第4章

Chapter 5

The Otter

Water splashed against the side of the Defence as the vessel navigated the Chesapeake on March 9, 1776. Captain Samuel Smith looked around at his men who had enthusiastically volunteered for the mission to confront the British warship Otter, which lay at anchor up ahead and threatened the cities of Baltimore and Annapolis. So many of Smith's men had wanted to take part in the action that the Defence couldn't hold them all. Some had clambered into small boats that were now accompanying the converted merchant ship, which carried twenty guns.

Like so many of the men who made up the core of the new battalion, Smith was one of the original sixty cadets in the Baltimore Independent Company. Smith was close to Mordecai Gist and Nathaniel Ramsay and particularly close to Jack Steward. Smith and Steward actually once fought a duel, "becoming, subsequently, on the most friendly terms."

Over a year had passed since Smith and the other cadets had formed Maryland's first independent military company, and many dramatic events had shaped the first twelve months of the Revolution. The siege of Boston had been lifted after Patriots seized the heavy artillery at Fort Ticonderoga and hauled it hundreds of miles across the New York and Massachusetts countryside before positioning it over Dorchester Heights in south Boston. With the artillery on fortified high ground overlooking Boston harbor, the British commander saw that his position in Boston had become indefensible and withdrew his troops to Halifax, Nova Scotia. The Americans won a string of victories in 1775 and suffered one epic defeat while assaulting Quebec in the midst of a snowstorm on the last day of the year.

In the South a Patriot militia numbering nearly one thousand men crushed a Loyalist militia of equal force outside Wilmington, North Carolina, dampening the Crown's influence in the state for years. In Virginia the colony's firebrand governor, John Murray, also known as Lord Dunmore, attempted to disrupt Whig units outside Norfolk. In the Battle of Great Bridge, Patriot forces annihilated Dunmore's troops, slaying or wounding nearly one hundred British regulars, while the only American casualty was a single man with a slightly wounded thumb. Trounced, Dunmore, with a small contingent of British regulars, Loyalists, and several hundred former slaves he dubbed the Ethiopian Regiment, boarded royal ships, including the man-of-war Otter. Next, Dunmore's force bombarded and torched Norfolk, and what it didn't destroy Whig militia finished off, burning and looting many Loyalist homes. Most Americans didn't know the full truth of the episode and assumed it was a British atrocity. The supposed atrocity, combined with an earlier incident at Falmouth, Massachusetts, where the British torched hundreds of houses, galvanized calls for independence. With Norfolk in ashes, Dunmore's flotilla sailed across the Chesapeake to Portsmouth, Virginia, before turning north and raiding the coastline.

In a show of force, Dunmore sent a group of warships including the Otter up the Chesapeake toward Baltimore and Annapolis in March 1776. Their arrival caused great consternation in the colony, and people who lived near the shore quickly evacuated out of fear that they would meet the same fate as Norfolk. The Council of Safety immediately sent a note to the battalion, saying, "We hear that the 44 Gun Man of War and two Sloops are on their Way up the Bay: the City [Baltimore] is now weak and we judge it necessary to have all the Men drawn to Town we can for its Defence; we should be glad you will give Directions to all the Companies and Men in your Battalion that can be got ready to repair as soon as possible to Town. We shall be glad to see you as early in the morning as you can."

Preliminary intelligence proved to be somewhat exaggerated, as later reports counted only eighteen guns on the Otter. Nevertheless, the battalion "moved with astonishing dispatch, and as soon as the Vessels hove in Sight [the Maryland] Coast was lined with Men." As a show of strength, the battalion mustered ranks near the shoreline. To make it appear that it had more men than it did, the same soldiers lined up over and over in different locations as the British ship moved up the coast.

Adding to the tension, the Otter had set fire to a small boat carrying a load of oats. The Otter's captain claimed it "was done without order and done by an inconsiderate midshipman," but the move fanned the flames of hostility in Annapolis and Baltimore. Making things worse, the captain next demanded that the governor of Maryland turn over to him the vessel Defence, which was currently being fitted out for war and which the British called a presumably hostile privateer. In addition, he wanted provisions, which he would take by force if the Marylanders refused to sell them to him.

While the negotiations were still in progress, the captain of the Defence called for volunteers to challenge the Otter and recapture other vessels that were in convoy. Samuel Smith's company enthusiastically volunteered. The American ship, accompanied by a few others, approached the British flotilla. Surprised by such resistance, the Otter turned tail and ran to Virginia, pillaging Maryland's Saint George's Island on the way to get the supplies denied it at Baltimore. During this withdrawal, the Otter attempted to capture an American schooner in a nearby creek, but the local militia drove the British ship away. Meanwhile, the triumphant Marylanders returned to Baltimore with the vessels that they had retaken.

Although the encounter with the Otter had been a minor incident, the Marylanders had received their first taste of victory. The Maryland Council of Safety heralded their bravery, writing, "We cannot sufficiently commend those brave Sons of Liberty who this Day stood forth so gallantly in Defence of their Country. Be assured that we shall afford them every assistance in our power."

The second task entrusted to the regiment was more distasteful. Virginian Patriots had intercepted some correspondence between Maryland's British-installed governor, Sir Robert Eden, and a renowned Loyalist and close associate of firebrand James Chalmers. One Patriot general forwarded the letters to the Council of Safety, which then asked Smith's company to arrest the governor. The Council wrote, "It evidently appears that Mr. Eden has been carrying on a dangerous Correspondence with the Ministry of Great Britain, who seem desperately bent on the Destruction of America. The Congress therefore have come to a Resolution that the Person and Papers of Governor Eden be immediately seized, from which there is Reason to believe, we may not only learn but probably defeat, the Designs of our Enemies."

However, the governor enjoyed great popularity among the people. A consummate politician, he attempted to walk both sides of the fence; he understood their grievances yet opposed taking up arms.

Despite the fact that Eden was Britain's representative, when Smith and his men arrived in Annapolis to carry out their duty, the Council of Safety suddenly changed its mind and ordered them back home. Eventually, an investigation found that Eden had no malicious intent, but the Council of Safety requested that the governor leave the colony, which he did. As Eden was leaving, the largest invasion of North America was about to begin.

Chapter 6

The Armada

On the cool summer morning of June 29, 1776, Marylander Private Daniel McCurtin seated himself in an outbuilding that afforded a panoramic view of the blue-green, wide-open waters cradling the lower harbor of New York City. As McCurtin turned his gaze to take in the picturesque vista, he instead witnessed a jarring sight. The bay seemed to resemble "a wood of pine trees trimmed," as hundreds of ships sporting naked masts approached shore and dropped sail to anchor. Astonished by this strange development, he continued, "I declare, at my noticing this, that I could not believe my eyes, but Keeping my eyes fixed at the very spot, judge you of my surprise when in ten minutes, the whole bay was full of shipping as ever it could be. I declare that I thought all London was afloat."

McCurtin, part of a small advance group of Marylanders in New York, saw the harbinger of a vast flotilla carrying more than twenty-three thousand British regulars and an initial complement of ten thousand Hessian allies to American shores. Over the next six weeks, more than five hundred transports and seventy British warships sailed into New York's harbors. The show of strength comprised half of the British navy and a large portion of the British army. Some of the first ships to arrive dropped anchor off Sandy Hook, New Jersey, while others landed troops to invade Staten Island. The island contained a rebel flagstaff fort to signal the arrival of British troops. It also provided an ideal staging area for the invasion of Long Island and Manhattan. The British ships bided their time until the rest of the transports bearing the Hessians and other reinforcements arrived.[5]

[5]. Howe also put his men to work constructing landing barges, precursors of World War II's landing craft infantry (LCI). The barges had high gunwales and a crude ramp that dropped in the front, allowing the men to exit quickly on a landing beach.

In response to the British invasion, John Hancock, then president of the Continental Congress, put out a call to the colonies for troops. In a letter to the Maryland Convention, he wrote, "The Congress have this day received intelligence which renders it absolutely necessary that the greatest exertion should be made to save our country from being desolated by the hands of tyranny." Congress asked the colonies to send reinforcements to New York. Hancock's closing words demonstrated the gravity of the situation. He wrote:

I do therefore most ardently beseech you and require, in the name and by the authority of Congress, as you regard your own freedom, and as you stand engaged by the most solemn ties of honour, to support the common cause:-to strain every nerve to send forward your militia. This is a step of such infinite moment that in all probability your speedy compliance will prove the salvation of your country. We should reflect, too, that the loss of the campaign must inevitably protract the war; and that, in order to gain it, we have only to exert ourselves, and to make use of the means by which God and nature have given us to defend ourselves.

After the letter was received in Maryland, nine companies of Smallwood's Battalion set out for Philadelphia. Congress ordered the Marylanders to join troops in Phildelphia and then report to General George Washington in New York. Two of the independent companies stayed in Maryland a while longer in the event the British attacked. They soon joined their brethren.

Smallwood's Battalion, already an elite unit by virtue of training, equipment, and motivation, was about to become amalgamated into the Continental Army. This force had some success on the battlefield in 1775, but most of the world at the time believed it ludicrous to suppose that the ragtag assortment of amateurs with their unique set of principles could stand up to-let alone defeat-one of the finest armies in existence.

The top flag officers the king sent to America were considered exceptional in the British military. Leading the British forces in New York were the Howe brothers: General William Howe, a thirty-year army veteran; and Admiral Richard Howe, who commanded the British navy in North America. Sons of a viscount and of royal blood, they had enjoyed an aristocratic upbringing. The two mirrored each other in many ways: both were tall and dark-complexioned, both were quiet and brave, and both entered the military at an early age. Both also held seats in Parliament and had excellent military records. Richard Howe had fired the first shot in the Seven Years' War and became a very influential admiral, revising the navy's signals and advancing its amphibious warfare capabilities. William Howe had served in the French and Indian War, which gave him a good understanding of conditions in North America and the tactics likely to succeed there.

However, the Howe brothers had very different personalities. Richard, the more taciturn one, earned the nickname Black Dick both for his dark complexion and for his morose personality. One contemporary described the admiral as "silent as a rock."

William, on the other hand, had a reputation for gambling and whoring, and he frequently brought his married mistress, Elizabeth Loring, known as the Sultana, to public events. She was the wife of Loyalist Joshua Loring, who held the position of commissary for prisoners. Public accounts mocked the cuckolded Loring, saying that he "had no objection. He fingered the cash, the general enjoyed madam."

Despite their differences in temperament, the brothers both expressed sympathy for the colonists. As a member of Parliament, William even voted against the Coercive Acts. They served in America as a matter of duty, not out of any dislike for the Americans. Understanding that a political solution was the best way to end the Revolution, they also sought and received the authority to act as peace commissioners who could grant concessions to the colonists in order to halt hostilities. However, their authority to negotiate and bind the Crown to a peace settlement was extremely limited; they could grant pardons but not much more. Their dedication to seeking peace greatly affected the strategy they pursued throughout the war.

General Howe's top lieutenant, General Sir Henry Clinton, had a very different view; he believed the aim of the war should be to destroy the American army. Clinton wasn't particularly likable and even described himself as "a shy bitch." He frequently clashed with William Howe. Clinton's father, George Clinton, was an admiral and also served for a decade as governor of New York-an assignment that brought Henry Clinton to the state as a twelve-year-old. He later fought in the French and Indian War, during which he developed friendships with Charles Lee and William Alexander (otherwise known as Lord Stirling), whom he later faced as enemies on the battlefield. Descended from a noble family, Clinton, like the Howe brothers, held a seat in Parliament in addition to serving in the military. Although fairly unimpressive looking, Clinton was brilliant, and this brought him to the attention of his superiors even before the start of the Revolution. He often suggested plans that, if they had been followed, could have allowed the British army to flank and destroy the Americans. At Bunker Hill, he offered an alternative attack plan that might have resulted in enveloping American forces and reducing British losses. A superb strategist, Clinton believed that the key to winning the war was annihilating the Patriot forces, not just conquering territory.

The British army that landed on Staten Island in 1776 was one of the most proficient armed forces in the world. Its ranks were filled with volunteers who viewed the military as a career and had a great deal of experience, much like today's U.S. military. For example, the fifteen generals serving at the time averaged thirty years of service, and even the privates averaged nine years in the military. A substantial portion of the army consisted of seasoned combat veterans tested in the wilds of North America during the French and Indian War or in the killing fields of Europe during the Seven Years' War. Its members took pride in Britain's long history of imperial supremacy, leading one American to label it "the most arrogant army in the world."

By contrast, the American army was a mongrel group made up of amateurs. Ambrose Serle, private secretary to Admiral Richard Howe, sneered, "Their army is the strangest that was ever collected: old men of 60, boys of 14, and blacks of all ages, and ragged for the most part, compose the motley crew." The typical American soldier had less than six months of combat experience-or more likely, none at all. Unlike the long-serving British troops, the American generals averaged just two years of experience, while most of the rank and file had been serving on active duty for mere months.

The British army included a number of specialized departments covering everything from hospitals to engineers and quartermasters, making it one of the first global bureaucracies. British officers leading these departments and units differed greatly from their American counterparts, who were typically elected and were often responsible for raising their own troops. British leaders purchased their commissions, which weren't cheap. In a typical regiment, it could cost five hundred pounds sterling to become a lieutenant, fifteen hundred for a captaincy, twenty-six hundred to be a major, and thirty-five hundred to be named lieutenant colonel. As a result, most came from the upper ranks of British society. Becoming a British officer could also prove to be a pathway to wealth. Officers got to keep the pay for any of their men killed in battle, and some who served during the Revolutionary War made as much as eight hundred pounds, the equivalent of a senior officer's salary, in this manner.

But the heart of the British army was its regiments: each with its own identity. Made up of about four hundred to six hundred[6] troops, a regiment recruited its own members. While a few were pressed into service from prisons and given the choice of imprisonment or the army, most were common men-tradesmen, farmers, and laborers. Some sought adventure, and others enlisted to escape poverty and starvation. Several of the regiments had existed for more than a century and had impressive, proud battle histories. They possessed cherished traditions that they passed on to each member of the regiment. Many thought, and were encouraged to believe, that their unit was the best in the army. They also felt a deep -loyalty to their king that set them in firm opposition to the Americans they were battling. As one historian has noted, "For men on both sides who actually did the fighting, the war was not primarily a conflict of power or interest. It was a clash of principles in which they deeply believed." This army, highly motivated and imbued with its own principles and traditions, invaded the shores of Staten Island in the summer of 1776.

[6]. British regiments were normally divided into ten companies. They had a peacetime strength of thirty-five officers, twenty sergeants, thirty corporals, ten drummers (one per company), two fifers, and 380 privates. Understanding the challenge of fighting in America, Parliament typically increased a regiment's authorized strength by 200 men.

The grenadiers led the assault on Staten Island. Chosen for their immense size and strength, the grenadiers accentuated their impressive height with caps that made them look a foot taller. As the name suggests, men in the grenadiers originally carried grenades. However, at the time of the American Revolution, the grenades had fallen out of use, and the men carried muskets and bayonets like other British soldiers. Every infantry regiment had its grenadiers, who tackled the toughest jobs in battle-they led daring assaults and stormed the beaches during amphibious landings.

Disembarking alongside the grenadiers was another type of elite unit-the light infantry. Known as the Light Bobs, these soldiers were chosen not for their size, but for their endurance, intelligence, and mastery of firearms. Rather than the regimented drills of the regular army, these men practiced "leaping, running, climbing precipices, swimming, skirmishing through woods, loading and firing in different attitudes, and marching with remarkable rapidity." This was a relatively new concept of a military unit, first deployed during the French and Indian War, when British officers attempted to adopt some of the nimble fighting techniques of the American Indians. Based on that experience, General William Howe himself convinced the king to authorize the formation of light infantry companies within each regiment. These were some of the most battle-hardened and bloodied troops in the British army, having lost many men in the battles at Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill. The American army (including the Marylanders) later adopted light infantry.

