Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER SIX

The soft light of his headquarters washed the adjacent trees with a faint yellow glow. In the darkness, remnants of recent snows hung close to the north sides of the houses as a reminder that winter was only just getting started. His shadow moved across the neighboring house until he passed by and stood looking across the wide, cold Delaware River toward New Jersey. In the darkness, he could see the pinpoints of small fires of the Hessian pickets warming themselves along the roads north of Trenton. The retreat, if he could call it that, of the British regulars to New York should have eased his anxiety, but it did not. General Howe left New Jersey in the hands of a few scattered British units and the wholly unpredictable Hessians.

Reports surged across the river daily of Hessian barbarism. Weary citizens had been seen on the roads fleeing New Jersey and the Hessian scourge that pillaged their homes and endangered their families. The reports turned Washington’s stomach. Even those citizens who pledged their support to the Crown were not spared. Hessian aggression knew no bounds. As winter came, the violent mercenaries had calmed some. Whether the break in activity had been ordered by General Howe or was simply the common sense of winter preparation, Washington did not know. The Hessians were no longer plundering the countryside. Their commander in Trenton, Rall, even paraded his men once a day with accompaniment of a band. He seemed too caught up in ceremony to have actually decided to end their terrorism of New Jersey. Not that it mattered. New Jersey slowly began to fight back, and Washington yearned to hear more from his commanders bent on making Rall’s life miserable.

Footsteps approached from behind. A long, shuffling gait Washington knew from years of experience to be done with purpose by his personal assistant. Washington half turned his head. “Mister Lee? A fresh report from our friends across the river, per chance?”

“Begging the general’s pardon.” The gruff, deep voice closed the distance and stood at Washington’s shoulder looking into the darkness. The older, former slave had been his constant companion for more than twenty years. Of his friends and fellow patriots, only two he held in as much esteem as Mister Lee. Without Franklin’s wit or Jefferson’s intellect to stimulate the conversation, honesty was the best salve he could want. Lee would tell him what his commanders might be afraid of saying, though Washington wondered if the situation could get worse. Enlistments would expire in ten days’ time and his army would wither and die without a miracle.

“Would the general care for his coat? New Jersey’s a touch colder than Mount Vernon.”

Washington snorted even as a fresh, lonely pain stabbed at his heart. Martha would be sitting down after dinner, knitting or writing letters until her hands ached. He blinked the clear vision away. “I’m fine, Mister Lee. Just a breath of fresh air to clear my head. Do you have our numbers for the day?” Desertions were rising.

“Sixty-two today, sir.”

Washington nodded, but said nothing. Sixty-two was better than the hundred per day they’d been losing for the better part of a month. “Is there any more news from across the river?”

Lee shuffled his feet at Washington’s shoulder. “The Hessians have scheduled a Christmas feast in Trenton. Rall has made his band practice twice a day. Their colonel in the south has a love interest and is spending a lot of time at parties and not with his troops.”

Washington smiled. “A merry widow with good friends and better intentions. I’m well aware of her situation, and I learned about the band earlier.”

Lee lowered his voice. “You’re worried about not knowing all that you think you should again, aren’t you, sir?”

Washington took a deep breath. The gathering of intelligence steadily improved, but there were too many things he did not know. Things to which he would think and plan, but never with the surety of knowledge. “I’d like to know more. I hear about the big pieces, Lee—the bands and merry widows. I want to know the little things. Seeing how Rall handles them provides an insight to whether or not…” His voice trailed off.

“You think we should attack them?” Lee asked gently. He knew Washington’s labors were not on something trivial like a Christmas feast. “Rall is convinced that’s what will happen.”

“Yes, I know,” Washington replied with a wave of his hand. “He’s requested help from Howe several times now and never been taken seriously. He’s either scared to death and wants reinforcements or he seems to care nothing about his command or the town he is in charge of.”

Lee nodded solemnly. “There was a report of a Hessian patrol not returning to Trenton by evening assembly.”

