The General's Christmas Read online

  It was Christmas Day, and as they prepared to march, many wished each other greetings.

  "I wonder where we're marching to next," said one soldier to another.

  "Who cares, as long as it's away from here!" replied his friend.

  Officers rode among the men, telling them to be ready to march after the evening meal.

  "Fill your bellies, men," one officer told them, "We've got some hard work ahead of us tonight."

  A scraggly, thin man with sunken eyes that shifted from one side to another turned to the soldiers and asked,

  "Where we goin'?"

  The young man next to him shook his head, "I'm not sure, but I heard a rumor that we're marching to Trenton. Where we go after that, God only knows."

  "Anywhere it's warmer than here is fine with me," a third man chimed in cheerfully.

  A scraggly soldier, known only as Bates, spit on the ground and searched the camp to see where the sentries were posted along the river. He scratched his grey beard and drew his jacket collar up over his neck. A few guards walked along the banks, keeping watch on the river for any sign of the enemy.

  Biting cold air had frozen the river, but its strong current had broken the ice into large slabs piled into large stacks. Bates looked out over the river. A small wooden rowboat lay on the shore. He believed that he could make it across the river in that rowboat long before the army could make its march to the ferry crossings. He'd wait until dark and slip away quietly across the river. The enemy would pay him to know about the forthcoming attack, as they had on several other occasions. It made no difference to him which side won as long as he made money.

  Later that afternoon, Corporal Baylor inquired, "How is Miss Clark doing today?"

  "See for yourself," Widow Harris smiled, "She's awake."

  Corporal Harris nodded and went up the narrow stairway to the first bedroom. The ceiling was low and he had to duck to get through the doorway. A window let in enough light to see Miss Clark's features, sharply contrasted against a white pillow. She was sitting up against two pillows with a woolen shawl over her shoulders.

  "Merry Christmas, Miss Clark. Are you feeling better today?"

  She smiled and his heart quickened, her brown eyes captivating him.

  "Yes, I am. Thank you. But we must be quiet. Elizabeth is still sleeping."

  "Then I'll come closer to keep my voice low," he said, approaching her hesitantly.

  "Widow Harris tells me that you are getting ready to leave," Anna said.

  "Yes. We're marching tonight to Trenton. We hope to surprise the enemy and take the town."

  Anna's eyes widened, "Will you look for my father?"

  Baylor nodded, "Yes. If he's there, we'll find him."

  She sighed, shaking her head.

  "I'm afraid that something terrible may have happened to him."

  Baylor didn't know how to answer that. It was true that the enemy took prisoners but often found it more convenient to kill them than to feed and house them.

  "I'm sure that if they intended to kill your father, they wouldn't have taken him with them," he assured her.

  She gave a small smile, "I certainly hope you're right. I won't rest until he's found. If you do find him, will you bring him back here?"

  Baylor nodded, "Yes, if at all possible. You have my word."

  She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh of relief.

  "Thank you!"

  He nodded and turned to leave.

  "Wait!" she said, sitting up, "Must you go?"

  Encouraged by her interest, he smiled.

  "Soon, but not yet."

  "Please, stay a moment. It's been so quiet up here, and I don't know when I'll see you again. Will you be coming back tomorrow?"

  "That hasn't been decided yet."

  She nodded and looked into his brown eyes. He was a little older than she, and impressive in his dark blue and buff uniform. Something about his eyes drew her in. They seemed kind and gentle.

  "How long have you been in the army?" she asked.

  "About a year and a half," he replied, "Ever since the battles at Concord and Lexington."

  Her eyes widened, "That's a long time. Have you fought on the battle field?"

  "Yes, of course. From Boston we marched to New York, and then here to New Jersey. We fought many battles along the way."

  "It must be very frightening," Anna shuddered, and said, "After what we went through at the farm, I can't imagine fighting men like that."

  His face darkened, "They had no right to treat you that way. They should have left you alone."

  She sighed, "I wish they'd never come. But others have been attacked, too. Most of the families have moved out of Bordentown and Trenton. They abandoned their homes and fled. My father wouldn't do that. We had nowhere else to go, and he wanted to stay and protect our farm."

  "It was a noble thought, but perhaps not practical in this war," Baylor answered.

  She looked into his eyes and said with sincerity, "I pray that you'll be safe tonight. I will pray constantly until your return with Papa."

  Baylor smiled at the thought, "Thank you, Miss Clark."

  "Please, call me Anna."

  He smiled again, "Anna…I like the name."

  "What's your name, Corporal?"

  "George Baylor. And please, call me George."

  She smiled openly and nodded, "I will, George. God speed you on your march."

  He smiled and nodded his leave. Anna Clark had lifted his spirits and given him a reason to fight. He vowed to extract revenge on the Hessians. The time had come to drive them back or kill them all. Washington's password for this operation came to his mind: Victory or Death!

