The Crossing

A Novel

Howard Fast

• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Year: 2011
• ISBN:
  9781453235119
• Topic: Letteratura
• Subtopic: Narrativa storica

A novel about George Washington's trip across the Delaware River and the Battle of Trenton by the #1 New York Times –bestselling author of Spartacus. Immortalized on canvas by Emanuel Leutze, Washington's journey across the Delaware River is one of the most celebrated moments in American history. But the true story of the crossing, and of what came after, is often lost in the legend. In The Crossing, Howard Fast, author of The Immigrants and April Morning, writes with striking historical detail and relentless narrative drive about Washington's surprise attack, leading the Continental Army to its Revolutionary War victory against the one thousand Hessian mercenaries in Trenton, New Jersey—a momentous occasion in American history.
This ebook features an illustrated biography of Howard Fast including rare photos from the author's estate.

THE SECOND
CROSSING

West to East

[1]

ALEX SCAMMEL WAS a Harvard graduate, then a schoolteacher and then a surveyor. He was over six feet tall and very good-looking and possibly vain of his hair, which he wore long and ribboned at the back. He had been in love with Abigail Bishop of Medford, Massachusetts, and when she wouldn’t have him, he lost all interest in the law he was reading in John Sullivan’s office; and when Sullivan said to him, “I’m closing up the office because other more important things have come up,” Alexander Scammel replied that he was with him all the way. Sullivan became a brigadier, and Scammel was given a colonel’s rank over the 3rd Massachusetts Continentals. It did not matter that Sullivan was a lawyer and Alex Scammel a teacher, because the soldiers they led were no more soldiers than they were officers.

However, time had its way with the lot of them, and when Sullivan took command of the army–after Lee had been captured–Alex Scammel became his immediate aide and second in command. Scammel had turned into a good leader, and the 3rd Massachusetts was one of the most effective regiments in the army.

Sullivan had marched his men almost on the double since Lee’s capture; they were exhausted after crossing the river, and Sullivan rested them while he sent Scammel riding down to McKonkey’s Ferry to see what the Virginian desired.

Washington’s headquarters were at the Keith house, but as often as not he centered his affairs and his command post at McKonkey’s. For one thing, McKonkey ran a public house; and if a hundred men in wet boots and dragging spurs clumped in and out in the course of a day, well, that was what the house was for, and Old Man McKonkey liked the trade, not only for the money it brought but because he was heart and soul a rebel. He was flattered with the big Virginian and all the other fine gentlemen giving him their patronage, and since he had never catered to so genteel a trade before, he could never quite get over their courtesy. He took to bowing to ladies and changing his shirt twice a week.

Washington liked Scammel and asked him how the men were. He wanted the truth.

Well enough, Scammel replied.

Washington said that they were all well enough, since they were still alive. But how well? How many sick?

There were less than a hundred in carts, Scammel replied. The rest were walking.

Clothes?

Charlie Lee, Scammel began.

Charlie Lee—no, the commander in chief frowned. General Lee. He was still a general officer.

He had made them wash their clothes every fortnight. General Lee had commandeered eleven hundred jackets with scrip. Most of the men had shoes. There were four hundred Rhode Island soldiers, and some of them were so seedy they walked barefoot out of preference, even in winter time, with no more sense about things than a red Indian.

Washington wanted to know what Scammel thought about Charlie Lee, and Scammel said that he didn’t like him, but he could not fault him for being an officer. It was just the man who was lacking. Then Washington said he wanted Scammel and Sullivan and every damned officer to be dressed in clean linen as white as snow, and how they washed and dried it out in this weather was their problem, not his; but he would have them skinned if their shirts or jabots were dirty. He wanted uniforms stitched and pressed, no torn coats, no bare heads. He wanted them in wigs, powdered, boots blackened, swords shining, and then he wanted the whole damned army, two thousand strong, to come marching down the Delaware River Road as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

And as Scammel regarded him incredulously, Washington asked, did they have drums? Fifes? Trumpets?

Four trumpets, seven fifes, maybe twenty drums.

The Virginian wanted music, good, bad–he couldn’t care less, so long as it was loud and strong.

[2]

SO ON DECEMBER 20, 1776, John Sullivan and Alexander Scammel—both in clean shirts, decent coats, black boots, cocked hats, both sporting real epaulets, polished sword hilts, both prancing their horses in real smart style and both followed by a fine flurry of fife and drum—led two thousand Continental troops who came marching to join the army on the Delaware. General Washington had lined up his own men along the road, and when Sullivan’s troops came stepping smartly along, the Continentals broke into the first heady cheer in many a long month, yahooing and yelling “Razza-doodle-doo for Rhode Island!”, for there were four hundred smart Rhode Island lads, all in knee-length hunting shirts, all of them armed with big Brown Betsys, the English-made muskets that couldn’t shoot straight but held a long bayonet.