The British also had light cavalry, known as the Light Dragoons. These were often gentleman warriors, highly educated and drawn from the upper crust of society. Originally formed to handle reconnaissance and scouting duties, they were later renowned for their charges. Typically, each carried a small arsenal: "two pistols, a short-barreled carbine, and a long cavalry sword." Their sabers, used for hacking and slashing, were among the most feared weapons of the war in the hands of an experienced rider. Well-armed and mounted on fast horses, these recently created units, which often fought dismounted, were a force to be reckoned with throughout the Revolutionary War.

The British forces on Staten Island also included several companies of the Royal Regiment of Artillery, equipped with seventy-two guns. Its members wore dark blue uniforms instead of red, and it promoted officers based on merit rather than allowing men to purchase commissions. Because getting a cannonball to reach its target was cutting-edge science at the time, they were among the most highly trained specialists in the British military. They studied mathematics, engineering, and chemistry at Woolwich Military Academy, affectionately known as the Shop. These artillerists brought with them a variety of field pieces: three-, six-, eight-, and twelve-pounders (so named for the weight of the cannonball), among many other sizes. A crew of several men manned each gun. For added mobility and to deal with the rough terrain of America, the artillerists also towed lighter, three-pound brass cannons known as grasshoppers that they utilized during the war.

The artillery fired a variety of projectiles. Solid shot was just that, iron spheres or cannonballs. Howitzers and mortars, artillery which lobbed high altitude shots at the enemy rather than firing directly, sometimes shot balls that had been hollowed out and filled with explosives. These shells had fuses that were ignited by the blast when fired. The artillerists carefully prepared the fuses to ignite the ball approximately when it hit the ground or for air bursts. In addition to single iron balls, cannons could also fire a "canister," a tin can filled with lead or iron balls which let out a terrible squeaking sound and acted like shotguns at close range. They used "grape," a canvas bag filled with lead or iron balls, resembling a bunch of grapes, for longer-range shots. Each type of ordnance had a devastating effect.

The invading forces included two armies within the army: the Scottish Highlanders and the Hessians. The Highlanders initially fought against the English during the failed Jacobite Rebellions between 1688 and 1746, but the British skillfully turned their former enemies into allies and integrated them into their army. Often extremely poor-though fiercely proud-these Gaelic-speaking clansmen were frequently recruited by and served with members of their own families. For this reason, the men were intensely loyal to their units. A typical Highlander viewed "any disgrace which he might bring on his clan or district as the most cruel misfortune." Most served for life, including one record-setting private who spent seventy-five years in the service. Dressed in kilts and heavily armed with muskets, bayonets, pistols, broadswords, and various knives, they cut an impressive figure and often struck fear into the hearts of their enemies.

Ten thousand Hessians arrived in New York in mid-August, the first of many who fought beside the British. Professional soldiers primarily from the Hesse region of Germany, the Hessians were "the largest suppliers of troops in the world, [and] also the most expensive." All together more than thirty thousand of them took part in the American Revolutionary War. The king compensated them well for their service, and officers and enlisted men alike expected to make their fortune fighting in America. One Hessian captain noted, "Never in this world was an army as well paid as this one during the civil war in America. One could call them rich." Looting was an expected benefit of service for some European soldiers, and in spite of repeated orders against it and strict punishments, opportunistic soldiers availed themselves of whatever booty they could acquire. This rampant looting undermined the Howe brothers' intended strategy of protecting the Loyalist population, who they incorrectly believed vastly outnumbered the insurgents.

Hessian boys registered with the military at age seven and came before the recruiters as teenagers to see if they would be needed in the army or would be considered "indispensable personnel" who were more valuable to the country as farmers, merchants, or skilled craftsmen. Many of the rank and file began life as peasants but enlisted because the pay was better than that of a farmworker or servant. Others were "expendable people"-bankrupt or unemployed men, some kidnapped and forced into service against their will. Discipline was brutal, as the officers often beat or hanged soldiers for various offenses. In some cases, they also inflicted punishments on soldiers' families at home. The result of this harshness was an army that obeyed orders immediately and unquestioningly. They were professional warriors who looked down on the American rebels.

With the arrival of the British fleet, George Washington faced a nearly impossible strategic situation. Surrounded entirely by water, New York was vulnerable to invasion by the British navy at every point, making it virtually indefensible. At the time, New York was home to around twenty thousand residents and had a sizable Loyalist population. The main thoroughfare was Broadway, a wide, tree-lined street with many houses and churches, while City Hall dominated Wall Street. A sound move would have been to evacuate the city, but that was politically untenable. Local leaders and the Continental Congress urged Washington to defend New York. Washington attempted to turn the city into a fortress, constructing forts and defensive works throughout Manhattan and on Long Island.

Washington also worked to build up the morale of his men, proclaiming in his general orders, "The time is near at hand which must probably determine whether or not Americans are to be free men or slaves…. The fate of unborn millions now depend, under God, on the courage… of this Army." His stirring words had the intended effect. One of his men wrote in a letter to his wife, "The whole army is in better spirits than I have known it at any time." He added, "Indeed, the city is now so strong, that in the present temper of our men, the enemy would lose half their army in attempting to take it."

At 6:00 p.m. on July 9, 1776, their spirits got another boost. The few Marylanders and the rest of Washington's army in New York assembled by unit at various parade grounds and common areas. They listened intently as the head of each brigade read aloud the Declaration of Independence. The men greeted the words with various cheers and "Huzzahs!" Shortly after the reading, a mob formed and marched down Broadway, where they tore down the lead-and gold-leaf-adorned equestrian statue of King George III. The Declaration effectively made traitors of all Americans who bore arms against the Crown.

Despite the rhetoric, the Howe brothers attempted to set up a peace summit to end the rebellion through negotiation. The meetings went nowhere because the Americans understood that the Howes had no power to negotiate an overarching treaty. Ambrose Serle succinctly summed up the only official meeting between the two governments till the end of the war: "They met, they talked, they parted."

The Battle of New York moved closer.

Chapter 7

Maryland Goes to War

Nearly seven hundred men strong, Smallwood's Battalion marched proudly into its nascent country's capital-Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. It was the middle of July 1776 and the Marylanders had traveled by barge up the Chesapeake, and marched on foot the rest of the way to the city to parade in front of the Continental Congress. An officer in the city at the time made note of the Marylanders' arrival, writing in his diary, "Never did a finer, more dignified, and braver body of men face an enemy. They were composed of the flower of Maryland, being young gentlemen, the sons of opulent planters, farmers and mechanics. From the colonel to the private, all were attired in hunting-shirts." Another of the city's residents agreed, noting, "Colonel Smallwood's battalion was one of the finest in the army, in dress, equipment, and discipline." They were distinguished by "the most macaroni cocked hat, and hottest blood in the Union." After a brief stay in the City of Brotherly Love, the Marylanders continued the long journey to join the forces already assembled in New York and arrived on July 30.

Smallwood's Battalion included not only men: wives, mothers, daughters, mistresses, and other assorted women marched along with the men, looking for safety and work. These camp followers, as they later became known, had a complicated relationship with the military hierarchy. Many of the officers despised having these women and their children along, believing that they distracted the soldiers, slowed their movements, and consumed food that could have fed the men. Others were more pragmatic, noting that the men might not continue to fight if they couldn't bring along their wives. Washington wrote that he "was obliged to give Provisions to the extra Women in these regiments, or lose by Desertion, perhaps to the enemy, some of the oldest and best Soldiers in the Service."

In addition, the camp followers provided valuable services for the Continental Army. Many worked as laundresses, earning rations and small fees for their labor. Others cooked for their husbands or paying customers, often the blacksmiths, wheelwrights, and other workmen who performed necessary tasks for the army. The army also employed many of the women as nurses in the field hospitals. Because this was one of the dirtiest and most dangerous occupations for women, the officers often had to bribe or coerce reluctant women to care for wounded and dying men. However, a few brave women volunteered for an even more perilous job: while working as cooks or laundresses in the British camps, they spied on the Redcoats' movements and brought back word of their plans to the Americans.

One woman who was soon traveling with Smallwood's Battalion as a camp follower was the beautiful Margaret Jane Peale Ramsay, known as Jenny, who was the wife of Nathaniel Ramsay and the sister of painter and ensign James Peale. "Having fondness for reading… she was refined in her intellect and she was beautiful in her person…. She had many admirers, some of them, afterwards became great note in the revolution." Mrs. Ramsay traveled in a small carriage with a servant and endured many of the hardships of army life in order to be with her husband. Her brother Charles Willson Peale noted, "She said she would rather be with the army whatever might be her suffering, than be at a distance and so much tormented, for if she was near the army in case of misfortunes she possibly might be aiding to help those most dear to her." Unlike many of the women accompanying Smallwood's Battalion, Jenny didn't perform manual labor. Instead, she acted as a hostess, and her tent or quarters became the center of social life for the officers: Samuel Smith, Jack Steward, Mordecai Gist, Benjamin Ford, and the other officers gathered where she set up camp. She wielded a considerable amount of influence; one fellow camp follower said to Mrs. Ramsay, "You can aid me in my many difficulties, for everybody seems to pay more regard to what you say than I have ever seen before."

After arriving in Manhattan, the battalion bivouacked on a hill about a mile outside the heart of the city (today's lower Manhattan), waiting for further orders, but the downtime soon began to wear on the men. Washington's hastily assembled army in New York began to diminish in number owing to desertion and sickness. Maryland Sergeant William Sands wrote in a letter to his parents, "We are advised to hold our Selves in Readyness we Expect an Attack hourly we have Lost a great many of our Troops They have deserted from us at Philadelphia and Elisabeth Town and a Great Many Sick in the Ospitals."[7] The enlisted men, like John Hughes and the McMillan brothers, William and Samuel, quickly adapted to the abysmal conditions of camp life in Manhattan.

[7]. Sands was killed in battle before his message could be delivered to his family.

Thousands of people bivouacked in such close proximity to one another, combined with a lack of discipline, produced sanitation problems with horrific results. In August, about 25 percent of the American army was listed as sick and unable to serve. Typhoid fever, dysentery, malaria, and other maladies spread rampantly throughout the filthy camps. The Maryland troops were no exception, and sickness greatly reduced their numbers. In an attempt to check the spread of disease, American officers, including General Nathanael Greene, tried to enforce sanitation rules, but to no avail. Greene, a thirty-four-year-old Rhode Islander and former Quaker, had been a successful businessman prior to the war. He stood about five-foot-ten and was broad-shouldered, although a childhood accident had left him with a stiff right leg and a pronounced limp. He also suffered from asthma. His piercing blue eyes radiated confidence, but beneath the veneer, Greene was very sensitive to criticism. A born leader, he was also a student of military history, which served him well. Joining the Rhode Island militia as a private, he quickly rose to the rank of general thanks to his keen mind and natural battlefield acumen. Over the course of the war, he became Washington's favorite general. On this occasion Greene's blossoming military genius was diverted to the practical basics of running an army. Greene noted the men "typically easing themselves in the ditches of the fortifications."

Venereal disease ran rampant. With so many soldiers encamped in New York and Long Island, the bordello district in Manhattan, known as the Holy Ground, mushroomed, pandering to the carnal needs of the men-even the most chaste. "The whores (by information) continue their employ, which is become very, very lucrative," recalled one observer. "Their unparalleled conduct is sufficient antidote against any desires that a person can have that has one spark of modesty or virtue left in him to blast atum [sic] must certainly be lost before he can associate with those bitchfoxy jades, jills, hags, strums, prostitutes, and these multiplied into one another." A New York City survey shortly after the war estimated that 20 percent of women of childbearing age were prostitutes. Tarts who entered the Maryland camp in an unauthorized manner could be seized. Then their heads were shaved, and they were drummed out of camp at a slow cadence known as the whore's march.

Smallwood's Battalion wasn't the only group of Marylanders that marched toward New York; the colony also sent 3,405 militiamen to serve as part of a "Flying Camp."[8] Established directly by the Continental Congress, the Flying Camp carried no heavy equipment so that it could move quickly to wherever it was needed-in this case, New York. Officials in Maryland agreed to provide the troops based on a couple of strict conditions: Flying Camp members from Maryland fought only in the area from their colony to New York (not New England), and their service expired on December 1, 1776. Eventually, many of the enlisted men and officers of the Flying Camp amalgamated into Smallwood's Battalion. On August 16, Maryland informed Congress, "We shall have near four thousand men with you in a short time [including independent companies and Smallwood's Battalion]…. We are sending all we have that can be armed and equipped, and the people of New York, for whome we have a great affection, can have no more than our all."

[8]. Joining the Flying Camp and Smallwood's Battalion, a number of independent Maryland companies also made their way toward New York. Several arrived and distinguished themselves; others never completed the journey. The latter category included Captain John Watkins, who left Maryland later than Smallwood and lingered in the City of Brotherly Love. One writer noted, "Capt. Watkins and his men we are sorry to inform you are on very ill terms, the Capt. has beat some of them, he says he had great cause, they say he had none, some of them have said nothing shall induce them to continue in the company under Capt. Watkins." He added that the captain "is addicted to Drink and his appearance at several Times we have seen him bespeaks it." The Maryland Council of Safety soon removed the inebriate officer.

The militiamen of the Flying Camp are largely a footnote in history and weren't as well trained or equipped as Smallwood's Battalion, but they produced several outstanding officers including Marylander John Eager Howard. Humble yet a charismatic leader, Howard was appointed captain of the Flying Camp's 2nd Battalion. The son of a prosperous farmer, the tall, handsome Howard had no military background, yet the Baltimore scion emerged as one of the great natural battlefield commanders of the Revolution. In his private life, he was known for his graciousness, "the amenity of his manners, his hospitality, and his extensive and useful knowledge." His memory for facts was quite remarkable, leading one person to call him "perhaps the most accurate repository of the history of his own time, in this or any other country." He was a very disciplined man, and "his habits of life were contemplative, cautious, scrupulously just, and regulated by the stricted method." He had many close friends, and one biographer noted, "Few men have enjoyed a more enviable lot: his youth distinguished in the field, his age in the council, and every period solaced by the attachment of friends." He "deserves a statue of gold no less than Roman and Grecian heroes," one newspaper later wrote. He officially joined the military when he put on his uniform in July 1776 at the age of twenty-four. Like the other officers in the Flying Camp, Howard was responsible for recruiting his own men. Although he was an exceptionally modest man, Howard was extremely popular in Baltimore and needed just one day to find all thirty men for his company.

Captain William Beatty from Frederick County, Maryland, who kept a diary throughout the war, "was apptd. an Ensign in ye flying Camp raised in the state of Md the 3d July." His father, also named William, served as a colonel in the American forces. The younger Beatty was just eighteen when he received his first commission as an officer, and he rose in rank steadily as the Revolution progressed.

Marching with Beatty and Howard was twenty-two-year-old Lawrence Everhart. Born of German parents near Frederick, Maryland, Everhart was "tall and brawny with powerful limbs" and "a noble countenance." He was also described as "having an eye beaming with the luster of genuine courage."

The Flying Camp reached New York City shortly after Smallwood's Battalion arrived. Congress named Brigadier General Rezin Beall as overall commander of the Maryland Flying Camp but designated no overall commander of Maryland forces. The two commanders began arguing between themselves almost immediately, disagreeing about who had the higher rank. The dispute continued to fester as the real battle was about to begin.

Chapter 8

The Storm Begins

"In a few minutes the entire heavens became black as ink, and from horizon to horizon, the whole empyrean was ablaze with lightning," recalled one observer who experienced the spectacular natural pyrotechnics on the night of August 21. "The lightning fell in massive sheets of fire to earth and seemed to strike incessantly and on every side." Legend holds that a single lightning bolt killed three American officers and "the tips of their swords and the coins in their pockets had been melted, their bodies as black as if roasted." The portentous storm seemed to serve as a prelude to the thunder of cannon and chatter of small arms that soon sounded throughout New York.