  Chapter 4

  The officers had synchronized their watches at the meeting on the previous night. The American army under Washington would be divided into three forces, and they would all attack Trenton at the same time, at five o'clock in the morning. There was a small celebration of Christmas--a short prayer meeting held by the chaplain before the evening meal. But as the men gathered later to form their columns, a few could be heard singing, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

  Washington straddled his horse, taller than anyone near him. He watched over the assemblage of the forces as the drums called them to gather. Wearing white pieces of paper in their hats to identify them, the officers rode from one end of the column to the other, keeping the company together. The soldiers were on foot.

  Washington listened to the words of men's voices rising above the cold wind that had begun to blow. Four men gathered together singing a verse he well knew:

  "Fear not, then said the Angel,

  Let nothing you affright,

  This day is born a Savior,

  Of virtue, power, and might;

  So frequently to vanquish all,

  The friends of Satan quite

  Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,

  Oh, tidings of comfort and joy."

  He wondered if this might be a message from God, and he didn't stop them from singing. When they marched to the ferry, all celebrations would stop. But in the meantime, they celebrated their Christmas in song.

  Soon, a drum roll brought every man to attention and the singing stopped.

  As Washington was about to join General Greene's regiment, a messenger rode hastily toward him. The messenger's horse skidded in the snow to a stop as the rider quickly jumped off and handed Washington a letter.

  "What a time for letters!" complained Washington, "Who's it from?"

  "General Gates, Sir!" replied the messenger.

  "Gates! Where is he?" Washington demanded. He had written to Gates a while ago, and asked him to take command of the attack on Trenton.

  "He's in Philadelphia, Sir."

  "Philadelphia!" Washington boomed angrily.

  "Yes, Sir. I believe that he's on his way to Congress."

  "To Congress?" Washington bellowed incredulously. He hastily tore open the letter and read it quickly in the fading light
of dusk. He held it tightly as the bitter wind tried to tear it from his hands.

  Gates had denied Washington's "request" to join the force attacking Trenton, making this task even more difficult. Suppressing the anger he felt, Washington stuffed the letter into his jacket and returned to the matter at hand. If Gates wouldn't help, they would accomplish the mission without him!

  He dismissed the messenger and turned his attention to the other officers. The entire force had been divided into three parts. He would accompany General Greene's force north to McConkey's and Johnson's ferries, about ten miles north of Trenton. General Ewing would take his force to Trenton Ferry, crossing the Delaware near the town. Colonel Cadwalader's force would cross and land about twelve miles below the town, and then march north to prevent the enemy from escaping, and to create a diversion for the other attacking forces.

  The operation seemed to drag. Washington looked at his pocket watch and noted that it was nearly four-thirty. They were already 30 minutes behind schedule. He gave the order to march without the artillery, which had held up the rest of the force. They would meet at the assembly area later.

  Like a line of lumbering elephants, the armies moved out. Already the wind was growing stronger as dusk turned to twilight. Clouds thickened overhead as darkness grew. The smell of rain was in the air. Washington had hoped for a clear, cloudless night lit by moonlight, but his hopes were dwindling. If he were a superstitious man, he might have seen this as a bad omen.

  As they marched, the men carried back packs with three days' rations, extra ammunition, and blankets. Some wore their blankets over their shoulders against the cold. Those who were lucky enough to have boots barely felt the ice-covered ruts on the road. Others wearing only tattered shoes or rags left a trail of blood from the painful cracks on their feet where their dry skin had split open.

  As it turned dark, rain began to fall with a biting wind, soaking their coats and blankets. Washington turned up his cloak collar against the rain, but couldn't stop it from pelting his cheeks. He drew down his hat and averted his face. Soldiers held onto their collars with one hand and their weapons in the other, but there was no escape from the cold, wet, lashing wind.

  Corporal Baylor directed his horse beside the general's.

  "About five more miles to go to the crossing, sir," he called out over the rain storm.

  Washington nodded his reply and turned in his saddle to see the columns marching behind him. They marched eight men across. The officers had warned the men not to step out of formation on pain of death. The march was taking longer than Washington had anticipated, and he was worried about getting further behind schedule as they crossed the river.

  The rain storm assaulted them from the northeast, in the same direction they were headed. They plodded onward through the rain and wind that seemed to grow stronger at every bend in the road. Men hugged their muskets close to their bodies to keep the guns from getting wet. A waterlogged musket would be useless during an attack.

  The wind howled louder and more strong gusts came steadily as the temperature dropped. It was now freezing, and the rain changed to sleet. It stuck to their clothes and covered the ground, making the road slippery. Horses stumbled to get a foothold on the wet, icy ruts. The soldiers fared no better, sliding against each other like skaters out of control.

  It seemed an age before they reached the assembly area. Here they waited for the rest of the regiment to file in. Washington searched for Colonel Glover, the leader of the New England regiments, which was comprised of fishermen and experienced seamen. Washington trusted Glover's men to get the boats loaded and cross the river. They would have to find open water between the ice floes, or create their own channel.

  "The boats are ready, sir!" Glover shouted over the wind, "But this wind is like a hurricane! It will be against us as we cross the river!"

  Washington sat up on his horse, looking out over the river. It was a wasteland of ice floes stacked upon each other and frozen solid. The driving sleet made visibility less than 30 feet.