And then there was a surprise. Sullivan and Scammel were grinning as they watched the tall Virginian as he stood up high in his saddle and saw behind Sullivan’s two thousand men, eight or nine hundred more, led by General Horatio Gates and Colonel Benedict Arnold. They had all come in together, and now his own Continentals broke ranks, screaming; and Sullivan’s men and Gates’s men also broke ranks. And there was embracing and wrestling and kissing and weeping, as brothers and cousins and even fathers and sons found each other.

Washington’s own eyes were wet, and he could not have spoken then. He had three thousand more men in his army now, and the news ran like wildfire, south to Philadelphia and Baltimore, and north to the British. The agent was Mr. Hovenden, and he reported to the British:

That the main body of the army lies at Beaumonts between Telits and Baqers ferry about eleven miles above Trenton ferry commanded by General Washington and Lord Stirling. That a party of about three thousand men under General Sullivan had joined General Washington and it was said that they were immediately to march and make their quarters at Newtown. That of this number more than two hundred sick and wounded invalids were arrived at the hospital at Newtown. A party of two hundred or three hundred men are stationed at Robinsons ferry about seven miles above Beaumont. Dont know of any other party higher up the river. That General Washington had with him six eight pounders but were removed from thence, know not where. They are opposite to Slacks Island and about five miles below Beaumonts four eight pounders. That below Slacks Island and at Yardley’s are about six hundred men, commanded by Gen. Dickinson, with two pieces of cannon. Gen. Mercer was there but often shifts his quarters. That upon the most diligent inquiry and best intelligence he can procure, General Washington’s army did not consist of more than eight thousand men. That General Sullivan went to Philadelphia on the Fifteenth inst. from Washington’s quarters. General Gates had not passed the river on Thursday last, but was informed, that he was coming forward with about five hundred men.

Half true, half out of whole cloth. But that was what was sold and what the British bought.

[3]

LIKE GENERAL CHARLES LEE, General Horatio Gates was a British officer who had joined the American causé. He came of a better background—that is, in British class terms of the time—than did General Lee. General Lee. Born in Maldon, England, in the year 1728, he was a godson of Horace Walpole. Though he was the son of a household servant, he was raised as an English gentleman, more or less in the bosom of the British army. He was wholly a product of the British army, enlisted by his parents when still a boy and achieving, finally, the rank of major. Sent to America during the French and Indian War, he fought with Braddock and was severely wounded in 1755. Recovered from these wounds, he joined the British expedition against Martinique in 1762. However, he was poorly rewarded in the British army; disgruntled, a plotter, a man who could get along with almost no one, Gates, like Charles Lee, would constantly create for himself untenable situations.

One such situation made him decide to move to America permanently, and he purchased an estate in Virginia. Whether his sympathies were with the Continentals or simply against the British, it is hard to say; but when the Revolutionary War broke out, he immediately offered his services to the Continental army.

The War Committee of Congress was thrilled with the opportunity of having a professional soldier of Gates’s stature; and some time in June of 1775, they appointed him adjutant general of the Continental army, carrying with it the rank and pay of brigadier general. In such circumstances, it was inevitable that he would see himself as the first rival to General Washington for the command of the army, and from the very moment of Washington’s appointment, Gates felt that he himself had been overlooked and slighted. Like Lee, he had small opinion of Washington’s military capabilities, and again like Lee, he had an equally small opinion of the courage or capability of the American soldier.

By December of 1776, both Gates and Lee had surrendered any hope of a victory by the Continentals; it would appear they were both thinking of how to bargain to the best advantage with the British. And certainly, when General Horatio Gates arrived at the encampment on the banks of the Delaware River, he saw no possibility of retrieving the fortunes of the defeated army.

On the other hand, Washington welcomed Gates’s arrival, relieved that he had a military man of his experience and stature to replace General Lee. In a world where malice is omnipresent, it is difficult to understand someone without it. The humility of a meek man is far more comprehendible than the humility of a proud man like Washington, who had qualities of enormous strength and unshakable will. These qualities he combined with gentle demeanor that misled people into thinking that he was either a fool or a bungler.

In this manner of gentleness, he turned to Gates because he felt that Gates might help and advise him.

[4]

PERHAPS HE ALSO TURNED to Benedict Arnold, but this we don’t know; nor is there anything to indicate what happened between him and Arnold except that Arnold saddled his horse and rode out of the encampment, ostensibly to go to Boston and recruit men. But from there to Boston in even the best of weather was two weeks by horse, and in three days less than two weeks, the game would either be played differently or past any playing at all.

Washington had come to the decision that it must be played differently, and for days he had been turning over in his mind a scheme he had and perhaps passing a word or two about it to those two friends upon whom he depended so much, Hugh Mercer and William Alexander. But not to anyone else; mouths were bitterly tight about this, for when it came to the end of something, there was no one to trust, and men marching together to the gallows put a cheap price upon each other.