The next day after that violent storm, the British invasion of Long Island commenced, led by two frigates that tested American defenses as they sailed up the East River, largely unscathed. Admiral Richard Howe's secretary, Ambrose Serle, described the intimidating, yet breathtaking scene he encountered on the picturesque day, detailing the armada of "ships and vessels with their sails spread open to dry, the sun shining clear upon them, the green hills and meadows after the rain."

The first waves of roughly twenty-two thousand British troops began disembarking at Gravesend Bay on Long Island. Misinformed about the strength of the actual invasion, George Washington erroneously believed that only half that number had landed, that the amphibious landing on Long Island was a feint, and that the main blow would fall on Manhattan.

As the British and Hessian troops disgorged from their landing boats onto the island, they discovered a land of abundance. "The peach and apple trees are especially numerous [and] the furnishings in the [houses] are excellent. Comfort beauty and cleanliness are readily apparent," one soldier wrote. Serle watched with amusement as the troops "regaled themselves with fine apples, which hung everywhere in great abundance…. It was really diverting to see sailors and apples tumbling from the trees together." Most of America's colonists were of middling class and enjoyed a higher standard of living than the rest of the world. For many of the British, the perceived wealth and plentitude seemed to be proof that the colonists got rich off the Crown.

Howe's men made camp as additional reinforcements streamed in. Some fighting broke out, as Major Mordecai Gist noted: "The Enemy being now landed on Long Island and little Skirmishes happened [by the] lines." Washington rushed additional reinforcements, including Smallwood's Marylanders, across the East River toward the American defenses in Brooklyn, bringing American strength to about six thousand men.

Days earlier, before the British landings on Long Island, Nathanael Greene, who was helping oversee the preparations of the defenses, had fallen gravely ill. Washington replaced him with General John Sullivan, whose ability and leadership paled in comparison to Greene's. Worse, Sullivan didn't know the American defenses or Brooklyn's terrain. The vain New England lawyer was marked by an "over desire of being popular." Prior to the war, the forty-four-year-old Sullivan had handled foreclosures and had served with Washington in the Continental Congress. The abrupt change of command at the top was symptomatic of the chaos that reigned throughout the American camp. Unlike their well-ordered British counterparts, the Americans had "carts and horses driving every way among the army," wrote one observer. "Men marching out and coming in…. Small arms and field pieces continually firing. All in tumult."

General Washington inspected the defenses on Long Island. Concerned about Sullivan's ability to lead, Washington placed Israel Putnam, nicknamed Old Put, in charge of Sullivan on August 24, just days after calling in Sullivan to replace Greene. A veteran who served in Rogers' Rangers, a French and Indian War reconnaissance and early special-operations force whose tactics inspired many generations of warriors, Putnam was fifty-eight years old; his age led many of the troops to refer to him as "Granny." In the Battle of Bunker Hill on the outskirts of Boston on June 17, 1775, General Putnam had led the forces in the field and became famous for saying, "Don't fire, boys, until you can see the whites of their eyes." While the British captured the hill and expanded the territory under their control, the cost was high: 226 killed and 828 wounded. The Americans, by contrast, had around 140 killed and 310 wounded and were able to retreat and regroup after the battle, leaving themselves in a much better position. Clinton wrote, "A few more such victories would have shortly put an end to British dominion in America." Putnam's exploits throughout the war became the source of many legends. His appearance in Long Island was highly popular with the men but did nothing to curb the chaos in camp. Washington instructed Putnam to stop the "irregularities" and informed him, "The distinction between a well regulated army and a mob is the good order and discipline of the first, and the licentious and disorderly behavior of the latter."

As a forward defense, Washington instructed Old Put to position three thousand troops, including elements of Smallwood's Battalion, atop a wooded ridge of hills that cut through Brooklyn, known then as the Heights of Gowanus. Eighty feet high at points, the forested spur offered a natural defensive position to the Americans. One nineteenth-century historian wrote that they were "a continuous barrier, a huge natural abatis, impassible to artillery, where with proportionate numbers a successful defense could be sustained." On Washington's orders, Putnam sent his best men-led by General Sullivan and General Stirling (William Alexander)-forward on the wooded ridge; there they could meet the enemy in the trees, where they hoped to use the ground to their advantage. Another six thousand men remained in the fortifications at Brooklyn Heights. The Americans designed a collapsible defense: the Marylanders and other forward troops were to hold the British off as long as possible, inflict maximum casualties, and then fall back toward the forts on Brooklyn Heights. The American generals irrationally expected the green troops to somehow hold the six-mile forested ridgeline for an extended period of time and "at all hazards prevent the enemy's passing the wood." But the heavy foliage also limited the line of sight to a hundred feet and hampered communication among Patriot units. Putnam assigned the bulk of the Marylanders along the Gowanus Road, a key artery that hugged the shoreline of Brooklyn's Gravesend Bay. Sullivan had command of about one thousand troops and controlled the center of the Gowanus Heights near Flatbush. Eight hundred Pennsylvanians held the Bedford Road on the Americans' far left flank. The roads cut through three passes that the Patriots felt were defensible. A fourth pass, known as the Jamaica Pass, lay three miles north of the American left flank on the Bedford Road. It remained unguarded until the last minute, when five young militiamen on horseback were ordered to patrol Jamaica Pass. It was the blind spot in the American defenses. It was also exactly where General William Howe's main force was headed.

Chapter 9

The Battle of Brooklyn

Early on the morning of August 27, 1776, two British scouts drew closer to the Red Lion Inn in Brooklyn, near the present-day intersection of Fourth Avenue and Thirty-Fifth Street. Something off to the side of the road caught their eye. Despite the darkness of the night, they could discern twisting vines and the unmistakable bulbous green bulges of ripe watermelons. The fruit was uncommon in Britain and highly prized. A savvy innkeeper had planted the melon patch to woo the many tourists who came to see the area's attraction-a striking, otherworldly-looking indentation in a nearby rock that many claimed was the devil's hoofprint. The sharp-eyed observers were quick to attack the field in hopes of enjoying the harvest.

However, the Redcoat scouts weren't the only ones awake at eleven that night near the inn. Former British officer and Pennsylvanian physician Colonel Edward Hand had riflemen stationed as lookouts nearby. They fired a few rounds at the would-be thieves. With those shots, fired in the middle of a watermelon patch, the largest battle of the Revolution began.

The two Brits quickly retreated into the night unharmed, making their way back down the Gowanus Road until they linked up with the main British force commanded by General James Grant, a rotund, pompous, opinionated Scot who was a veteran of the French and Indian War. Grant was leading five thousand Redcoats toward the Marylanders and other American troops dug in on the Heights of Gowanus. He intended to pin down a large portion of the American army as part of General Henry Clinton's grand plan, essentially a large-scale hammer-and-anvil maneuver. The part of the anvil would be played by Grant's forces, which would attack the right side of the American line that included Marylander units deployed along the shore or Gowanus Road. A column of Hessians, under the command of General Leopold von Heister, would attack the center, located near today's Prospect Park, in an area now known as Battle Pass. Their goal was to distract the Patriots and keep them stationary-neither advancing nor retreating-while the main body of the British forces executed a long, sweeping flanking maneuver, going through the Jamaica Pass around the American defenses on the Heights of Gowanus. This third group, led by Clinton and William Howe, would serve as the hammer, pounding the Americans from the left and the rear and cutting off escape.

Clinton's plan went into motion around 9:00 p.m. on Monday, August 26. First to march were troops under the command of Howe and Clinton, a force of ten thousand men who were to circle around the Americans' left flank. In an attempt to disguise their intentions, the British left their tents pitched and their fires burning in the field where they had been camped. British light infantry led the way, moving through the countryside as silently as possible and detaining any witnesses who happened to see the movement of the troops. By one account, they also forced Long Island residents to act as guides. Eighty-seven-year-old William Howard claimed that Clinton and two aides burst into his tavern around two in the morning "and asked for something to drink [and] conversed with him." When the small talk was over, Clinton announced, "Now you are my prisoner, and must lead me across these hills out of the way of the enemy." The octogenarian did as instructed, guiding Howe's troops through the largely unguarded Jamaica Pass.

Grant's forces marched out of camp an hour or two after the main force. Alerted by his scouts to the presence of the Pennsylvanians in the Red Lion, Grant waited for nearly three hours before marching on the inn. Around two o'clock in the morning, the guard at the inn changed, with untested militiamen replacing the veteran riflemen. Seizing the opportunity, Grant sent about three hundred men in for the attack. The terrified militia fled almost immediately. Grant's force captured their commander, Major James Bond, and several others. Fortunately, the Americans managed to get a message about the attack through to General Israel Putnam. Although he had commanded brilliantly at the Battle of Bunker Hill, on this occasion Old Put misread the British intentions and took Howe's bait. He rode down from one of the forts on Brooklyn Heights to the American camp, located next to the Vechte-Cortelyou farmhouse[9] near the present-day junction of Fifth Avenue and Third Street, and woke Lord Stirling, who was the commander of the forces in the area.

[9]. The Vechte-Cortelyou house was named for its orginal owners, a wealthy Dutch family who farmed the area. A 1933 reconstruction of the building, which used the stones from the original structure, is now the Old Stone House Museum in the Park Slope neighborhood of Brooklyn.

Thirty-three-year-old Major Mordecai Gist woke to the sound of signal guns, and the drummers beat a call to arms. He was in command of the battalion because Colonel William Smallwood was in Manhattan attending a court martial. It was his first day of battle and would prove to be one of the most harrowing and monumental days of his life. Gist organized his men, and under Lord Stirling's command, they marched toward the Red Lion Inn to confront Grant.

Stirling's true name was William Alexander, but he was known as Lord Stirling because he claimed to be a Scottish earl (a claim the House of Lords did not recognize). Described as an "overweight, rheumatic, vain, pompous, gluttonous inebriate," Stirling was chronically in debt before the war, as were many of the leading voices of the Revolution. Like Putnam, Stirling fell for Grant's ruse. He later wrote, "I fully expected, as did most of my officers, that the strength of the British army was advancing in this quarter to our lines." Stirling's officers included Major Thomas McDonough, who took command of the Delaware Regiment while John Haslet was away serving court-martial duty. Commencing in Brooklyn and throughout most of the war, these two regiments would fight side by side.

Believing Grant's men were the main prong of the British attack, Old Put sent over a thousand troops-including the Marylanders and the Delaware Regiment-to confront them. Gist recalled rousing the men early: "We began our march to the right at three o'clock in the morning, with about 1,300 men, and about sunrise, on our near approach to the ground, discovered the enemy making up to it, and in a few minutes our advanced parties began the attack." As the first light of dawn came "with a Red and angry Glare," Gist positioned his men to meet the oncoming British army and they "immediately advanced and took possession of the ground and formed a line of battle. In the meantime, [the British] began warm fire with their artillery and light infantry, from their left, while the main body was forming in columns to attack us in the front." Clinton's plan was working: Grant diverted the Americans' attention from Howe's and Clinton's flanking action through the Jamaica Pass. Once through the pass, Howe and Clinton were to swing around and encircle the Marylanders and other Americans on Gowanus Heights.

After marching over a mile west to confront the British, Stirling deployed his men in an inverted V, something Frederick the Great of Prussia called the kettle. The arms of the V stretched outward in an attempt to envelop Grant's force as it pushed ahead. Grant initially pelted the Americans with artillery. The Marylanders were on the right flank on top of a hill near what is now Green-Wood Cemetery.

On top of the small hill, several companies of Smallwood's Marylanders successfully withstood the British cannonade-exactly as Grant had hoped. One participant wrote that Lord Stirling "immediately drew up in a line, and offered them battle in the true English taste." The British advanced to within three hundred yards, and British ships in the bay bombarded the American line with cannon fire, leading former lawyer turned battle captain Nathaniel Ramsay to exclaim, "Both the balls and shells flew very fast, now and then taking off a head." He added, "Our men stood it amazingly well, not even one showed a disposition to shrink. Our orders were not to fire till the enemy came within 50 yards of us: but when they perceived we stood their fire so coolly and resolutely, they declined coming any nearer, though treble our number." Captain Enoch Anderson of the Delaware Regiment wrote, "We gave them a fair fire,-every man leveled well. I saw one man tumble from his horse,-never did I take better aim at a bird,-yet I know not that I killed any or touched any."

To bolster the courage of the Americans, who were now vastly outnumbered, Stirling addressed his men. He spoke of Grant, who had little respect for the American troops facing him and had once boasted before the House of Commons that with five thousand men he could march from one end of the American continent to the other. Stirling shouted, "[Grant] may have 5,000 men with him now-we are not so many-but I think we are enough to prevent his advancing further on his march over the continent than that mill pond."

As the battle wore on, the two lines of men remained in position without advancing from sunrise until late in the morning, when the true nature of the British plan began to reveal itself.

Gist, commanding Smallwood's Battalion, then noticed a fateful pause: "Our men behaved well, and maintained their ground until ten o'clock, when the enemy [Grant's men] retreated about 200 yards and halted, and the firing on each side ceased."

The Marylanders realized to their horror that they were flanked. "We soon heard the fire on our left, and in a short time discovered part of our enemy in our rear." Gist continued, "Surrounded, and [with] no probability of reinforcement, his Lordship [Stirling] ordered me to retreat with the remaining part of our men, and force our way through our camp."

Clinton's flanking maneuver was unfolding like clockwork. Thanks to their hard marching and good reconnaissance, and to poor American positioning, Howe and Clinton had penetrated deep behind American lines. At 9:00 a.m., twelve hours after the attack commenced, two heavy cannon released massive blasts. This was the prearranged signal for Grant and the Hessians to unleash their assaults on the American right flank (Stirling) and the center (John Sullivan).

General Leopold von Heister and the Hessians approached the heart of the American lines on the Gowanus Heights under Sullivan's command. To dislodge Sullivan's men, the Germans assembled in an open field in front of the pass. The impressive show of force included three Hessian brigades that formed a line nearly a mile long. At the sound of Clinton's guns, the German onslaught began "with colors flying, to the music of drums and hautboys as if they were marching across Friedrich's Platz at Cassel…. They did not fire a shot, but pressed steadily forward until they could employ their bayonets." Surging ahead, the Hessians broke through Sullivan's men and ruthlessly butchered many of the hapless Americans. When they found groups of stragglers in the woods, they often circled around them, lowered their bayonets, and then slowly tightened the circle, often killing all those inside.

Less than a mile west of Sullivan's position, Gist and his men desperately fought back toward the Patriot forts on Brooklyn Heights. A British sergeant and "ten or fifteen grenadiers" taken prisoner by Maryland scouts brought in the alarming news "that the left and the main body of the Americans had been Defeated, and that they, themselves, had been scouring the field for stragglers," recalled Samuel Smith. This was their first real taste of close combat.

As the regiment broke down into files of men, it is very likely the companies became separated from the main body of the battalion. "When the regiment had mounted a hill, a British officer appeared as if alone, waved his hat, and it was supposed he meant to surrender. He clapped his hands three times, on which signal his company rose and gave a heavy discharge. The three companies in front broke. Captain Smith wheeled his company into [position], and was advancing, when he was ordered by Lord Stirling to form in line."

Gist recalled the incident from a different vantage point: "We soon fell in with a party of the enemy, who clubbed their firelocks, and waved their hats to us, as if they meant to surrender as prisoners; but on our advancing within sixty yards, they presented their pieces and fired, which we returned with so much warmth that they soon quitted their post and retired to a large body that was lying in ambuscade." One of the men from Ramsay's company added, "They entirely overshot us, and killed some men away behind in our rear. I had the satisfaction of dropping one of them the first fire I made."

With the enemy converging on all sides, Gist and about five companies of Marylanders pushed through their original bivouac area near today's Fourth Avenue and Third Street.