Washington’s eyebrows rose slightly. Hessians were prompt, if anything. “What came from it? Any increase in patrols? Greater security?”

Lee shook his head. “Our people reported no changes. Rall seemed to dismiss it. No one on that side of the river seems to know where they’ve gone.”

“And the British forces? Did they investigate?” Washington could picture the British dragoons left in Rall’s care thundering through the countryside pursuing leads and harassing citizens much like the Hessians.

“Nothing as of yet. We’ll see what they do at first light.”

Washington nodded and clapped a hand on Lee’s shoulder. “Those are the kinds of things I need to know, Mister Lee. Now, we’ll see how Colonel Rall takes care of his command. Surely we can have some insight into whether his plundering bastard soldiers either take wholly to a garrison lifestyle or can be agitated into uncertainty after sitting for so long.”

“You’re planning to do more than that, sir. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Washington chuckled softly. “Has there been any word from General Ewing?”

“His men will launch within the hour, sir. There are scouts posted along the river to report as soon as the attack takes place.”

Washington nodded to the darkness. “Rall’s forces have been alerted almost every day?”

“From what we’ve seen and heard, yes, sir.”

The key to agitating an enemy was constant concern. While fear would have been preferred, the inability to see and control every aspect of the fight worked to Washington’s advantage. Rall wasn’t afraid to alert his forces and step up patrols in the local countryside. Most certainly, he was communicating back to General Grant in Princeton for additional support after the Hunterdon raids. Von Donop wouldn’t listen and, Washington smiled, would have more pressing concerns in the very near future. A small uprising to the south presented a unique opening that could be stretched wider by tiring out the Hessian forces and splintering command relationships. All it took was a little fear.

“We’ve had enough of that for the last six months,” Washington whispered to the wind. “It’s time to let them fear us for a change.”

“Sir?” Lee leaned toward him.

Washington turned to his longtime companion and let a small smile crawl across his features. “Just thinking aloud, Mister Lee.”

They stood silently for a few moments. Washington heard the muted sounds of an army at night. There was no singing and cajoling in the camp. The few fires lit surrounded by men and boys trying to stay warm were mostly silent affairs. Surely there was talk, and there were likely plans to desert or questions about their contracts ending in ten days’ time, but no one was loud. The main body of the army was several miles to the north near McKonkey’s Ferry and well out of sight from prying eyes. A mostly hidden army was one of the few keys to raising British fear. The other was doing the unthinkable at the right time and place. A breeze freshened through the darkness. The cold increased, seeping under his uniform tunic and getting to his skin. Washington turned toward the warm light of his headquarters and felt the immense weight of paperwork and leadership setting around his shoulders again.

“It’s time to lead the army again, Mister Lee.”

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Please summon General Greene, with my compliments. I’d like to discuss our options.” The young general was more than a competent commander. As Washington’s army shrunk around them, Greene was a friend and developing confidant as well as a skilled tactician. They could do good work as they waited for reports from the river’s edge.

Lee disappeared into the darkness, leaving Washington to his own thoughts for a moment. He looked up into the ragged clouds and saw a few stars poking through with dim, flickering light. He thought of Martha on the lawn at Mount Vernon and forced himself to shake away the thought and get back to work. Momentum, he knew, could be capitalized upon as it swung his way. With Rall and his forces in a state of panic and Von Donop moving south, a window was open. Greene would help him determine if the window was adequate to risk the army’s dwindling strength.

Washington walked with his shoulders back and his chest out, both calm and decisive at once. Knowledge, no matter how slight or seemingly unimpressive, painted pictures. With the right collection of pictures, deciding to attack Trenton would be easier than he originally hoped. Their unease struck the right chords, but Washington could not cross the Delaware on Hessian anxiety alone. He needed an advantage. Be it weather, actionable intelligence, or plain luck, he needed something more.

