The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [104]
The soldiers were facing each other, a long silent moment, Washington between them still, and he raised the hat, shouted, “Fire!”
A smoky blast erupted around him from both sides, the musket fire engulfing him in a roar of sounds. The horse jumped, and he held tight to the reins, stared hard toward the British, could hear the cries and groans, most of the British line a heap of fallen bodies. The men who were not hit were pulling back, the British officers waving their swords, the retreat orderly, but then, the order was gone. They began to run, scrambling back along the side of the hill in a rolling wave of red. His men were around him, wildly cheering, the men looking at him with awestruck relief. Tilghman was there, grabbing the reins, shouting, screaming something, a prayer, some kind of curse, crying relief. Washington could not hear the young man’s words, his ears still ringing from the cascade of musket fire, the voices of his men. But he focused on the British, disappearing out toward the Post Road, leaving so many of their own in the field around him.
SULLIVAN’S MEN HAD MET THEIR OWN RESISTANCE CLOSER TO THE town, had driven more of the British garrison away in a glorious rout. The British were in full retreat, some escaping west on the road to Trenton. Others were in full flight, disappearing into the countryside. Both wings of Washington’s assault closed in on the town itself. As he reached the open grounds of the college, there was a new scattering of musket fire, piercing the air around him, his men rushing forward on the roads, officers up front pointing the way. He could see flashes now, bursts of firing from the windows of Nassau Hall. Around the large building, his men were beginning to return fire, but they were in the open, British troops smashing out windows, firing from the protection of the brick walls. Cannon were rolling past him, and he looked for Knox, but the guns were manned by another officer, a very young man he had come to know at Harlem Heights. Washington remembered the first meeting, Knox pointing him out, giving the commander notice to watch this young man, some instinct Knox had, that Alexander Hamilton would perform an exceptional service to this army. Washington moved closer, would not interfere as the guns were unhitched and swung around, and now Hamilton looked toward him, seemed to wait for instructions. Well, yes. I would not have anyone destroying this college without orders. Washington was beside the guns now, said, “Captain Hamilton, the enemy is causing us some inconvenience. Are you carrying solid shot? Can you provide them some discouragement?”
Hamilton was all seriousness, gave a crisp order, his crew loading the brass six-pounders, and he put his hand on the wheel of one gun now, said, “General, upon your order, sir.”
The musket fire was still coming from Nassau Hall, and Washington heard one ball whiz closely overhead, could see a British soldier in a first-floor window, the man staring at him with recognition, and Washington thought, No need to give him another opportunity.
“Captain, you may fire.”
The two guns jumped to life, the blasts of smoke rising quickly, and Washington could see shattered brick, a ragged hole in the wall just around the corner where his British assailant had been. Now there was a shout, and a dozen men surged forward, began to push through the doors of the Hall. The windows were vacant now, the British position in obvious turmoil, and suddenly, from the same window where the marksman had missed his opportunity, a white cloth appeared. More white began to emerge from the windows of the upper floors, and more of Washington’s men pushed inside. Quickly the British were herded out, a dozen, then more, their number