Heavy enfilading fire, also known as flanking fire, pelted the Marylanders from both sides until the Americans "came to the marsh [and a stone house], where [the main force] were obliged to break their order, and escape as quick as they could to the edge of the creek, under a brisk fire."

"During this interval," recalled Gist, the main force "retreated from our left into a marsh."

Stirling ordered the bulk of his men to plunge into the marsh at the present-day site of the Gowanus Canal and swim eighty yards across the swift current of Gowanus Creek to reach the relative safety of the American defenses on Brooklyn Heights. Compounding their difficulty, the Americans had destroyed the only other likely avenue for retreat-a bridge that crossed the marsh and creek-to prevent the British from using it. Another obstacle also stood in the way of the right wing of the American army's retreat: a stone house and its grounds occupied by hundreds of British troops led by one of Britain's greatest captains of battle, Charles Edward Cornwallis V (Earl, later Marquess, Cornwallis).

The son of an earl, Cornwallis was born in London and had a very aristocratic upbringing, including schooling at Eton and Cambridge. When he was eighteen, he became a member of the prestigious Grenadier Guards and found that he loved the army. While still a young man, he also became a member of the House of Lords, through which he gained connections that furthered his military career. His physical appearance was considered fairly unattractive. Thanks to a sports injury, one of his eyes looked unusual, and he was, by his own description, "rather corpulent" with a double chin. By contrast, his wife, whom he loved dearly, was known for her beauty. Eager for battle, he volunteered to serve in the Seven Years' War, in which he served with distinction and was noted for his gallantry in battle. He also volunteered for service in putting down the American uprising, even though he was one of only six lords in Parliament who voted against the Stamp Act. A soldier's soldier, Cornwallis led from the front and on several occasions had his horse shot out from under him. Almost recklessly brave, the earl was the perfect embodiment of his regiment's motto, Virtutis fortuna comes ("Fortune is the companion of courage"). Yet he saw to his men's needs, often generously paying for their equipment and provisions out of his own pocket. After the American Revolution, he led British forces in India to defeat Tipu Sultan. As a reward, he received a staggering fortune of tens of thousands of pounds sterling, which he gave to his men.

Howe had placed Cornwallis in command of the light infantry that had spearheaded the flanking maneuver. Knowing that Cornwallis and his men were positioned in the stone house, Stirling ordered a suicidal preemptive strike to buy time for the right wing of the American army to escape. "I found it absolutely necessary to attack a body of troops commanded by Lord Cornwallis, posted at the [Vechte-Cortelyou] house near the Upper Mills," Stirling recounted to Washington, "This I instantly did, with about half of Smallwood's [Battalion], first ordering all the other troops to make the best of their way through the creek." Gist recalled, "We were then left with only five companies of our battalion."

A single structure and the full weight of an entire dug-in British division separated the right wing of the American army from the fortifications at Brooklyn Heights.

Cornwallis's men trained their muskets and a light cannon on the advancing Marylanders.

"Fire!"

The fusillade dropped many of the men in their tracks, severing limbs and heads, killing several instantly. Undeterred, the men of Gist's companies formed into lines and charged into the hail of fire coming from the British soldiers in the Vechte-Cortelyou house.

That scene repeated itself several times as the Marylanders battled to allow their retreating countrymen to escape. "We continued the attack a considerable time," recalled Stirling, "the men having been rallied and the attack renewed… several times."

Gist noted that after the first attack "our little line became disordered we were under the necessity of retreating to a piece of woods on our right, where we formed and made a second attack." Keeping many of these men togther were the NCOs, such as towering Sergeant Gassaway Watkins. The Marylanders fearlessly surged again into a rain of deadly lead. Nathaniel Ramsay noted, "Our men fought with more than Roman valor."

During the battle, Stirling brazenly "encouraged and animated our young soldiers with almost invincible resolution," recalled Gist. The self-styled earl was buoyant, believing he and his men were on the point of driving Lord Cornwallis from the house, when heavy British reinforcements arrived. After the Hessians broke through Sullivan's defenses, they attacked the Marylanders. They linked up with Cornwallis's Highlanders and assaulted the Marylanders from the rear, while Grant's forces pushed in the front. Gist reflected, "Surrounded on all sides by at least 20,000 men, we were drove with precipitation and confusion."[10] Gist, Smith, Jack Steward, and Ramsay, best friends, found themselves in the fight of their lives, eerily living out Agamemnon's prophetic letter to the Independent Company of February 1775. Maryland's -finest-rich and poor alike-lay dead and dying all around.

[10]. Gist's estimate of the enemy's strength is obviously too high. Written immediately after the battle, Gist's words are an artifact that conveys his sense of the overwhelming odds he faced. One of the Redcoats added, "The Americans fought bravely, and (to do them justice) could not be broken till they were greatly outnumbered and taken in flank, front, and rear."

In their triumph, the British showed no mercy, taking few prisoners. One Redcoat officer noted, "The Hessians and our brave Highlanders gave no quarters; and it was a fine sight to see with what alacrity they dispatched the rebels with their bayonets, after we had surrounded them so they could not resist. We took care to tell the Hessians that the rebels had resolved to give no quarter-to them in particular,-which made them fight desperately, and to put to death all that came into their hands." Another of the Redcoats added, "We were greatly shocked at the massacre made by the Hessians and Highlanders after victory was decided."

Many of these brave soldiers, including brothers William and Samuel McMillan, bore the brunt of the vicious German and Highlander juggernaut. Born in Scotland and raised in Harford County, Maryland, the McMillan brothers were fierce supporters of the Revolution, and both served in the militia before becoming noncommissioned officers in Smallwood's Battalion. Caught in the vortex of the melee, William later wrote, "My captain was killed, first lieutenant was killed, second lieutenant shot through [the] hand." The Hessians also killed two corporals and two sergeants in the company, "one in front of me [at the] same time my bayonet was shot off my gun." McMillan described the harrowing nature of the battle, including a "perty severe fight." He went on to give the details of when things started to collapse, saying, "We were surrounded by healanders [Scottish Highlanders] one side, hessians on the other." Eventually, "my Brother and about-50 or 60 of us was taken."

Private John Hughes and Captain Barton Lucas, the commanding officer of the 3rd Company, barely escaped with their lives; in all, only seven of the sixty-man company survived. The remainder were killed or captured, including Gist's close friend William Sterrett. The entire Maryland Line, including Gist, thought that Sterrett was killed in action. A death notice appeared in the Maryland Gazette, and Gist wrote to express his sympathy to Sterrett's sister Polly, who later became Gist's wife. In reality, Sterrett was stripped of his belongings and taken prisoner by the Hessians. The Americans were cut off from the retreat by Cornwallis, and Gowanus Creek remained the only avenue of escape for any not crushed between the British and Hessian forces. The waters of the bay were at high tide, making the creek and adjoining marshes nearly impassable. The men had to wade and swim through waist-and often neck-deep water, while trying to evade the British fire. In the heat of the battle, one American looked back at Gist and claimed he and his determined band of Marylanders were all that stood between the British and the Continental Army's annihilation, "Major Gist [and his men] kept the ground, while the rest of the brigade crossed a creek…. The major and his party were drove, and I expected never to see them again."

Standing next to Smallwood, who had just returned from a court-martial held in Manhattan, and peering through his spyglass from a nearby hill located behind fortifications in the American lines, George Washington was visibly moved by the courage and great sacrifice of the Marylanders. According to one account, "Gen. Washington wrung his hands, and cried out, 'Good God! What brave fellows I must this day lose!'"

To cover the retreating Americans as they swam for their lives, Smallwood asked Washington for permission to bring up two cannons drawn from recently acquired reinforcements. Captain Thomas's Maryland Independent Company, including Lieutenant Jack Steward, had arrived in Brooklyn with Smallwood earlier that morning, and they, along with a regiment of Connecticut soldiers, provided covering fire.

According to sixteen-year-old Connecticut Private Joseph Plumb Martin, who maintained a valuable diary throughout the Revolution and who fought alongside the Marylanders in several battles, the men came "out of the water and mud, to us, looking like water-rats." Many Marylanders suffocated or drowned. Smallwood added, "Most of those who swam over, and others who attempted to cross before the covering party got down, lost their arms and accoutrements in the mud and creek, and some fellows their lives." In an effort to prevent more drowning, Captain Samuel Smith, in command of the 8th Company in Smallwood's Battalion, made the swim not just once, but several times. "He and a sergeant swam over and got two slabs into the water on the ends of which they ferried over all who could not swim."

Ramsay could not swim, but his great height of six-foot-three saved his life. He had to "hold up his chin to keep the water from running into his mouth." Ramsay's brother-in-law, Ensign James Peale, lost his shoes while swimming the morass. Another one of the Marylanders who survived near-drowning was orginal cadet Ensign Bryan Philpot. His son later retold his father's ordeal: "[My father spoke] of the retreat after the battle in which he was obligated to swim a creek, and of the difficulty with which he escaped drowning from the struggles of a soldier who was also in retreat." He added, "[My father] describe[d] his feelings on first going into an engagement and [I have] heard him tell of a wounded soldier who was sitting by a tree by his side during a battle when a cannonball shot away the top of his head." Another soldier reported that the body of the decapitated man went flying through the air and knocked down one of the officers. Despite the omnipresent slaughter, some Marylanders managed to escape across the marsh and creek, including the intrepid Major Gist. He recalled, "A party retreated to the right through the woods, and Captain Ford and myself, with 20 others, to the left, through a marsh; nine only of us got safe in."

Many others did not make the crossing and were killed or -captured-which was also a virtual death sentence. Smith summed up the depth and breadth of their sacrifice: "The men were surrounded, and almost all killed, for the Hessians gave no quarter on that day. The loss of the regiment was about 250; the residue got off, as best they could." The Marylanders lost many men whose names remain unrecorded. One known officer who lost his life that day was Captain Edward Veazey, an original member of Smallwood's Battalion who raised his own company. Another Marylander chronicled the carnage: "Captain Veazey is dead. Lieutenants Butler, Sterrett, Wright, Fernandis and deCoursey, with about 250 of our battalion are missing." The Marylanders had sustained some of the highest losses of any of the units that had entered the battle.

Those who escaped with their lives that day included William Chaplin, who was born in Colchester, England, and ran a plantation in Maryland. Chaplin, who still harbored loyalty to the Crown, was one of the lucky ones, as most of the men from his company were wounded or killed.

The Marylanders' brother regiment, the Delaware Blues, suffered fewer casualties during the battle, but its commander, Colonel John Haslet, reported that the regimental colors were brought back "torn with shot." With his ranks reduced, Stirling attempted to make his way off the battlefield but "soon found it would be in vain to attempt to make my escape, and therefore went to surrender myself to General De Heister, commander in chief of the Hessians." Cornwallis later praised him, noting, "General Stirling fought like a wolf."

The Marylanders' desperate, doomed charge on Cornwallis brought salvation for what was left of Stirling's command and the right wing of the American army, giving them a precious window of time in which to escape. It also tied up Grant's and Cornwallis's forces, which united could have been used to assault the American defenses on Brooklyn Heights. The Marylanders who participated in that unorthodox assault became known as the Maryland 400, or the Immortal 400. With their blood, the Immortals bought "an hour, more precious to American liberty than any other in its history." The Marylanders' stand chewed up daylight on the afternoon of August 27 and bought Washington time, preventing the British from uniting the various wings of their army to make a combined assault on the Brooklyn defenses during the day. Each hour that ticked by was an hour closer to darkness. Howe had a new army. This was their first battle, and night assaults were difficult for even the most experienced army in the eighteenth century.

Had Howe pressed the attack on the forts that afternoon, his victory likely would have been total. The war might have ended that day. It was one of the few times in the Revolution when all the circumstances were aligned for a crushing British victory. The British would have captured the bulk of the American army, including possibly even Washington and his top commanders. That could have snuffed out the Revolution, turning it into little more than a footnote in the history of the British Empire. However, a series of circumstances and actions gave Washington's forces another chance to survive.

Howe assumed he had time and the weather on his side. He had not only won a great battle: he was also convinced that he had trapped the bulk of the American army on Brooklyn Heights and that there was ample time to destroy it with minimal British losses. The Royal Navy was in position to prevent Washington's retreat across the East River, leaving the Americans effectively bottled up in their fortifications. Washington's army-and arguably the outcome of the entire war-remained at risk.

Chapter 10

Escape from Long Island

After the Immortals' ultimate sacrifice, the British drove what was left of Stirling's brigade to the forts on Brooklyn Heights, "The enemy came within 150 yards of our fort, but were repulsed with great loss. We expected another attack today, but they are preparing, by their movements to give us a cannonade…. I hear the thunder of cannon and the roar of musketry, so I believe the attack has begun," wrote one of the few surviving Marylanders.

All night, stragglers from the Heights of Gowanus trickled into the American fortifications on Brooklyn Heights. The toll of the Battle of Brooklyn, also known as the Battle of Long Island, was staggering. By Smallwood's reckoning, 256 Maryland men and officers were killed or missing. The victorious British army sprawled out over a mile and a half before the American defenses, but it was exhausted after a night of marching and a day of battle. The men were tired and hungry. The British had defeated Washington's forward defense, but their victory could have been crushing. Perhaps mindful of the severe losses sustained on Bunker Hill, and of the delay caused by the Marylanders' stand, General William Howe made his fateful decision and ordered his men to halt instead of storming the American defenses. "It required repeated orders to prevail upon them to desist from the attempt."

Connected by over a mile of trenches, the five American forts that occupied high ground would have been difficult to take by direct assault. One British officer summed up the situation, noting, "We had no fascines to fill ditches, no axes to cut abatis, and no scaling ladder to assault so respectable a work. Lines were a mile and a half [in] extent, including angles, cannon-proof, with a chain of fine redoubts, or rather fortresses with ditches, as half a line the intervals; the whole surmount with a most formidable abatis finished in every part." Consisting of sharpened logs that faced outward, an abatis was the eighteenth-century equivalent of barbed wire. Men needed to pierce it with axes before any assault could go forward. While the defenses weren't insurmountable, overcoming them would take time and expose assaulting parties to fire. Howe looked upon his men as a precious resource that he didn't want to spend foolishly. After the battle at Bunker Hill, he wrote, "When I looked to the consequences of it, in the loss of so many brave Officers, I do it with horror-the Success is too dearly bought."

Rather than command a headlong frontal assault, Howe ordered his men to begin preparations for a formal siege. Half of his men acted as trench guards, while the other half started digging zigzagged trenches that methodically pushed toward the American lines. To finish off the Patriots, Howe planned to use his brother's warships in the East River to seal the fate of the American army. As Howe's coup de grace unfolded, dark clouds rolled in. Cold rain fell in sheets, filling the trenches with ankle-to waist-deep water. Hail fell as lightning flashed, and a massive nor'easter pelted the American and British lines. American Private Joseph Plumb Martin recalled, "There fell a very heavy shower, which wet us all to the skin and much damaged our ammunition." The entire battlefield became a sea of mud. The rain hindered the work on the trenches and also created conditions for another timely weather event.

In the midst of the downpour, the strain of battle began to take a toll on the citizen-soldiers. John Hughes, a twenty-six-year-old Marylander from Frederick County who served in Captain Barton Lucas's 3rd Company, recalled that Lucas found the losses particularly difficult to bear. In an application for a pension[11] made after the war, Hughes stated "that at the Battle of [Brooklyn] his Capt. Barton Lucas became deranged in consequence of losing his company… all of whom except seven were killed or taken prisoner." Other nervous soldiers fired their weapons indiscriminately. "Troops fired off their Guns quite till Evening so that it seemed indeed dangerous to walk within our own lines," said one of the men.

