on the frozen ground. Archibald Robertson wrote: “Hard frost and 2 Battalions Light Infantry lay in Trenton without fires by way of Piquets [pickets] to watch the Rebels on the other side of the creek.”

But General Washington had no intention of waiting around to have his army pummeled at dawn. Washington held a council of war that night, and the idea was broached that the army could move off to the right on unguarded roads to the east and arrive at Princeton by dawn, delivering an attack to the garrison there, behind Cornwallis’s troops at Trenton. The plan seemed properly aggressive and was agreed to by all. To cover the movement, large campfires were lit, and a theatrical display of industry performed—preparing and fortifying defensive positions, and so on—as whispered orders passed through the army. Captain Thomas Rodney, of the Delaware militia, recorded in his diary the steps taken next: “At two o’clock this morning the ground having been frozen by a keen N. West wind secret orders were issued to each department and the whole army was at once put in motion, but no one knew what the Gen. meant to do. Some thought that we were going to attack the enemy in the rear; some that were going to Princeton; the latter proved to be correct.” The rebels had previously reconnoitered the roads in the area, and local guides knew them well. “We went by a bye road on the right hand which made it about 16 miles; During the march,” wrote Rodney, “I with the Dover Company and the Red Feather Company of Philadelphia Light Infantry, led the van of the army and Capt. Henry with the other three companies of Philadelphia light Infantry brought up the rear.”

Those muddy roads that had hindered the British all day were now almost miraculously frozen, providing the Americans with a smooth exit. Nevertheless, it would be another long, cold, grueling march through a barren landscape for many men who had yet to recover from the first long night march to Trenton. Blood from shoeless rebels, just as with the night march to Trenton, marked the route north. Nevertheless, by first light—around seven o’clock in the morning—the van had reached the bridge that spanned Stony Brook, south of Princeton. Having evaded detection by the British at Trenton, their sudden presence south of town represented yet another complete surprise. But speed and efficient movement remained of the essence if the Ameri- cans were to retain the element of surprise.

As the army crossed Stony Brook and closed on the village ahead, the sun began to rise, disclosing a wintry landscape, remarkably beautiful in the first rays of sunlight. The west wind had settled, the sky emerged a brilliant blue, and the overnight cold had painted the entire world, it appeared, with a heavy frost. Wilkinson remembered that “the morning was bright, serene, and extremely cold, with a hoar frost which bespangled every object.” Before crossing the brook, Washington rearranged his force into two separate columns: one under Sullivan and one under Greene (much as he had entered Trenton just ten days before). “When we had proceeded to within a mile and a half of Princeton,” Rodney explains, “and the van had crossed Stony Brook, Gen. Washington ordered our infantry to file off to one side of the road and halt. Gen. Sullivan was ordered to wheel to the right and flank the town on that side, and two Brigades [under Greene] were ordered to wheel to the left, to make a circuit and surround the town on that side.” General Thomas Mifflin led Greene’s wing to the left with orders to take the bridge that spanned Stony Brook on the Post Road.

Overnight, the British commander at Princeton, Colonel Charles Mawhood, had received orders from Cornwallis to form two of his three regiments and have them on the road to Trenton early the next morning to serve as reinforcements for Cornwallis’s anticipated morning attack. This force also contained about eighty replacements gathered from various regiments, marching to join their units at Trenton. Somewhat remarkably, as Mawhood marched out of Princeton and over Stony Brook along Post Road, Greene’s column, operating in the fields off to Mawhood’s left, was discovered. Mawhood, a fine, experienced soldier, immediately had his column turn back. Then, he led his troops back over the bridge toward Princeton, where, after examining the Americans for a moment or two from afar, he unlimbered his artillery on a nearby rise and led his infantry against Greene.

