The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [101]
“Gentlemen, we have him. We finally have him. Tomorrow morning, we shall bag the fox.”
16. WASHINGTON
JANUARY 3, 1777
JOSEPH REED HAD PUT HIS EMBARRASSMENT ASIDE AND AGREED TO RETURN to headquarters, and Washington would make no comment about the man’s indiscretions with Charles Lee. Reed’s response to Washington’s generosity was to take responsibility for leading a scouting party in the direction of Princeton. Reed had a home in Trenton, knew the land and the roadways, and if the army was to find the means of escaping Cornwallis’ certain attack, Reed was certain he could find it.
The council of war had been a quiet affair, no one obsessed with his own glory, every senior commander aware that the army was facing a serious dilemma. They could not remain behind Assunpink Creek in the face of the strength Cornwallis brought against them. Despite the good work of the men with the shovels, if the British succeeded in crossing the creek, the boats could not be brought down quickly enough to make an escape. If Cornwallis pressed them hard against the river, Washington’s men would have nowhere to go.
The Assunpink Creek wound its way farther inland and gradually grew more shallow, cutting through woods and farmlands where the maps were incomplete. But Reed had made his own sketch, the route to a narrow trail that paralleled the Post Road to Princeton. The scouting party had picked their way back from Princeton without confronting a single British soldier. If Cornwallis was even aware of the trail, no one in the British camp had taken care to patrol it. Reed estimated the British had only three regiments still in Princeton, around twelve hundred men, and beyond, their enormous supply depot at Brunswick was barely defended. If the army could push another night march, the surprise might overwhelm both positions and put Cornwallis in a serious hole.
For several days, the weather had been mild, a thaw that muddied the roads, but this night, when darkness came the winter returned, and temperatures plunged again. When the ground began to harden, Washington knew that the men and the cannon would have a much easier march. A little after midnight, the army slipped away from the fortifications behind Assunpink Creek and began to follow Reed’s trail. The wheels of the cannon had been wrapped in cloth, and every man knew that before the hard cold dawn, they would need absolute quiet.
Behind Assunpink Creek, Washington had ordered four hundred men to continue their noisy work all night long, stoking the campfires, clanging their shovels against the stumps of cut trees, all a very good show of an army digging itself in. Just before the first light, they too would follow the trail away from their hard work, their mission accomplished. If the plan was successful, Cornwallis would still bombard the earthworks, would still send his men swarming through the chilly waters of the Assunpink. On the crest of the long rise, Washington’s campfires would still be smoldering, but the trenches would be empty.
HE RODE IN THE STILL DARKNESS, TRYING TO REMEMBER HIS WORDS that had inspired the men to stay with the army, but his memory was a fog, the only vivid picture in his mind the single veteran who led them forward. Around him, the soldiers marched as they had marched down to Trenton, each man holding himself in the road by keeping close to the man in front of him. But the soldiers were exhausted beyond anything they had experienced before, and at each pause in the march, men would simply collapse where they stood, others falling asleep while still on their feet. Behind them, more troops would be marching still, and the collision would jar them all into sudden alarm. The sudden