[11]. Beginning in the early part of the nineteenth century, surviving American veterans of the Revolutionary War could apply for a pension. The veterans would typically go to the local courthouse and swear under oath the details of their military service. The level of detail varied from cursory to exhaustive. At times, the local officials would also ask questions such as the names of the applicants' officers or the names of other men in their units. Supporting affidavits from other veterans were sometimes attached. This book drew extensively on these raw, boots-on-the-ground stories of the Revolution.

From within the walls of a spacious mansion on Brooklyn Heights known as the Four Chimneys, George Washington convened a council of war and looked out upon his waterlogged troops from the windows of the estate. It had rained "so much that the Trenches, Forts, Tents, & Camp… overflowed with water." As the deluge continued and lightning arced across the sky, he asked his seven general officers from the Brooklyn Heights defenses what their next move should be. Washington's officers doubted whether an evacuation was possible. The East River was a mile wide and had swift currents. Not realizing that the storm winds had prevented the Royal Navy from sailing upriver and getting behind the American defenses in Brooklyn Heights, the generals believed their forces were vulnerable to attack by land and sea if they tried to cross over to Manhattan. In light of the dangers, General Israel Putnam argued that the men should remain behind their fortifications and fight.

Washington put an end to the debate by ordering an evacuation. Realizing the importance of secrecy and knowing that a single traitor could cause the downfall of the entire operation, he ordered that nobody be told the true nature of the plan outside a small circle of his principal lieutenants. All available boats were to carry additional reinforcements to Brooklyn, bringing his total force up to ninety-five hundred. Fortunately, these reinforcements included mariners and fisherman from Marblehead, Massachusetts, led by Colonel John Glover. Clad in short blue coats and white waterproof trousers, the Marblehead Mariners were expert sailors, ideal for coordinating the amphibious evacuation. The remaining Marylanders along with Haslet's Delaware Regiment received the honor of forming the rear guard.[12] Smallwood recalled that his men "had but one day's respite" when Washington ordered them to "the advanced post at Fort Putnam, within two hundred and fifty yards of the enemy's approaches."

[12]. Also in the rear guard was the 1st New York, with its 120 grenadiers, each of whom carried six hand grenades, which were about the size of a cricket ball and filled with gunpowder.

About 7:00 p.m., the evacuation began. Purposely keeping the men in the dark about the withdrawal, the officers ordered them to gather their arms and packs and told them that they were going to conduct a night attack against the enemy. Initially, the East River was swirling, and the tide was rough, making it impossible for boats to cross. Somehow, ninety-five hundred men and their equipment would have to pass over the East River under the eyes of the British.

Fortuitously, around 11:00 the wind changed and blew in a favorable direction for the Americans. In the beginning, only ten boats were available for the evacuation. They miraculously found more men, but the vessels would have to be stuffed to the gills, crammed with men and equipment in order to get everyone over before daybreak. When the boats were fully loaded, the gunwales rode only three inches above the water. After the shift in the weather, the river was "remarkably still, the water smooth as glass." An eerie silence prevailed upon Brooklyn. Using cloth-covered oars to muffle the sound, Glover and the Marblehead Mariners made countless two-mile round-trips across the river, delivering Americans to safety. When the wind became more favorable overnight, they put up sails as well to propel the boats as quickly and quietly as possible.

Near 2:00 a.m. the surreal silence was broken along the battlefield by a booming explosion. It is possible the detonation was an accidental discharge of a cannon that the Americans had spiked to prevent its use by the British. One eyewitness recalled, "The effect was at once alarming and sublime." When no further fire erupted, the ferrying operation continued.

An hour later, a misdirected order almost blew the entire evacuation. General Thomas Mifflin, a former Quaker from Pennsylvania who was the American army's first quartermaster general, ordered his rear guard out of position earlier than requested. Hundreds of men were about to flood the ferry site.[13] Still on the Brooklyn side, General Washington confronted Mifflin, saying, "Good God! General Mifflin, I am afraid you have ruined us by so unseasonably withdrawing troops from the line!" Fortunately, the British did not notice their absence, and the men returned to their positions without incident. The evacuation went on.

[13]. Today, the spot is near the base of the Brooklyn Bridge next to an elegant riverside restaurant.

Shortly before sunrise, panic began to set in at the embarkation point. While many of the Americans had successfully made it across the river, all too many remained behind in Brooklyn. As light broke, it was difficult if not impossible to hide what was happening from the enemy. Crowds of men surged toward the remaining boats. Washington himself took control of the situation. One of his aides recalled that the commander in chief picked up a large stone, raised it over his head, and ordered the disorderly men to leave the boat. Otherwise, he would "sink it to hell." Word spread of Washington's leadership, and the retreat proceeded in a more orderly fashion.

On the British side, Howe's forces became suspicious. Around 4:00 a.m., Captain John Montresor, Howe's chief engineer and a veteran of the French and Indian War, led a patrol that stumbled upon empty American breastworks. In addition, a Tory woman sent her black slave to alert the British, but the slave was captured and detained by Hessian soldiers for several hours. Somehow, word of neither incident reached Howe.

Amazingly, the weather changed again. A thick fog blew in, masking the ongoing evacuation. One officer near the Marylanders recalled, "Those of us who remained in the trenches became anxious for our own safety. And when the dawn appeared there were several regiments still on duty. At this time, a very dense fog began to rise and seemed to settle in a particular manner over both encampments. I recollect this particular Providential occurrence perfectly [well]; and so very dense was the atmosphere that I could scarcely discern a man at six yards' distance."

What remained of Samuel Smith's 8th Company was very nearly left behind in the evacuation at Fort Putnam. Unaware of the timing of the planned retreat, Captain Smith's men stayed near the fortifications. "One of the corporals informed Captain Smith that he had been up and down the lines, and not a man was to be seen." Concerned, the captain sent out two lieutenants to continue the search. "On their return they reported that all the troops had gone, where they knew not." Smith ordered the company into the main redoubt, believing that the rest of Washington's army had abandoned them, leaving them behind "as a forlorn hope." His fears were allayed, however, when a lieutenant arrived and told him of the ordered retreat and that the rest of "the regiment was, by that time, in New York." Smith and his men hurried to the river, passing General Washington on the way. The general asked the young Baltimore captain "how it happened he was so late; and he answered he had received no orders until a few minutes past." Luckily, the Marylanders arrived in the nick of time. They climbed into the very last boat to leave shore, "and had scarcely got off from the wharf, when the British Light horse appeared on the hill and fired their carbines without doing any injury to [us]."

The Battle of Brooklyn was a disastrous defeat for Washington. He later estimated American losses at about one thousand men killed or captured, with the majority of the casualties being taken as prisoners. Many of those losses came from the Marylanders. More than half of Smallwood's Battalion was either killed or captured. Those that were captured were almost certain to die in the hulls of prison ships in New York harbor. The British and Hessians lost a small fraction of that number.

But as dawn broke on August 30, Washington had avoided a far worse fate. He had pulled off one of the greatest military retreats in history, giving the Americans a precious chance to regroup.

Chapter 11

Manhattan

On September 15, 1776, the American sentries on duty at Kips Bay, near today's Thirty-Fourth Street on the East Side of Manhattan, looked out into the dark, heavy gloom. As dawn slowly transformed the sky from black to gray, shadows began to take shape on the waters of the East River.

Nearly as one, the British frigates and other warships fired a -seventy-gun broadside at the Patriot defenses, blasting them to bits. The Americans had a series of trenches and breastworks anchored on the high hill at Iclenburg, later known as Murray Hill. "All of a sudden there came such a peal of thunder from the British shipping that I thought my head would go off with the sound, recalled Private Thomas Plumb Martin. "I made a frog's leap for the ditch and lay as still as I possibly could, and began to consider which part of my carcass would go first."

Gradually as the scene unfolded, Martin and the other Americans saw, to their horror, what approached the Manhattan coast: an armada of flat-bottomed boats carrying British soldiers filled the horizon as far as the eye could see.

After a pause of more than two weeks following their decisive victory in Brooklyn, the British were finally making an amphibious landing at Kips Bay. Panicked by the sudden attack, the Americans began to flee. When word reached Washington, the general rode into the vortex of the battle in a vain attempt to stop the streams of men fleeing for their lives. It was William Smallwood's first time in the thick of actual combat since the French and Indian War. The portly, taciturn officer groused,

I have often read and heard of instances of cowardice, but hitherto have had but a faint idea of it, 'till now I never could have thought human nature subject to such baseness-I could wish the transactions of this day blotted out of the Annals of America,-nothing appeared but flight, disgrace, and confusion, let it suffice to say that 60 light infantry upon first fire put to flight two brigades of Connecticut troops.

Normally cool and deliberate, George Washington became unhinged. "Wretches, who, however strange it may appear, from the Brigadier General down to the Private Sentinel, were caned and whip'd by the Generals Washington Putnam & Miflin," recalled Smallwood, "but even this Indignity had no Weight they could not be brought to stand one Shot." In a related incident, William Beatty noted that "a New England Captain Was Dressed in Woman's apparel arm'd With a Wooden gun & Sword & [was] Drum'd out of the army for Cowardice."

Cowardice wasn't the only crime attributed to the American soldiers. Two Marylanders, William Arnold and Sam Clark, along with a member of the New York regiment, were accused of plundering the Manhattan mansion of Lord Stirling. When Washington found out about the incident days later, he ordered the three "to restore to the Quarter Master General, what they have taken, in failure whereof they will certainly be hanged." The two Marylanders were released, owing to insufficient evidence, but the New Yorker was sentenced to thirty-nine lashes.

Waves of British soldiers stormed ashore and fought against token resistance as they pushed inland toward their first objective: Murray Hill. In the midst of the unfolding disaster, Washington became catatonic in an open field with dozens of British soldiers only eighty yards away. Nathanael Greene remembered that the general became "so vexed at the infamous conduct of his troops that he sought death rather than life." Eventually an aide pulled the general from the field of battle.

With the British advancing into Manhattan, thousands of American troops abandoned their defenses in the southern portion of the city. After seizing Murray Hill with virtually no fight, an advance party of British light infantry got as far as what's now the site of the New York Public Library on Forty-Second Street. But rather than cut off the retreating Patriots or strike north, Howe stopped.

The reason for the temporary halt isn't completely clear, but according to legend, a local Quaker woman named Mary Lindley Murray may have played a role. Sympathetic to the American cause, Mrs. Murray is said to have invited Howe and the other officers to eat in her home in order to give the Patriots time to escape. She and her daughters reportedly used their charms to keep the officers entertained, while a maid kept watch from an upstairs window and let the women know when Washington's men had gotten away safely.

While Mrs. Murray's seduction may have played a role, some historians doubt that the invitation to eat-given by a mother of twelve in her fifties-was the entire reason for Howe's delay. A more practical consideration may have caused Howe to halt the army. According to General Henry Clinton, Howe issued an order to wait for reinforcements from a second wave of British and Hessian troops coming ashore. As soon as the second debarkation took place, Howe and Cornwallis resumed their pursuit of the Americans fleeing north. Washington called upon the Marylanders to make a desperate stand, this time around Ninety Sixth Street and Fifth Avenue near today's Central Park. The Marylanders dug in behind rocks and the hilly ground of McGowan's Pass, where the Post Road, the main artery for escape, ran between two hills before emptying into Harlem. "Washington expressly sent and drew our Regiment from its Brigade, to march down toward New York, to cover the Retreat…. [We took] Possession of an Advantageous Eminence near the Enemy upon the Main Road, where we remained under Arms the best part of the Day, till Sergant's Brigade came in with their Baggage, who were the last Troops coming in," reported Smallwood, "upon which the Enemy divided their Main Body into two Columns, one filing off on the North River endeavored to Flank and surround us, the other advancing in good order slowly up the Main Road upon us."

The Marylanders, led by Mordecai Gist and Smallwood, put up a stiff defense, allowing the last American regiment to escape into Harlem before retreating themselves in good order around dusk. Their resolute stand stopped the British light infantry's advance, and once again, the Marylanders were part of a critical rear guard that allowed the rest of Washington's army to escape. Nevertheless, the landing cost about 350 American casualties; most of those were taken prisoner. As before, the British gained ground but failed to trap Washington's army.

On Harlem Heights, Washington rallied his broken army. After digging in, the general sought to gain intelligence on the disposition of the British and sent out 150 rangers under Lieutenant Colonel Thomas Knowlton. The fearless thirty-seven-year-old veteran of the French and Indian War was beloved by his men and often led them in battle by enthusiastically bellowing, "Come on, boys!"

Infiltrating British lines on the morning of September 16, 1776, Knowlton's Rangers hit the pickets outside Howe's camp. The New Englanders fired several shots and retreated behind a stone wall. The British mobilized their troops and charged Knowlton, whose men unleashed over a thousand rounds into the incoming sea of Redcoats. Expending most of their ammunition, the rangers retreated back to Harlem Heights with the British only about five minutes behind them in hot pursuit.

Led by the light infantry, the three hundred troops chasing Knowlton were the vanguard of a larger main body of British infantry that surged toward the American defenses at Harlem. Washington's adjutant recalled how the British attempted to humiliate their American opponents: "The enemy appeared in open view and in the most insulting manner sounded their bugle horns as is usual after a fox chase. I never felt more such a sensation before; it seemed to crown our disgrace." Cocksure, the Light Bobs charged forward, foolishly leaving their flanks exposed. Washington saw the weakness and quickly devised a plan to entrap the advancing Brits: the Marylanders and other units would engage the light infantry's front and distract them while Knowlton and riflemen from Virginia would circle around their rear and attempt to entrap them. The hunters became the hunted.

Knowlton's Rangers and the Virginians used a ravine to obscure their movements as they crept up on the British left flank. Unfortunately, several rangers opened fire before the American encircling maneuver could be sprung; they soon found themselves hitting the British flank rather than the British rear. Knowlton and another ranger officer were killed in the unfolding action.

Upon hearing the sound of musket fire from the rangers (the signal to open up the frontal attack), the Marylanders sent concentrated musket fire tearing through the British light infantry, halting their advance. One participant noted, "Never did troops go to the field with more cheerfulness and alacrity; when there began a heavy fire on both sides. It continued about one hour, when our brave Southern troops dislodged them from their posts. The enemy rallied, and our men beat them the second time. They rallied again; our troops drove them the third time, and were rushing on them."

One Maryland officer noted, "The Marylanders, were ordered to march down the hill and attack the enemy, which they did [they made a bayonet charge]; and a smart contest ensued, in which the enemy gave way." Lieutenant William Beatty's Flying Camp was also involved: "The action was very sharp on both sides…. [One of the men] was wounded in the breast and the other on the back of his arm above the joint of his wrist and so down to his fingers. The bone is not broke." Men like Beatty, Jack Steward, Samuel Smith, John Eager Howard, and Gassaway Watkins likely took part in the battle, gaining valuable experience that steeled them for the long years of war that lay ahead. The Marylanders and other units forced the British to make a retreat through a buckwheat field that is today the grounds of Barnard College and Columbia University.

As the afternoon wore on, both sides poured reinforcements into the battle. The American line held, and eventually the British retreated back to their lines. Washington recalled the gory aftermath of the battle: "[From] the appearance of blood in every place where they made their Stand and on the fences they passed, we have reason to believe they had a good many killed and wounded." With the Marylander and American flanks now exposed, and wishing to avoid the fate of the enemy's light infantry, Washington wisely called off the attack. By about 3:00 p.m., the Battle of Harlem Heights was over; the victory, while small, gave a much-needed boost to the sagging morale of Washington's troops.

The lines remained static in front of Harlem Heights after the battle, with each side sending out patrols to probe the other's defenses and gain intelligence. On September 17, Maryland Lieutenant Jack Steward went behind British lines on a scouting mission accompanied by elements of another regiment. They attacked the British forward positions, and the two forces began to skirmish.