* * *

Sutton sat before the small hearth in Selena Christensen’s home with his uniform tunic undone and his feet propped onto the hearth beside his slowly drying boots. The small glass of brandy in his hand served to warm his stomach nicely, and his extremities would come around given time. He glanced at his watch, a gift from his fallen brother, and frowned. The officer’s call would start in another fifteen minutes and while the fire, more brandy, and sleep would be better activities than socializing with the Hessian officers, Sutton took it upon himself to gain intelligence on them for General Howe. The Hessians did not live up to the general’s trust, of that he was certain. The only way to prove it was to get to know them and learn their weaknesses before they cost General Howe more than the measly village of Trenton.

“Captain Sutton,” Selena’s voice came from behind him. “You asked to be reminded

when—”

He sat forward and turned around the chair’s curved high-back to smile at her. “Thank you.”

She twisted a towel in her hands. “There’s some dinner, if you’d care for some.”

He raised a hand and gently shook it. “Not tonight, thank you. I’ll be dining at Colonel Rall’s this evening.”

“Shall I wait up for you?” Her lips were a thin white line. There was no interest in him. She simply wanted him to go.

“No, madam. I shall not be late this evening.”

Selena ducked away as quietly as she’d first appeared and Sutton returned his attention to the fire. Reaching for his boots, he ran a hand over the worn, fire-warmed leather. While not completely dry, they would suffice for his walk across the town and a couple of hours of cards and the horrible liquor they called schnapps. He tugged them on and buttoned his tunic as he stood and stretched before the fire. The last swallow of brandy warmed his throat and stomach on the way down and he smiled. Perhaps the holiday in Trenton wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared. There was endless entertainment around should he look for it. He found his coat and pulled in on, eschewing his sword and ornamental helmet, gathering instead a traditional tricorne hat for the short walk.

As he stepped down into the mud of King Street, four young Hessians jogged past and turned the corner to the north. Colonel Rall’s constant adjustment of his forces to every rumor from the countryside played hell on the men’s nerves and drove what few citizens remained in the town behind closed doors when the sun set. As such, men shuffled through the night from post to post and the streets were nearly deserted. Even the tavern, which by colonial standards was more than decent, seemed subdued and anxious. The latest rumor maintained that Washington and his men were looking for the right moment to surprise Rall’s forces from every direction at once. Sutton, of course, had laughed in the face of it just as the Hessian officers did. His men and their mounted patrols clearly proved that Washington was on the far side of the Delaware and that there was no viable pocket of resistance large enough to assist him on the New Jersey side. Rall didn’t believe an attack imminent, but a scattering of musket fire in the distance would cause him to rouse and alert the entire garrison for hours on end. Still, the Hessian commander’s anxiety was at least a passable measure of leadership.

Behind the daily parades, the godawful band, and his evening card games, Rall seemed frightened. Letters and requests for support flew from his headquarters to New York several times a day. Despite two other regiments within a dozen miles of his headquarters, Rall felt alone. He wasn’t incompetent or lazy. His men were reasonably well trained, but they were starting to show strain. The kind of strain that starts from leadership and trickles down in grumbles and curses. He’d seen it before, but on the colonial side. Washington’s men always looked tired and disgruntled. That they’d fought as well as they had and still survived was nothing short of amazing.

Rall’s headquarters gleamed in the night. A half dozen men were visible around the front of the house with two messenger’s horses. Either Rall was about to send another message or he’d received something. Sutton quickened his pace and stepped into the light of the porch lanterns as one messenger came out of the house hurriedly, mounted his horse, and galloped into the night toward Bordentown to the south.