Mawhood’s troops, after several brisk, lethal exchanges of musketry, charged with the bayonet. General Hugh Mercer was leading the American advance on horseback, and Colonel John Haslet was leading Mercer’s infantry nearby on foot. The intensity of the British attack initially overwhelmed the Americans. Mercer was unhorsed and bayonetted seven times; the Continentals were forced into a disorderly retreat. Haslet attempted to rally the troops but was shot through the head and fell dead to the ground. Captain Rodney, whose Delaware light infantry was marching with Mercer’s advance, recalled the violent collision that took place in an orchard owned by farmer William Clark: “He [Mercer] immediately formed his men, with great courage, and poured a heavy fire in upon the enemy, but they being greatly superior in number returned the fire and charged bayonets, and their onset was so fierce that Gen. Mercer fell mortally wounded and many of his officers were killed, and the brigade being effectually broken, began a disorderly retreat.” Mercer, a Scottish-born physician, was one of the rising stars in the Continental army and a favorite of General Washington’s. He would suffer for nine days before finally succumbing to his wounds.

Major Wilkinson, who had been riding with Sullivan’s wing at the time, had spotted the clash between Mawhood’s and Mercer’s troops from a distance and observed the initial blasts of musketry. “I well recollect that the smoke from the discharge of the two lines mingled as it rose,” he recalled, “and went up in one beautiful cloud. On hearing the fire, General Washington directed the Pennsylvania militia to support General Mercer, and in-person led them on with two pieces of artillery.” As Washington approached the fighting, he discovered many of his troops in retreat, overwhelmed by the ferocity of the Mawhood’s advance.

At the time, Pennsylvania’s local troops (those not in the Continental army) were organized in voluntary associations, hence referred to as “associators.” Cadwalader commanded several of these associations, which, when combined, were referred to as the Philadelphia Brigade—a group of well-drilled but untested recruits. They had recently come up and were desperately trying to hold off the British advance, but victory and defeat now hung in the balance.

Into the vortex Washington rode, heedless of personal safety. Historian David Hackett Fischer captures the scene: “In that critical moment, Washington arrived on the field and took control of the battle. He rode among Cadwalader’s Associators and shouted, ‘Parade with us, my brave fellows! There are but a handful of the enemy, and we will have them directly.’ Washington led his men directly into the center of the battle, within thirty paces of the British line. He was mounted on a white horse, an easy mark for any British soldier, and yet none shot.” The associators fought with spirit, staying the British advance, and—now marching to the sound of the guns—more American units began arriving from all across the field. The British fought on with great discipline, but the tide of battle had clearly turned, and soon, they were overwhelmed and forced into retreat. That retreat, pushed by the rising tide of American fighting men, quickly turned into a rout, the Redcoats fleeing down the Post Road toward Trenton as fast as their legs could carry them. Washington, lost in the moment himself, galloped after them, shouting, “It’s a fine fox chase, my boys!”

As Washington joined the pursuit up Post Road, Mawhood, accompanied by some tattered British regulars, retreated into Princeton. There, they put up a series of brave but hopeless stands before being driven from the village. As the British fled Princeton, Washington galloped across the snowy fields, still leading the pursuit until aides finally urged him to rein in and return to the army.

The Battle of Princeton was over, another stunning American victory—hard for many to believe and harder still to put into perspective. In ten incredible days, George Washington had somehow managed to breathe life into a movement that had seemed on its last legs, if not already departed. And while the elation over the victories at Trenton and Princeton would continue for weeks, those triumphs were, in fact, just the first volleys of a new chapter in the War for Independence that would involve some of the most constant and violent fighting of the Revolutionary period. Just how that chapter would read and how it would be remembered would be written over the coming months across New Jersey—months of struggle, fighting, hatred, and, yes, valor. It is a remarkable tale, told now through the eyewitness accounts of those who lived, fought, and somehow survived it.

Jim Stempel is a speaker and author of ten books and numerous articles on American history, spirituality, and warfare. His newest book regarding the American Revolution – The Enemy Harassed: Washington’s New Jersey Campaign of 1777, the amazing story George Washington’s forgotten campaign – will be released in March. For a full preview, pricing, and pre-publication reviews of The Enemy Harassed, visit Amazon . Or visit Jim’s website for all his books, reviews, articles, biography, and interviews. To order a copy please click here.