In the aftermath of the fight, Steward was brought before a court-martial on charges of "striking Sergeant [William] Phelps of Colonel [Gold Selleck] Silliman's regiment, and of threatening the life of Colonel Silliman." According to sworn testimony, Steward took Phelps to task for his performance in the battle, calling him a "damned coward." Steward struck Phelps and then argued with Colonel Silliman, who had arrived to break up the dispute. When Silliman ordered the arrest of the Marylander, Steward threw his hat on the ground and exclaimed, "I'll go to my tent-all you can do is to take my commission, but I am a gentleman, and will put it out of your power, for I will resign it, and in less than two hours will be revenged on you, God damn you."

Both men got off with a slap on the wrist: the court found Steward guilty of striking Phelps, but not of threatening Silliman. It determined Phelps was not guilty of cowardice. Neither man received punishment.

Despite the courts-martial, desertion was rampant. The army employed executions in an attempt to stem the tide of deserters. One sergeant from New England gave up hope, deserted, and attempted to shoot one of the American officers in the process. He was condemned to death for treason, and Delaware's Captain Enoch Anderson was ordered to take twenty of his men and shoot the man. "I drew near to the fatal spot," recalled Anderson; "-the prisoner was kneeling in front of the parapet, with a cap over his eyes. We came within twenty feet of him,-his every nerve was creeping, and in much agony he groaned. I groaned, my soldiers groaned,-we all groaned. I would rather have been in a battle." At the last second, someone cried out, "A pardon, a pardon!" Amazed that he was to be spared, the condemned man cried, "Oh! Lord God, oh! I am not to be shot-oh! Oh!" The reprieve also had an emotional impact on the would-be executioners. Anderson wrote, "Such are the feelings of sympathy, that the tears of joy run down my cheeks. I was not above my poor boys, each also shed their tear. Gloomy as was the morning, the evening turned out crowned with pleasure." Not only was the man not executed, but Washington allowed him to continue serving as a soldier. He remained faithful to the Patriots for the remainder of the war.

With most of Manhattan in British hands, Washington and several of his generals wanted to torch the city rather than allow it to be used to garrison the British army. "I would burn the city and the suburbs," advised Nathanael Greene, who was gravely ill. "If the enemy gets possession of the city we never can recover the possession without superior naval force to theirs." Washington made the same case to Congress "but was absolutely forbid." Despite the congressional order, somehow a fire began on September 21 as the Americans retreated. Soon the city was engulfed in an immense column of fire and smoke. Chaos ensued as the residents attempted to flee. One eyewitness wrote, "The sick, the aged, women and children, half naked were seen going they knew not where…. The shrieks and cries of the women and children… made this one of the most tremendous and affecting scenes I ever beheld." Before the blaze was extinguished, more than six hundred houses, around 60 percent of the buildings in the city, had been consumed. As New York burned, Washington expected the British to attack Harlem Heights, but once again the Howe brothers' aversion to casualties led to another plan: an amphibious landing behind Washington's lines. Smallwood captured the dramatic moment of the British landings while writing a letter to the Maryland Convention: "I must break off abruptly, being ordered to march… the enemy landed thousand[s] of men. There is nothing left but to fight them." New York was surrounded by water, and nothing there was safe from the British navy.

Chapter 12

When Twenty-Five Men

Held Off an Army

On the morning of October 12, 1776, a dense fog shrouded Long Island Sound, dampening noise and reducing visibility to near zero. Despite being in a war zone, local fishermen went about their business without realizing what lay hidden nearby. As the rising sun burned off the cloud cover, the stunned anglers suddenly found themselves among a sea of barges loaded with soldiers, horses, and cannon. Soon a frigate belched fire, providing shore bombardment for the Howe brothers' newest amphibious assault.

At first light, eighty British boats landed on Manhattan's Throgs Neck Peninsula in southeastern Bronx, the current location of Throgs Neck Bridge. A creek cut across the narrow peninsula at one point, making it more like an island at high tide. Ten days earlier, the Americans had stationed twenty-five crack riflemen led by Pennsylvania's Colonel Edward Hand to defend the area. The colonel and his men destroyed the bridge across the creek, creating a natural choke point and kill zone. When he saw the approaching juggernaut, Hand and his men dispatched a messenger to carry news of the landing to the American generals and steeled themselves behind a woodpile to await the enemy's advance. Against all odds, Hand's twenty-five men successfully held off four thousand British soldiers long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Stymied at Throgs Neck, General William Howe ordered a retreat. But instead of immediately reembarking on their landing boats, he and his men camped on the tip of the peninsula for several days, giving Washington precious time to regroup. Eventually, Howe ordered his men back on their boats and headed three miles up the coast to Pell's Point, near present-day Pelham Bay. Again, the Patriots were ready and waiting. The officers devised a unique strategy to take advantage of the terrain. They ordered their men to lie behind the numerous stone walls in the area. When the Redcoats approached, the first line of riflemen rose, fired a volley, and retreated. Believing the entire American force was on the run, the British mounted a bayonet charge. As the enemy approached, the second line of Patriots rose up and fired at point-blank range.

Pell's Point provides an example of the evolving style of war in the Revolution. As the war progressed, Marylanders were in the forefront of helping pioneer an American style of combat. That reflex to adapt flourished from the start and it remains evident to the present day. Tactically, the Americans tended to concentrate their firepower on a specific point in the battlefield where it had the greatest impact. They also developed defensive maneuvers that wore down the enemy, taking advantage of the terrain and making the best use possible of the militia and Continentals they had at their disposal. At the strategic level, the Americans used intelligence as a force multiplier, helping them position their troops to the best advantage. In addition, the Marylanders and the rest of the American troops relied on speed and flexibility, combined with judicious risk taking; they avoided needlessly wasting men's lives for operations that didn't produce results.

The British army had already mastered its style of combat when the war began. It had established rules for its soldiers to follow in battle-a European style of fighting. As the war progressed, it began to see the need to revise those rules, and it adapted. Both the American army and the British army were readjusting their forces, tactics, and strategy to fight the Revolution. A race ensued. The winner would be the army that could reshape itself faster.

Pell's Point also demonstrated the decisive impact elite units could have on the battlefield. The delaying tactics used by the skilled Patriot defenders killed and wounded around two hundred British and Hessians; but more important, these tactics gave Washington time to reposition his men. On the recommendation of his chief rival, General Charles Lee, Washington moved the main body of his army from Harlem north to White Plains, leaving a group of twelve hundred men behind to reinforce the garrison at Fort Washington on the north end of Manhattan, at the highest point on the island. Lee had recently returned from Charleston, South Carolina, where he successfully repelled a British invasion.[14] Based on this success combined with his prior command experience, Congress held Lee in very high esteem, and he now appeared as an alternative for the position of commander in chief. The Marylanders once again formed part of the rear guard and were one of the final regiments to leave Westchester County before rejoining the army at White Plains.

[14]. The bulk of the British army in the summer of 1776 was concentrated in New York, but a small expedition led by Sir Henry Clinton attempted to seize Charleston, South Carolina, on June 28, 1776, in an effort to roll back the Revolution in the South. The British had not yet devised a coordinated strategy to deal with the rebellion, nor did they have an accurate view of the scope or magnitude of the rebellion and the number of Loyalists and Patriot Americans-a flaw in strategy that persisted throughout most of the war. To take Charleston, Clinton first had to neutralize its harbor defenses at Fort Moultrie. The operation turned into a disaster when three ships ran aground in the shallow waters around the fort and the American garrison repelled a British landing force. The British navy shelled the fort to no avail; many of the cannonballs reportedly bounced harmlessly off the spongy palmetto log walls of the fort, inspiring South Carolina's nickname, the Palmetto State. After thirteen hours of intense combat, the British withdrew from Charleston and most of the South.

Lee was one of the most bizarre and brilliant general officers in the American Revolution. He began his career in the French and Indian War and later saw action in Portugal and the Russo-Turkish War. Returning to America, he married the daughter of a Mohawk chief, who gave him his nickname Boiling Water, a reference to his quick temper. His mercurial temperament has led some biographers to surmise that he may have been bipolar. Physically, he was often described as gangly, with a head too big for his body. Lee was also fairly careless with his appearance and somewhat slovenly. Known to be somewhat coarse, Lee frequently used obscene language. A great dog lover and rarely seen without his train of dogs, the general once quipped that dogs, unlike men, were faithful. In 1773 he moved to Virginia and volunteered to join the Patriots. He longed to be named commander in chief and viewed Washington as an incompetent rival.

Despite his prickly demeanor, Lee offered Washington a piece of excellent advice and recommended the move to White Plains because it was more defensible and contained a supply depot. The move saved the army, which was about to be enveloped by the latest British landing. Taking full advantage of the topography, Washington placed his troops on the high ground behind the Bronx River. He sent the Maryland and Delaware forces, as well as some Connecticut regimentals and some militia to Chatterton's Hill, a 180-foot-high crag on the right flank. There, approximately two thousand men hastily dug in and began constructing fortifications.

While bivouacked outside White Plains, the Marylanders were, at times, within sight of the enemy on the opposite side of the Bronx River. Captain Samuel Smith recalled that on one occasion, he "conversed with a British officer on the opposite bank." Smith asked about his friend, Major John André, with whom he had crossed the Atlantic prior to the war. The charismatic André was later hanged as a spy for his role in Benedict Arnold's treason. During the conversation, "the British officer advised him to retire, lest he might be shot by the [Hessian] Yagers, over whom he had no control."

This was a time of great sickness and hardship for the American army. During the retreats from Long Island and Brooklyn, it had lost the bulk of its baggage, including the tents. As a result, many soldiers became ill from exposure to the elements. One of the Maryland officers reported "near two hundred men unfit for duty and most them without any assistance from the Doctor."

By the time Howe had his entire army in place on October 28, the Americans had constructed a solid defense. Henry Clinton reported to Howe that he "could not from what I saw recommend a direct attack…. Their flanks were safe and their retreat practicable when they pleased." The two armies exchanged cannon fire for several days. Washington deployed a force of approximately fifteen hundred, including some of the Marylanders, to check the advance of the British. Smallwood approached his men "and asked how many would go with him, to draw the British out." According to a Maryland private, John Hughes, thirteen men volunteered. He continued describing the action:

[I] with Twelve others from [my] company went out to the British Breast Work, made of rails etc. to keep off the musket Balls, and fired upon the Sentinels. A Cannon Ball was immediately returned by the British, which struck a Fence Rail upon the Breast Work, and threw a half of the Rail against [my] thigh, and shivered the bone to pieces from the knee up. [I] was immediately carried off in a litter, and did no more actual service after this accident.

Howe put his army into formation. As the Marylanders gazed down from the top of Chatterton's Hill, the situation must have looked insuperable to the now battle-hardened veterans. "The sun shone bright, their arms glittered, and perhaps troops never were shown to more advantage," recalled one participant. Thirteen thousand strong, the British advanced. Smoke from artillery and shot filled the air. Captain Smith recalled, "A cannon commenced…. The enemy's object appeared to be to disarm our artillery."

Howe detached several thousand of his men and twelve pieces of artillery to attack Chatterton's Hill. However, in order to get there, they had to get across the Bronx River, which was running high following recent rain. They paused to "construct a rough bridge by felling trees and laying fence rails across them." Seeing the enemy temporarily halted, Smallwood led his men "more than halfway down the hill and opened fire, throwing the Hessians into disorder." When they finally made it across the river, the Hessians charged through burning fields ignited by the artillery fire. As they navigated their way through a hail of lead and flame, they held their cartridge boxes above their heads to keep them from exploding. Four thousand men, led by the Hessians, surged forward toward the Marylanders atop the hill.

One Marylander recalled the British approach: "The enemy advanced toward our lines in full view of headquarters, while a large body approached to the right, a warm engagement became and now continues with great fury." Despite the approaching onslaught, Smith could not help admiring the British advance. "It was a gallant sight to see them, steadily, without falter, march up a very steep hill," he wrote in his autobiography. "As the grenadiers ascended, however, they became the targets of their own artillery, which had to desist when the soldiers reached the top of the slope."

The Americans fired canister and grape into the oncoming enemy masses; the Royal Artillery responded with solid shot. One ball found its deadly mark. It "first took the head off… a stout heavy man and dash'd it open; then it took off Chilson's arm, which was amputated…. It then took Taylor across the bowels; it then struck Sergt Garret of our company on the hip-took off the point of the hip bone. What a sight that was to see… men with legs and arms and packs all in a heap." Marylander William Brooks recalled that "in this Battle he got his right leg broke and was sent from there to the hospital," where he spent two months recovering. Captain Smith, whose company was in the rear of the action, reported the lethal effect of British artillery: "A ball struck the ground, and, in its rebound, took off the head of Sergeant Westlay," after flying directly over Smith's shoulder.

The Americans repelled the first wave of the attack, which came up the east side. "[We marched] down the hill to attack the enemy… and a smart conflict ensued, in which the enemy gave way, but rallying again, and attacking the right of the brigade, lying again, and attacking compelled the militia aforeward."

Taking heavy casualties, the Hessians fought up the southern side of the hill. The militia panicked and "fled in confusion, without more than a random, scattering fire," reported Colonel John Haslet, who commanded the Delaware troops on the hill positioned near the Marylanders. Since Brooklyn, the two forces had typically deployed together and often the Delaware men were operationally under the command of the Marylanders. The British pelted the Marylanders and the Delaware Regiment with a "very heavy fire of their artillery and musquetry for about half an hour."

At White Plains, Captain John Eager Howard of the Flying Camp was engaged in the battle. Now Washington sent Howard and his militia to the hill to cover the retreat of their fellow Marylanders serving under Smallwood.

Delaware Captain Enoch Anderson reported watching as "a soldier of our Regiment was mortally wounded in this battle. He fell to the ground;-in falling, his gun fell from him. He picked it up,-turned on his face,-took aim at the British, who were -advancing,-fired,-the gun fell from him,-he turned over on his back and expired." Balls nipped Smallwood in the arm and hip, and scores of Marylanders went down under the fire.

Even the dependable Marylanders were forced to withdraw. "The Americans overpowered by their numbers, were compelled to save themselves, as best they could," recalled Smith. He himself "was so deeply engaged, that unapprised of their departure, he escaped with great -difficulty-his men saving themselves by his orders." In the course of the retreat, Smith was struck in the left arm "by a spent ball" but continued fighting. Later Smith "stopped with two men, behind a stone [wall]; where they took deliberate aim at an advanced party of the enemy. On visiting the spot afterwards blood was found."

Eventually, he found Colonel Smallwood, who was wounded in the wrist, and was able to round up "about a hundred stragglers, and marched them within the lines." As he led his men into camp, they passed a New England regiment that was eating a meal. "A young private [from the other unit] rose and said, 'I guess you have been in the action?'"

"Yes," Smith replied.

"And maybe you have eat nothing today?" the private continued.

"No, not for twenty-four hours," answered Smith.

Hearing those words, "The men all rose and would eat no more, until we had satisfied ourselves," Smith said.

In the larger battle, both sides took heavy casualties. According to Gist's report, Maryland alone lost forty-six men and officers. A single Hessian volley reportedly took out ninety-two Americans, but the Patriots remained steadfast. One of the British officers observed, "The rebels had excellent positions at White Plains. They had made their defenses better than usual, and maintained their posts with extraordinary tenacity."

After ejecting the rebels from the hill, the British went about improving the defenses and then continued the pursuit. Gist recalled,

Since the skirmish the Enemy have been exceedingly busy in erecting a Breast work on the Eminence they took from us. Yesterday morning having got prepared to open it upon us, the General [Washington] ordered us to abandon our front lines, which in our present situation was rendered useless to us. The Enemy immediately took possession of them, and Judging that we were making a precipitate retreat, formed the line, and advanced upon us with a large column to bring on the attack, the artillery on each side keeping up a smart fire, and they soon found their situation disagreeable, and as if ashamed of the attempt they sneakily skulked behind a wood, and retired unseen to the lines in much haste.