But he would put his scheme to Gates. Wasn’t everyone saying that Gates was the most brilliant military man in North America, and did they not group him always with Cornwallis? No one placed the Virginian with Cornwallis. Washington was still very much the civilian, the husbandman; the man who could ride through his garden and name every shrub, when it was planted or transplanted; who worried about a sick colt and approached every game of whist with excitement and some trepidation. Gates was the pro; Washington was the pretender.

Gates was also a British gentleman, and that night at the Keith house, Washington begged the Keiths’ indulgence for a dinner for two with his own silver and his own cloth and plate. And he sent his servants to find a decent piece of meat, turnips, parsnips, carrots, cheese, whatever the camp would yield that wasn’t camp food, for it had to be the best for Gates.

Perhaps then at that moment, Washington believed even less in himself as he watched Gates react to his somewhat primitive Continental elegance, there in that cramped stone house that was his headquarters. Surely Gates must have known what was coming, and possibly Gates was certain in his own mind that the approach of the commander in chief would be as witless as he had anticipated.

Then, the meal done, the second bottle of wine opened, Washington took him into his confidence. The plan was very simple and very direct. Washington proposed to Gates that they take all the forces at their command on the west bank of the Delaware River, plus every available man out of the Philadelphia Militia; that they divide these available forces, which numbered almost six thousand men fit for action, into three brigades, and that simultaneously the three brigades cross the Delaware River at three separate points and attack the Hessian outposts at Trenton and at Bordentown. He, Washington, would cross with one force at McKonkey’s Ferry, which was about nine miles above Trenton, and from that place he would march down the river on the east shore to attack Rahl’s encampment at Trenton. General Ewing with as many of the Pennsylvania Militia as could be put under his command would cross about a mile below Trenton. Arriving at their landing place, they would then march north and secure control of the stone bridge over the Assanpink Creek, which was a brook flowing along the south side of Trenton. From that position they could cut off any retreat of the enemy to the south while Washington’s army attacked in force from the north.

The third part of the plan proposed that Colonel Cadwalader take all of the troops that were now guarding Philadelphia and cross the Delaware River below Burlington. From there, they would attack the southernmost Hessian encampment under Count von Donop. The plan was not yet fully composed. But in a general sense Washington knew exactly what he wished to do. He felt that the Hessians were secure in their encampments, that they were not expecting any attack, and that such an attack might not only have a very good chance of being successful, but might well turn the whole tide of war.

To all of this, Gates listened. He was a large, heavyset man, and one can imagine him with his chair pushed back, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his flushed face dubious yet condescendingly agreeable. Among themselves he and his associates were fond of speaking of Washington as the “great man.” Now the “great man” was making an ass of himself. Afterward, Gates would tell his friends that he had given him enough rope to hang himself.

It is not too difficult, knowing the character of each man and knowing what went on between them, to re-create what was said. Gates might have taken these points one by one, ticking them off on his fingers.

Attack? My dear sir, to attack one needs an army. You don’t have an army.

The Virginian would have tightened at that; there was just enough truth in it.

Your troops go always in one direction. To attack requires the other direction.

Then you have objections, the Virginian might have said. Whatever he said would be lame. He was at the disadvantage.

Many.

Would you specify them?

Gladly. Gates would have shown the “great man” no mercy.

Specific one: There are only eleven days before the enlistments run out. Your men will not attack a snowman before then. Why should they? They need only sit tight and go home.

Specific two: To attack, one needs soldiers. Your men are not soldiers.

Specific three: There is no way to cross the river and keep it from the Hessians. The crossing would take hours, and long before you ever got across, the Hessians would have their artillery on your boats. Those big Durham boats of yours make damn good targets; even a Yankee gunner couldn’t miss them; and those who are not shot to pieces will drown.

Specific four: If you had twelve or eighteen thousand men instead of six thousand, you could not defeat the Hessians. The Hessians are European soldiers, the best, and you want to throw your rabble against them. Suicide.

Specific five: Your fat, foolish Boston bookseller, Mr. Knox, has a handful of cannon left out of all the hundreds of guns we had a year ago. A proper army wants a gun for every fifty men. That means one hundred and twenty guns, not twelve. The Hessians will not have to use their bayonets. They will chew you up with grape and canister before you ever get near them.

All reports have it that Washington maintained his temper and his goodwill. He asked Gates about a night crossing, and Gates threw up his arms in despair.

Then Washington asked Gates what he, Gates, would do in his place.

Retreat. When you cannot fight or hold a position, one retreats.

To where?

South of the Susquehanna River. We can hold at that river. We could build a permanent encampment there and recruit a new army.

So much for what Gates counseled; and yet Washington contained himself and asked Gates whether, in spite o...