  "Can we break through the ice?" he asked Glover.

  "Yes, Sir! We can use the oars and poles to break through it!"

  Washington stared at the mess on the river and wondered if it were at all possible to cross. A gust of wind nearly took him off his horse, and he turned the animal away from the wind.

  They were now two hours behind schedule. General Ewing's force might be crossing now and Cadwalader's force may have already crossed. There could be no turning back.

  "Get the men into the boats. Put your best crews in the first boats," Washington ordered.

  "Yes, Sir!" Glover replied and yelled orders to the men waiting at the ferry crossing.

  There was no moonlight to guide them across the river. Someone carried a small lamp to light the way to the ferries. While waiting for boats, soldiers huddled around small campfires trying to keep warm. Washington knew that the Hessians on the other side of the river were probably indoors tonight, out of the bitter cold wind and sleet. But they might have patrols running up and down the river, watching for raiding parties. He hoped the fact that it was Christmas would deter them from their regular watches.

  Washington dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to Corporal Baylor, saying, "When everyone has crossed, we will go over."

  Baylor nodded and led both horses to the waiting ferry boats. After handing the horses to one of Colonel Knox’s men, Baylor joined the men at a small campfire.

  “We’re goin' over the river to Trenton?” asked one of the men.

  Baylor nodded. It was no longer a secret. Rumors spread through army camps like yellow fever.

  “Trenton’s not that big,” a teenager boasted, “We’ll run those Hessians out of there!”

  Baylor thought about Anna Clark and rubbed his hands over the fire. He had made it his personal mission to find the men who had attacked her sister and burned their home. Then he would find their father and bring him back safely to her. More than anything, he wanted to avenge her suffering. Something about her fascinated him. He hoped that once she was reunited with her father that she would stay in touch with him. However, with the army constantly on the move, there was little hope that she could, no matter how badly he wished for it.

  Washington stood watching the men climb into the Durham Iron Works boats. The wooden crafts were strong and sturdy enough to haul iron ore up and down the river. The men huddled tightly together against the wind, nervous about crossing an ice-clogged river in the night. Few of them knew how to swim.

  Washington noted the way the men followed his orders, never hesitating to risk their lives. Whatever others thought of this rebel army, he admired their heart and courage. While others sat home in front of their hearths, enjoying a Christmas dinner with family and loved ones, these men were here, enduring a winter storm at night. Without shelter, without protection from the freezing cold and stinging sleet, they pressed onward in the dark, their fate unknown.

  The horses balked at getting onto the ferries and had to be pulled and pushed. They were securely tied to the rails before the ferries pushed off into the dark wasteland. The animals whinnied in fear, and soldiers calmed them by stroking their noses and necks.

  Colonel Knox shouted orders as men pushed the heavy cannon onto the flat ferries that would take them across the Delaware River. The boats sank lower into the water as each was loaded with heavy artillery. It would take numerous trips back and forth to get everything across. ‘If only the wind would subside,’ Knox prayed. But he was determined that no matter what Mother Nature flung at them, they would get across with all their artillery.

  Standing at the edge of the river was worse than being on the road. At least when marching, one's feet and body were moving. While waiting to embark, the men shivered uncontrollably as the cold drove deep into their bones. Occasionally, the wind would subside long enough to give the illusion that the weather was abating. Then another strong gust followed, stinging their faces.

  Corporal
Baylor kept his head down against the wind as he found his way back to the general.

  "The first boats are halfway across, Sir!" he shouted.

  Washington nodded in reply. The wind made it impossible to be heard without shouting, and Washington wasn't going to do that unnecessarily. He was impatient and worried about the conditions they faced. He wished there were some other way to get the artillery across the river, but the ferries offered the only transport.

  The storm grew stronger. Washington wondered how much longer they would have to endure the stinging, wet, sleet. He wished he had conducted this operation a day sooner.

  Chapter 5

  The man known as Bates pulled on the oars against the strong river current. The wind whipped his hair as sleet pelted his face and dripped down inside his collar. He turned to keep his eye on the lights of Trenton, appearing dimly through the driving sleet across the river.

  A deep thud and a jolt told him he had struck another ice floe. Working the oars, he maneuvered around the ice to find a clear channel. The wind pushed the boat, resisting his efforts.

  “Them British damn better make it worth my time,” he grumbled. The boat refused to cooperate and he began to swear. After considerable cussing, the craft found its way around the ice jam. He pulled harder on the oars to get across. In fifteen minutes, he slid upon an ice-covered shore. Getting out of the boat, he slipped and went down on one knee. He reached into the boat and retrieved his weapon from under the seat. Gradually, sliding and skidding, he made his way over the ice to the banks of the river. Sleet covered his jacket and his musket as he climbed up the bank through mounds of snow-covered cat tails and tall weeds. He forced through them and headed across the snowy field toward the lights of Trenton.

  The town was a collection of houses along a stretch of road that ran from Princeton to Bordentown. Besides a tavern, there was a blacksmith shop, a church, and a general store. The British had chased out most of the Americans a few weeks ago, and the Hessians now occupied their homes.