The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [88]
He tried to keep his hands covered, the bite of the wind cutting through his gloves, and he pulled his coat around his shoulders tightly. Tilghman leaned close to him, said, “Sir! The flag is boarded!”
Washington turned, saw a man holding tightly to the pole, the ragged cloth wrapped securely. The last man was seated now, and at the stern, Glover’s men were waiting for the order. He waved his arm, and the boat slid forward, the bow settling slightly into the water. Two men were standing up beside him, pushed their long poles downward, began to walk back to the stern, then quickly were up again. The boat slid past more ice, was suddenly rocked by a collision, more ice now sliding along the sides of the boat. He focused into the darkness ahead, his fists still a tight clench, could see a dull shape, the bluffs of the shoreline in front of him. The boat kept moving, more ice punching the sides, and he saw a flicker of light, one lantern, on the far shore. The snow was blowing harder, and he shielded his eyes, saw more lanterns, more light, the shapes of men, shadows moving. The boat suddenly stopped, rocked slightly to one side, and men were splashing toward him, one lantern held high. He stood up, steadied himself, one hand on the rail, saw a hand, ignored it, stepped down into the water. The sudden wetness shocked him, the boots soaked through quickly, and he stepped through a thin layer of ice, made his way quickly to the bank. His horse had been ferried across already, and waited for him up on the bluff. He climbed up, tried to ignore the sharp cold in his boots, saw more lanterns, the men spreading forward in column on the road. He looked back toward the river, could see the whiteness, the ice that was growing thicker still. He could see nothing of the shore they had left, the wind blowing the snow in a low moan, but he knew there was nothing to see. His army was here, had made it across without accident, without a single man lost.
He rode up to the front of the column, Tilghman close behind, saw Greene now, the only lantern still lit. Washington glanced at Tilghman, said, “The time, Major?”
“It is nearly four o’clock, sir.”
Washington grimaced, said nothing, thought, The crossing should have been completed by midnight. But we could not know how bad the weather would become. And I will find no fault with Glover’s fishermen. But we will not reach Trenton until daylight. He looked at Greene now, saw Sullivan moving up beside him, said, “Nine miles, gentlemen. With dispatch. Absolute silence. No stragglers. You may commence the march.”
DECEMBER 26, 1776
The army divided at an intersection five miles north of Trenton, and Washington waited only a minute while Sullivan’s columns moved out on the river road. Knox’s cannon were divided equally, nine to each column, and Greene’s men did not halt, kept moving on the inland road that would take them into Trenton from the north. Out in front, a company of Virginians led the way, men whose instructions were explicit. There could be no sound, no alarm given to whatever Hessian outposts might lie in their path.
He rode beside Greene in total darkness. The storm was as fierce as it had been all night, and the road was paved in a slippery sheet of ice. He strained to hear any sound, some sign that the Virginians had come up against some opposition, some trouble, yet one more piece of bad news. But the road was empty, and the storm carried them forward in blessed silence, the wind ripping the trees, skeletal patches of woods giving way to rolling snow-covered fields.
His hands were aching, and he realized he had not eased his grip on the reins for a very long time. He