Colonel Von Donop had either answered a silly request or told Rall to be calm. Again, Sutton thought with a barely concealed smile. Either the good commander had buttoned up his pants long enough to actually lead his regiment or, more likely, Rall demanded news, intelligence, and support from his allied forces. The man wanted to know everything, but kept it at arm’s length. It was easier to play cards and parade his troops than focus on an enemy that was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

No one else is going to fight your war, old man. Should the rebels be bold enough to strike, it will be your responsibility to stop them. Sutton cleared the mud from his soles with the boot strop mounted on the stairs. Satisfied, he nodded to the door guards and stepped inside the headquarters. The house was warm and crowded. Junior Hessian officers stood in the foyer eating bowls of sauerkraut and huddling over mugs of tea or more powerful drink. All of them ignored his entrance and their conversations didn’t waver. There were only a handful of British officers in Trenton and most of them were transient and had the good sense to stay away from Rall’s headquarters in the evening hours, but gaining intelligence on their allies was too promising of a venture. While not as grand and fortuitous an assignment as Tarleton’s capture of Charles Lee, his mission was valuable and worthy.

Sutton solely wanted to find Washington’s army. With their known position and strength he could convince the British leadership to pull the garrisons out of the winter hiatus and attack. He would give them the keys to crushing this rebellion. Stepping deeper into Rall’s headquarters, between smelly men and hushed conversations in their own language, Sutton knew he could take something from Rall and gain his British commanders’ favor. It was a matter of time before he would gain the intelligence needed to find and defeat Washington and his army. Or, if Washington came to call with his ragtag band of farmers and blacksmiths, Sutton believed he could put them down once and for all.

Trouble was that Rall spoke exclusively German with a rough, soldier’s language tempered further by his Hessian dialect. Von Donop, at least, could converse fluently in French, but the senior commander’s distance from Rall made it impossible for Sutton to chat with the man regularly. He rather liked Von Donop—they were cut from the same cloth. Harsh, direct, and willing to do anything to advance their station. Von Donop’s weakness for the fairer sex was well known, but Sutton preferred his conquests to be private, thorough affair. For a moment, he thought of returning to his quarters but he caught the eye of Lieutenant Sturm. The young officer sat at the right hand of Rall, whose flushed face told of more drinking at an earlier hour than Sutton thought possible.

Sturm gestured to him, and Sutton pushed through the crowd of officers around Rall’s table. He sat opposite of Sturm in a position Rall normally kept open for one of his brigade commanders. The older man squinted at him but said nothing.

Sturm leaned across the table. “The colonel has asked for you. The loss of our patrol troubles him and he requests your dragoons patrol the roads north of town tomorrow and search for them.”

It was a struggle to maintain a straight face. Sturm’s translation was rough and accented. Rall was more than troubled, but at the same time he seemed strongly resolute. Engineers wanted to secure and defend the city until Rall shushed them down. From what Sutton knew, Rall had gone back to General Grant saying the town was indefensible and that Washington’s rebels were on the verge of attacking on a moment’s notice. Rall was troubled by the loss of a patrol. What did Von Donop say?

“Tell the colonel my dragoons will patrol at first light.” Sutton blinked and smiled. “The rider? Was that dealing with this troubling loss?”

Sturm looked at Rall, who roughly grabbed the arm of a passing Lieutenant and ordered a drink. The opening was enough for him to say, “Von Donop rides south to Mount Holly to confront rebels in the morning. He knows nothing of the lost patrol.”

Sutton nodded. A glass of wine found its way in front of him and Rall. The colonel held up his glass expectantly as if to toast.

Rall roared at the collected officers in broken and barely coherent English. “To victory!”

Dutifully, Sutton felt, the officers cheered for a moment before drinking from their glasses. The wine was sweet, but good and it almost warmed Sutton’s chest. The collected officers returned to their hushed conversations around the fireplace and left the main table in near silence. Rall began to speak, and Sturm nodded his head and glanced several times at Sutton.

“The colonel asks if you will attend the Christmas dinner, and if you will have a guest?”