Fighting and the harsh conditions that accompanied an army living in the field for several months continued to take a toll on the Marylanders. William Beatty wrote that the same day the Americans left White Plains "I being very unwell Crossed the North river for the purpose of going in the Country to recover my health and remained there for two weeks."

The Patriots reportedly inflicted more than three hundred casualties during the Battle of White Plains. When Washington ordered the entire army to retreat, they maintained order rather than fleeing as they had done at Kips Bay. The British had won the day, but at a heavy price. Washington and his men escaped the next day in a downpour, leaving the men at Fort Washington as the only American forces still on the island of Manhattan.

Chapter 13

Fort Washington

At an elevation of 280 feet above the Hudson River, the stout earthen walls of Fort Washington bristled with more than 140 Patriot cannon. Rocky slopes and a sheer cliff gave the citadel a false aura of impregnability. Nearly three thousand Americans, including a contingent of Marylanders, manned its ramparts. Against his better judgment, George Washington had left the troops behind to guard the fort that bore his name. He relied on the advice of General Nathanael Greene, who argued that it was necessary to hold the fort to prevent the British navy from approaching up the Hudson River. Although the fort had an impressive array of works, it was poorly designed.[15] There was no fuel, artillery casements, or a well within the fort. Water had to be hauled from the river below. A week earlier, American Adjutant William Demont, one of the war's worst yet least known traitors, had fled the fort and deserted to British lines, revealing to the enemy the fort's order of battle and its plans. This act of treason made it even more likely that the British would be able to overcome its flawed defenses.[16]

[15]. The fort stretched for more than a mile from present-day George Washington Bridge.

[16]. For the British, William Demont served as commissary of prisoners after the fall of Philadelphia and as an officer during the war.

A group of Marylanders and Virginians, led by Colonel Moses Rawling and Major Otho Holland Williams, defended the northern slopes of the hill. Williams had spent his boyhood on a farm in a rural area of Maryland and then was apprenticed to be a clerk after his father died when Otho was only thirteen. He joined the Continental Army in 1775 as a first lieutenant and participated in the Siege of Boston, the Patriots' successful attempt to keep the British bottled up in that city, before being assigned to the defense of Fort Washington. Williams's inner circle of friends included Samuel Smith, Jack Steward, and Nathaniel Ramsay.

To crush Fort Washington, General William Howe gathered the bulk of his army, nearly thirteen thousand men. In the morning hours of November 15, the British converged on three sides at once. Three thousand Hessians, including Colonel Johann Rall, landed in the north, while General Hugh Percy pressed from the east and Charles, Earl Cornwallis hit the fort from the south. The Hessians scaled a steep grade on the north side of the fort, fighting and maneuvering around the obstacles the Americans had placed in their path, all the while facing a deadly hail of bullets. For more than two hours, the Marylanders and others kept the mercenaries at bay by holding a crucial pass. During the extended fighting, many of their rifles became clogged from overuse. At first, Washington had "great hopes the enemy was entirely repulsed." Eventually, however, the determined Hessian fighters made it to the top of the hill. Rall barked to his men, "All that are my grenadiers, march forwards!" The Hessians yelled, "Hurrah!" in response as the drums and horns sounded. As one, they surged toward the defenders.

Rall pushed back the Americans on the southern and eastern slopes to the fort; therefore, more than twenty-eight hundred Americans were now trapped in a fort devoid of water and vulnerable to bombardment from British ships on the Hudson.

After breaching the main ramparts, Rall sent a messenger with a white flag tied to a rifle to request the fort's surrender. He demanded that the men give up their arms and ammunition. He assured them that they would be allowed to keep their personal effects. The Americans had just thirty minutes to decide. While Washington sent messages from the other side of the Hudson River encouraging them to hold out, Colonel Robert Magaw, the fort's commander, didn't believe they could last much longer. Rather than see his men slaughtered, Magaw surrendered. The British took 2,838 prisoners along with 140 brass and iron cannon.

Among the captured was Major Williams, whose "Commission was stain'd… by the blood… from a wound… received in the action." One report from the battle stated, "Of the Maryland troops, Colonel Rowlings, Colonel Williams, and about two hundred of that battalion are prisoners. With their men they defended a pass against the Hessians for two hours, and killed two hundred of them."

Miraculously, a few men avoided both death and confinement, including Marylander Lawrence Everhart. He and a few more "escaped in a boat to Fort Lee, thence to Hackensack." In New Jersey, Everhart met Washington, who witnessed the capture of the fort from a distance. "Here [I] saw Gen George Washington in tears walking the porch."

Enraged after losing so many of their men in the battle, the Hessians stormed into Fort Washington and began slaughtering the Americans inside-despite their surrender. The British officers eventually put an end to the carnage, but the mercenaries' anger wasn't spent yet. As the prisoners exited the fort, a long line of Hessians and some of the Redcoats formed up on either side, forcing the Patriots to endure a gauntlet of abuse and humiliation. They hurled taunts, insults, and an occasional kick at the defeated men and robbed them of their few possessions. Many of the Americans didn't have shoes and were filthy after being confined to the fort, so they were prime targets for their jeering enemies. One of the British officers noted, "Their odd figures frequently excited the laughter of our soldiers."

A British officer ordered an American named Richard Thomas Atkinson to carry the American colors, a Gadsden flag bearing the words "Don't Tread on Me," out of Fort Washington. As he exited the structure and before entering the gauntlet, Atkinson furtively "lowered the colours" and gave them to another soldier. Rather than hand the colors over to the enemy, the soldier "put them within his breeches" and kept them until he was able to deliver them to Washington.

The taunting didn't stop as the Americans, including many Marylanders, headed for captivity. A first stop for many was the shops and churches of New York City which had been converted into temporary holding cells. There, Marylanders captured at Fort Washington rejoined their brother soldiers taken prisoner at the Battle of Brooklyn. For many Patriots captured during the war, imprisonment was little more than an extended death sentence. According to some historians, the British captured as many as thirty thousand Americans during the Revolution. Of those, some eighteen thousand, or 60 percent, died while being held prisoner. That's more than twice as many as those who died in battle. Those captured in the battles in and around New York faced some of the harshest conditions of all. While officers were sometimes allowed to stay in private homes, many of the rank-and-file prisoners were loaded onto prison ships in New York harbor. Ridiculously overcrowded, these filthy vessels bred disease, and in many cases the underfed prisoners on board didn't have the strength to overcome their illnesses. By most estimates, well over ten thousand Americans died on these ships alone. Many Marylanders endured the hellish conditions aboard the floating death traps and died forgotten. The majority of their emaciated bodies were unceremoniously tossed overboard like bags of garbage.

According to accounts from prisoners and guards, it was common for the enemy officers to mock the Patriots by asking them what their trade had been before the war. These professional soldiers, many born into families that had served in the military for generations, found it funny that Americans chose shopkeepers and farmers to lead their military. One Hessian officer recalled, "Among the prisoners were many colonels, lieutenant colonels, majors, and other officers who were nothing but mechanics, tailors, shoemakers, wigmakers, barbers, etc. Some of them were soundly beaten by our people, who would by no means let such persons pass for officers."

One of the British officers tried this tactic with Otho Holland -Williams, who had commanded a regiment of Marylanders and Virginians at Fort Washington. When the Redcoat accosted him, Williams refused to be the butt of the joke. Instead, "he replied, that he had been bred in that situation which had taught him to rebuke and punish insolence, and that the questioner would have ample proof of his apprenticeship on a repetition of his offence."

Williams's response did little to endear him to his captors. Soon after this conversation, the British accused him of secretly corresponding with Washington and sent him to harsher accommodations as a result. He shared a room "about sixteen feet square that was seldom visited by the breath of heaven, and always remaining in a state of loathsome filth," with another American hero of the Revolution-Ethan Allen, who had been captured leading an attack on Montreal. "Their health was much impaired, for their food was of the vilest sort, and scarce enough to keep soul and body together, and to add to these discomforts, the anxiety that preyed upon their minds, was terrible in the extreme. The naturally fine constitution of Williams was much impaired, and he never recovered entirely from the effects of his imprisonment."

A Connecticut native named William Slade who was captured at Fort Washington kept a journal that chronicled the harsh treatment meted out by the British on a daily basis:

Sunday 17th. Such a Sabbath I never saw. We spent it in sorrow and hunger, having no mercy showed….

Tuesday 19th. Still confined without provisions till almost night, when we got a little mouldy bisd [biscuit], about four per man. These four days we spent in hunger and sorrow being drided by everry one and calld Rebs.

Wednesday, 20th. We was reinforsd by 300 more. We had 500 before. This caused a continual noise and verry big huddle. Jest at night drawed 6 ox of pork per man. This we eat alone and raw.

Thursday, 21st. We passed the day in sorrow haveing nothing to eat or drink but pump water….

Sunday, 22nd. Last night nothing but grones all night of sick and dying. Men amazeing to behold. Such hardness, sickness prevails fast. Deaths multiply….

A few lucky Marylanders managed to escape from these death traps. Baltimore native William Sterrett, who fought in Smallwood's Battalion and later became Mordecai Gist's brother-in-law, spent several months on the British prison ships in Wallabout Bay in Brooklyn. In April 1777 the commissary of prisoners, Joshua Loring, whose wife was Howe's mistress, visited Sterrett and tried to persuade him to swear allegiance to the British government, offering better treatment if he complied. He refused. The official "said I should continue in confinement and be subject to the distresses which were about to threaten us," Sterrett later wrote.

Duplicitously, the guards didn't enter Sterrett's name in their rolls, making it look as though Sterrett had taken the oath. In December the Americans tried to trade for Sterrett in a prisoner exchange, but because he wasn't officially listed as a prisoner, the British would not let him go. Through guile, the Marylander likely took the British oath of allegiance, made his way back to the American lines, and resumed serving in the Continental Army.

A few others also were able to flee and evade the enemy. Christopher Hawkins, a thirteen-year-old, ran away when he was sent to fetch laundry from town. He hitched rides, walked, and finally boarded a ship that took him back to his home in Providence, "much to the joy of my parents and not a little to myself." Ensign James Fernandis wasn't so lucky, languishing aboard a prison ship until a prisoner exchange released him in 1777.

Also among the prisoners captured in Long Island who escaped were the McMillan brothers from Smallwood's Battalion. William McMillan recalled that their harsh treatment began with their capture by the Hessians. "The Hessians broke the butts of our guns over their cannons and robbed us of everything we had," he recalled. "[They] lit their pipes with our money, caned us and gave us nothing to eat for five days, and then [they served us] biscuits from aboard ships, blue, moldy, full [of] bugs and rotten." Like some of the other prisoners, the McMillans were forced to serve as slave laborers and haul cannons for the enemy.

However, after holding them for a few days in the harbor, the British sent the McMillans and some other prisoners by boat to Halifax, Nova Scotia. After a miserable winter and a portion of the spring, the brothers broke out of their prison in April. "Ten of us run away from Halifax and had likely been taken two or three times by the British," stated William. The British weren't the only enemy, however. McMillan added, "Seven times we had likely been killed by the Indians if we had not had a man that could speak the Canadian language [French]." They trekked for miles though harsh wilderness, eating "grass on the rocks in the bays, shellfish, and snails," before they made it to Boston. "We suffered everything but death," said McMillan. Despite their ordeal, Samuel McMillan immediately rejoined the Continental Army, this time in a Massachusetts regiment, and William rejoined his Maryland brothers after recuperating for a time.

Some New York prisoners were returned from the ships to buildings in the city after the Continental Army fled. Many remained in converted churches, while some were held in a "sugar-house" on Liberty Street. An eyewitness who lived across the street from the sugar-house at the time recalled that it was a large building "with little port-hole windows tier above tier." In the unbearable summer heat, "every narrow aperture of those stone walls filled with human heads, face above face, seeking a portion of the external air." They fared little better in the winter. One, who was housed with a group of five hundred men, noted that approximately four hundred perished "from Exposure, bad treatment, Cold & Hunger."

Prisoners who requested medical help were often sent to their deaths. The British had a former French prisoner serving as a surgeon, despite the fact that he had absolutely no training and had been convicted of multiple crimes. A nurse in the prison revealed "that she had several times heard this Frenchman say that he would have Ten Rebels dead in such a room and five dead in such a Room, the next morning, and it always happened." When two Americans later took the "medicine" this Frenchman had been administering, it was found to be poison. After the war, the surgeon confessed that he had "murdered a great number of Rebels in the Hospital at New York, by poyson" and that when General Howe learned what he had done, the Frenchman got a pay raise. He also admitted to poisoning "the wells used by the American Flying Camp, which caused such an uncommon Mortality among them in the year 1776."

Chapter 14

The Crisis

In November 1776 "a thick cloud of darkness and gloom covered the land, and despair was seen on almost every countenance," remembered Ensign Peter Jaquett of Haslet's Delaware Regiment, which marched through rain and mud alongside Smallwood's Marylanders on their trek through New Jersey. The veteran captured the mood of the country, which had been reeling from defeats in Brooklyn, Manhattan, Fort Washington, and recently the capture of Fort Lee, which lay just across the Hudson River from Fort Washington.

Quickly following up on the decisive British victory at Fort Washington, General William Howe had sent Cornwallis and four thousand men across the Hudson. As the men climbed up an unguarded, steep cliff on the Jersey Palisades, Cornwallis quickly occupied Fort Lee, which George Washington had swiftly ordered evacuated after receiving word of the earl's approaching force. British troops seized the bulk of the Continental Army's equipment, including its shovels, picks, tents, cannon, and ordnance. Maryland Captain William Beatty noted, "Our army began to prepare for a retreat But before this Could be accomplished the Enemy landed above us Which Obliged Our army to make a quick retreat leaving all our Heavy Cannon & Stores & Baggage of all kinds behind, the Whole of Which fell into the Hands of the Enemy." The seizure of Fort Lee precipitated Washington's retreat across New Jersey toward the perceived safety of the wide Delaware River. It was also another blow to Nathanael Greene, who, as at Fort Washington, advocated holding the fortification.

The evening of November 20 was "dark, cold, and rainy," in Hackensack, New Jersey, but as the remnants of Washington's army and the Marylanders trudged through town, it was light enough for the local residents to recognize their sorry state. One inhabitant noted, "They marched two abreast, looked ragged, some without shoes on their feet, and most of them wrapped in their blankets." Washington's battered army had shrunk in size from an apogee of nearly twenty thousand men to only several thousand effectives. Even worse, it was now more poorly equipped than ever. The Americans had lost their tents and other equipment at Fort Lee and now had little in the way of shelter, cooking utensils, and other gear. Many of the soldiers, expecting a quick end to the war, had only summer clothing with them, and it hadn't stood up to the harsh conditions of camp life. Now winter was coming, and few of the American men were prepared for the coming hardship. One British officer sneered, "No nation ever saw such a set of tatterdemalions."

Pursuing the ragged Continental Army, Cornwallis halted his men on the far side of the Hackensack River. With his ranks swelled by reinforcements from Howe, his well-equipped force made a stark contrast to the weary Americans. But rather than attack, they simply moved into Hackensack after Washington left and then spent several days there resting and foraging.

While the British regrouped and raided local farms, Washington continued on to Newark. From there, he sent the sick and injured to Morristown, while the able-bodied continued on to New Brunswick. One of the Marylanders sent to Morristown was the tall Sergeant Gassaway Watkins. He later recalled, "Was taken sick in November, and sent to and left at Morristown, New Jersey. I put my clothing in the regimental wagon, and the driver carried all to the enemy. I travelled from Morristown to Annapolis without money or clothing and got to Annapolis in January, '77, and lay confined to my room until the last of April." He wouldn't rejoin the regiment until September 1777.