Sutton felt his eyebrows raise involuntarily. The dinner was a form of mandatory amusement where he assumed his participation was required. The opportunity to bring a guest was a unique opportunity. Immediately his mind went to task and quickly dispatched any thought of Selena Christensen holding his arm and looking miserable. The gunsmith’s daughter, she of the pretty face and quick smile, could be a possibility. Emily Daniels was young and poised enough to hold his arm and turn every head when they walked in the door. Her father had a dozen of their muskets for repairs. A visit would provide a chance to check on their function and ask her to be his guest.

“I most certainly am attending, Colonel.” Sutton nodded and smiled at Rall who blinked and then returned the gesture. “As for if I will have a lady on my arm? I shall do my best. I’m afraid the choices here in Trenton are fairly meager.”

Sturm finished the translation with obvious embellishment and Rall roared with laughter. Sutton leaned across the table to ask what specifically the young lieutenant had said and saw runners approaching through the tavern’s windows. Muted outside voices became urgent shouts as they closed the distance.

Feuer! Feuer! We are under attack!” the calls echoed through the town in rough German.

Rall’s red face paled as he pushed back from the table. Sturm looked at Sutton. “Washington?”

Sutton almost laughed. “Doubtful, sir. The rebels do not attack at night.”

Rall stood and bellowed. “Raus!

The collected officers scattered like rats into the night. As Sutton stepped into the muddy street, he saw the orange glow from fires over the rooftops. Several structures along the riverfront burned. Making his way toward the light, aware of the Hessian band striking up the familiar call to muster, he paced slowly, in constant control of his bearing, toward the river. In the distance, he could see boats paddling away and drifting south with the current. Jubilant rebels with blackened faces laughed and called out to the Hessians in unintelligible voices. Beyond them, there was nothing. Sutton strained to hear anything else in the chaos around him, but there was no indication of an attack. Hessian cannons were drug into position, but Sutton could already see that they would be unsuccessful in targeting, much less engaging, the receding boats. The rebels had successfully riled up the Hessians for a third time in five nights.

A young boy ran past and Sutton caught him by the jacket. “You’re Jackson’s son. Yes?”

The boy nodded and swallowed.

“Go to the livery. Tell my dragoons to stand down. There is no attack. Go now, or I come for your father. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” The boy sprinted toward the British garrison. Content with the boy following his orders out of fear for his father’s life, Sutton walked slowly toward the riverbank. Two cabins and a fairly large barn burned intensely. Another raid, he thought. Rall’s fears burn higher every day.

Hessian commanders barked at their soldiers. A few fired muskets at the rapidly receding boats. Their errant shots met with yells and curses from the rebels. Men formed a line of buckets in an attempt to quench the rising flames. Sutton watched them slowly form their lines and relay water from the river as the fires roared.

Sturm appeared at his side. “Watches have been doubled. The colonel insists your men patrol at first light.”

“I promised they would,” Sutton said slowly. Sturm’s eyes darted away from his own and betrayed the man’s fear. The effect on Sutton was far better than words could describe. “I believe your men were mistaken about Washington’s intent.”

Sturm nodded and looked out across the river. “If he comes, we are vulnerable and undefended. Doubling the guard doesn’t help.”

Sutton chuckled. “You believe Washington will come?” The roof of one cabin collapsed into its own burning walls. “His broken, ragtag army?”

Sturm said nothing for a long moment. “When the river freezes—”

“When it freezes, we will cross it and find them.”

“Colonel Rall would never allow that. He would—”

Sutton grabbed Sturm’s arm and turned the young officer toward him. “Quite right, Lieutenant. But I will. Once I find him, General Grant will relieve your incompetent commanders and attack with the full force of this army. By summer, we’ll be home and the rebellion will be a distant memory.”

Sturm freed himself from Sutton’s grip and staggered backward. “I do not share your enthusiasm, sir.”

Of course you don’t, Sutton wanted to say aloud but did not. He turned loose the young man’s arm and walked toward his quarters. Watching the fires made him cold and the small fireplace of his quarters, and the promise of brandy and rest, called him away from the scene.


Back | Next
Framed