General Washington hoped to augment his dwindling force with additional recruits from New Jersey, but instead the army continued to shrink. One American officer stood by the side of the road and counted the passing men; he was horrified to discover they were down to three thousand. Many of those would leave when their enlistments expired on December 1, and still more would be heading home at the end of the month. Captain Samuel Smith recalled the dismal journey: "The rain fell in torrents, and the march was dreadful. Many of the men were exhausted and remained behind. The night was very dark; the road was made deep by the artillery and wagons which had passed. Every step was above the ankles [in mud]; and many to the knee." Beatty added, "This march being in the night the darkness of which together with the intolerable bad roads made this tour of duty very hard."

The remaining Marylanders and members of the Delaware Regiment circled around to hear the news. For days they had been fleeing Cornwallis. Now, they were halted, guarding a bridge, but the depleted units were showing the strain of so many recent lost battles. Major Mordecai Gist and Captain Smith had met with General Washington and "informed him that the [Maryland] Regiment and Delaware Regiment were reduced to 250 men, who were worn down with fatigue and guard duty." They requested that they be relieved by another unit.

Washington's reply would inspire the Marylanders through many hardships to come. "I can assign no other regiment in which I can place the same confidence; and I request you will say so to your gallant regiment." On hearing these words, the men "gave three cheers and declared their readiness to submit to every fatigue and damper."

The Marylanders had distinguished themselves as an elite unit and facilitated the retreat of the army on several crucial occasions. A core group of battle-hardened men, many of them close friends and original members of the Baltimore Cadets, were now helping hold the entire American army together. Some later moved to other units, providing strength and leadership skills gained through experience. General Alexander McDougall later summed up the situation, saying, "Even the bones of a regiment are of great moment in the forming of one."

Along with the rest of the army, the Marylanders suffered their share of hardships. Gist tallied up the Marylanders still fighting and reported, "[We] are badly off for Cloathes, having lost the principal part of their baggage." One officer traveled to Philadelphia in an attempt to purchase clothing for the men. After searching for four days, he wrote to the Maryland Council of Safety, "[I] am much afraid [I] shall not be able to procure [clothing] at present, particularly shoes and stockings, of which we are in great want, and unless they can be got will render many soldiers unfit for duty. I suppose between this and Christmas they may be procured, but at a most extravagant rate." Food was also in short supply. "A sufficiency of provisions we do not complain of," he wrote, "if a constant succession of beef and flour from day to day will do, and that sometimes without salt; and one day in the week we get salt pork. No kind of vegetables does the Commissary furnish us with, and such our situation we can get none." The shortages no doubt contributed to the growing assumption among the Maryland officers that few of the men would reenlist when their term of service ended in December.

Cornwallis followed the Americans-but in a measured way. While never far behind, the British general always seemed to be a day late. Cornwallis had orders to push the American army out of New Jersey but not to engage it in a major battle that might result in the loss of British troops. Hessian officer Johann Ewald, who commanded the unit of Jaegers (in English, "hunters"), asked to pursue the retreating Americans, but Cornwallis ordered him back, telling him, "Let them go, my dear Ewald, and stay here…. We do not want to lose any men. One Jaeger is worth more than ten rebels." From Cornwallis's statement and actions, Ewald concluded the British were interested in "ending the war amicably without shedding the blood of the King's subjects in a needless way."

Prior to the invasion of New York, the Howe brothers, General William and Admiral Richard, pursued a political solution. They believed in a minimal use of force whenever possible-as well as a minimal loss of life. In some ways, these beliefs mirror the modern (and sometimes flawed) tenets of counterinsurgency warfare. Howe eventually even offered a pardon to anyone who renounced the Patriot cause and swore allegiance to the Crown. Given the pitiful condition of Washington's army, it seemed like a prudent measure. Thousands of Americans flocked to British camps and pledged their peaceful obedience to the king.

Frustrated with the slow pace of the war and realizing the importance of destroying the Continental Army, Howe's top general, Sir Henry Clinton, asked for permission to sail to New Jersey and put an end to Washington's army once and for all. As an alternative, he suggested sending his men up the Delaware River to strike the American capital at Philadelphia and capture the Continental Congress. He saw the importance of envelopment and maneuver. Howe rejected both ideas.

From a strategic standpoint, the Howe brothers had a different aim from catching the Americans and crushing them. They wanted to keep Washington's army in retreat while they dispatched five thousand troops under Clinton to seize the port of Providence, Rhode Island, which would serve as an additional base for the British fleet because the waters around Manhattan typically froze solid during the winter.

This proved to be a crucial error, one that allowed Washington's army to escape once again. The Americans reached New Brunswick, a fateful milestone, on November 29. The enlistments for many of Washington's regiments, including the Marylanders of the Flying Camp, were up on December 1, dramatically reducing the size of the army. William Beatty remembered the exodus: "Two or three days after our arrival in Brunswick, being the first of December and the Expiration of the Flying Camp's troops time, our brigade marched to Philadelphia." Washington urged the men to stay, but most of the units whose enlistments had expired returned to their home states, as required by law-Washington's army was melting away and numbered only about three thousand men.

December 1776 marked a low point in the Revolution. Most of the Continental Army's twelve-month enlistments were about to expire by the end of the year,[17] and troops were becoming scarce as many headed back home. Smallwood's men's enlistments expired on December 10, and his once proud battalion of nearly a thousand had dwindled to under one hundred. Samuel Smith noted the pitiful condition of the troops: "[Our] numbers by battles, sickness, and desertion, were reduced to ninety men and a few officers."

[17]. The enlistments of men who signed up on different dates expired at various times during the month of December 1776.

But from the bones of the old battalion, the new 1st Maryland Regiment and several other regiments were formed. Many of the remaining survivors of Smallwood's Battalion, including Gist, Jack Steward, and Nathaniel Ramsay, officially enlisted in the Continental Army for three years around December 10 and became part of the 1st Maryland Regiment. Other officers followed suit, and they were joined by many of the men from the Flying Camp, such as John Eager Howard and William Beatty.[18] Even though Otho Williams remained in captivity following the Battle of Fort Washington, he retained an honorary command and was even promoted while imprisoned. John Stone, formerly a captain in the battalion's 1st Company, temporarily led the 1st Maryland Regiment while Smallwood returned to Maryland to recruit new men. Smith, Gist, Colonel Stone, Ramsay, Steward, and a small core group of men were all that remained of the proud unit.

[18]. Most of the men in Smallwood's Regiment who reenlisted formed the 1st Maryland Regiment, the independent companies formed the 2nd Maryland, and the Flying Camp formed additional regiments. Congress mandated an army of eighty-eight battalions; Maryland was expected to furnish eight regiments but outfitted only seven. Rather than follow each regiment separately, this book follows the principal officers and enlisted men who were a driving force in each of these units.

At New Brunswick, Cornwallis again caught up with the Americans. During the afternoon of December 1, Washington's forces had caught sight of British Light Dragoons on the far bank of the Raritan River outside town. Washington called upon a crack artillery unit led by twenty-one-year-old West Indian Alexander Hamilton. Like Gist, the brilliant young officer had raised his own artillery company and enforced discipline with the lash when necessary. The well-oiled unit caught the eye of Washington, who eventually made Hamilton his senior aide. Hamilton went on to be one of the most influential founding fathers of the United States, arguing the need for a strong national government after the war and helping to establish the nation's financial system. But on that cold December day, the young artillerist was helping defend the crossings and cover the American withdrawal from the town.

Enoch Anderson of the Delaware regiment recalled, "A severe cannonading took place on both sides, and several were killed and wounded on our side." The fight continued until "near Sundown," when the Delaware men received their orders to retreat. Unlike most of the army, the regiment had, until this time, managed to hold on to its tents. But this latest retreat left it as poorly equipped as the rest of the Americans. Anderson wrote:

Colonel Haslet came to me, and told me to take as many men as I thought proper, and go back and burn all the tents. "We have no wagons," said he "to carry them off, and it is better to burn them than they should fall into the hands of the enemy." Then I went and burned them-about one hundred tents. When we saw them reduced to ashes, it was night and the army far ahead. We made a double quick-step and came up with the army about eight o'clock. We encamped in the woods, with no victuals, no tents, no blankets. The night was cold and we all suffered much, especially those who had no shoes.

Haslet's men and the Marylanders camped thirteen miles away in the town of Kingston. The next morning, the British crossed the river into New Brunswick. There, Cornwallis received orders to halt. Like the Americans, his army was also in poor shape. Many of the exhausted Hessians were barefoot, their shoes worn out from marching and fighting since August. To regroup, Cornwallis paused for several crucial days, letting Washington put additional distance between himself and the British. Arriving in Princeton, the Americans had "comfortable lodgings in the college," but their ranks were now down to twenty-five hundred men, with more leaving every day. With the British behind him, Washington faced another obstacle-the Delaware River. If the British trapped his men on its banks, his force could easily be annihilated.

To slow the advancing British, Washington left fourteen hundred men under the command of Lord Stirling in Princeton. The rest of the men continued on to Trenton, which lies on the bank of the Delaware River. The Delaware Regiment and some of the Marylanders marched in the rear of the main portion of the army, accompanied by the commander in chief himself. "We continued on our retreat;-our Regiment in the rear…-tearing up bridges and cutting down trees to impede the march of the enemy," recalled Anderson. "I was to go no faster than General Washington and his pioneers." They made it across the approximately four-hundred-yard-wide river around noon on December 2.

For five days, the American army crossed the wide river in boats by the light of huge pyres lit beside the river. Charles Willson Peale, a member of the Pennsylvania militia, described the setting as "the most hellish scene I have ever beheld, all the shores were lighted up with large fires, boats continually passing and repassing, full of men, horses, artillery, and camp equipage… made rather the appearance of hell than an earthly scene." Scores of the bedraggled troops filed past Peale. "A man staggered out of line and came toward me. He had lost all his clothes. He was in an old, dirty blanket jacket. His beard long and his face full of sores… had so disfigured him that he was not known to me at first sight. Only when he spoke did I recognize my brother James."

Ensign James Peale was one of the approximately one hundred survivors of Smallwood's Battalion.

Throughout the retreat, Washington repeatedly ordered General Charles Lee to join the forces in Pennsylvania. But Lee was moving at a snail's pace. For reasons known only to him, he stopped at a tavern in Basking Ridge, New Jersey, with a small guard. In the morning, still smarting from the decision to make Washington commander in chief, Lee sat down to write a letter to General Horatio Gates. "Entre nous, a certain great man is damnable deficient," he complained. "He has thrown me into a situation where I have my choice of difficulties: if I stay in this province, I risk myself and army; and if I do not stay, the province is lost forever…. In short, unless something which I do not expect turns up, we are lost."

Something unexpected did turn up-a group of British cavalry that included the fiery redhead Cornet Banastre Tarleton. The son of a merchant and slave trader, Tarleton squandered most of his inheritance on wine, women, and gambling, saving just enough to purchase his cavalry commission. His ruthless Light Dragoons became one of the most feared units of the war, and they faced off against the Marylanders on several occasions. On this day, they quickly surrounded the inn and killed or drove off the guards posted outside. Tarleton recalled, "I ordered my men to fire into the house through every window and door, and cut up as many as they could."

Begging for mercy, the female tavern owner ran to the door and shouted that Lee was inside. In response Tarleton promised to begin burning the building down unless Lee gave himself up.

After only a few moments, Lee himself came to the door, still in his dressing gown, and placed himself at Tarleton's mercy, saying that "he trusted he would be treated as a gentleman."

With no intention of trapping Washington on the banks of the Delaware, Cornwallis continued his leisurely pace across New Jersey. He left New Brunswick on December 7 and arrived in Princeton that afternoon, one hour after the American rear guard led by Stirling vacated the village. The British paused there that night, ransacking the college library.

Meanwhile, Washington had been rounding up as many boats as possible and bringing them to the Pennsylvania side of the river. Every boat, no matter how small, for miles up and down the river was pressed into service and kept out of the hands of the British. At the same time, the Pennsylvania navy piloted nine galleys up the Delaware to help patrol the river and prevent the British from crossing. In addition, Washington strategically placed his artillery to defend the key crossing points.

On December 8, the Redcoats and Hessians entered Trenton, and Howe and Cornwallis approached the river with some aides. According to a Hessian officer on the scene, no fewer than thirty-seven American guns opened fire. Despite the artillery, Howe refused to leave, displaying "the greatest coolness and calm for at least an hour." The officer added, "Wherever we turned the cannon balls hit the ground, and I can hardly understand, even now, why all five of us were not killed."

Once again, the Americans had escaped. One of the Hessian battle captains opined, "It became clearly evident that the march took place so slowly for no other reason than to permit Washington to cross the Delaware safely and peacefully." Historian Charles Stedman agreed, writing, "General Howe appeared to have calculated with the greatest accuracy the exact time necessary for the enemy to make his escape."

Safely on the other side of the Delaware, the Marylanders were assigned to guard crossing points along the river. Pennsylvanian Charles Willson Peale visited the Maryland camp and wrote that the men were "scattered through the woods in huts made of poles, straw, leaves, etc., in a dirty, ragged condition."

The British army now occupied much of New Jersey, its goal from the start. Howe wanted to push the American army out of New Jersey without sustaining many casualties and to capture its rich farms before the armies could pick them clean of lifestock and forage. The British supply line stretched back more than three thousand miles to London, making it difficult to feed the men and horses. Initially, the British planned to compensate local inhabitants for the supplies they needed. However, instead of paying in hard currency, they issued IOUs that would often prove to be worthless or simply took what they needed. New Jersey was filled with Loyalists, many of them middle-class farmers with abundant fields and livestock. But instead of protecting its sympathizers in New Jersey, the Hessians ransacked the farms. "All the plantations in the vicinity were plundered, and whatever the soldiers found in the houses were declared booty." Some Loyalists and British also got in on the action. The American army wasn't innocent either, but Washington attempted to keep their marauding in check. Many of the colonists remained torn between their loyalty to the Crown and their desire for fair treatment. The plundering continued as long as the British occupied New Jersey and was a factor in swaying the allegiance of the locals.

During these dark days for America, a volunteer who carried a musket and a pen captured the mood of the country and also issued a call to arms. Radical and journalist Thomas Paine, the author of the widely read pamphlet Common Sense, wrote the first in a series of pamphlets called The American Crisis at this time. His immortal words are etched in the minds of many Americans while they are schoolchildren: "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine Patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he, that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of men and women." Paine ordered his pamphlet to be sold at no more than two pennies, or just the cost of printing, and it "flew like wildfire through all the towns and villages of the counties." Surprisingly for the eighteenth century, most of the American army was literate. The little book was also read aloud to small groups of privates and corporals, as well as townspeople, across the colonies. In the crisis and dark times, "people began to think anew. Thomas Paine's pamphlet caught that spirit and helped it grow. The American Crisis was more than an exhortation; it was a program for action…. Most important, he concentrated the mind of a nation on the single-most urgent task, which was to rebuild its army and to do it quickly," wrote historian David Hackett Fischer.

The pamphlet expressed the groundswell of actions that ordinary people individually and collectively took to change their circumstances.

Now encamped in Trenton with thirteen thousand men at his disposal, Howe was poised to strike Philadelphia and wipe out the Marylanders and what was left of the American army. In anticipation of a British assault on the capital, the Continental Congress fled the city. Eventually, it settled in Baltimore. However, instead of striking decisively, the British pursued a European, gentlemanly style of warfare and chose to encamp for the winter. To solidify their gains, Howe set up a series of fortified posts across New Jersey. He garrisoned British and Hessian troops in various towns, such as Perth Amboy, New Brunswick, Princeton, and Trenton. The decision proved fateful. Concentrated en masse, the British army was nearly invincible. But when it was separated and segmented in this way, any part was vulnerable to a focused American attack.

The strategic situation was also fraught with potential peril for the Patriots. A sudden cold snap could freeze the Delaware River, enabling the British to cross by foot. This fact, coupled with the unraveling of American financing behind the war effort and compounded by the enlistment problem, made the situation look grim. Washington wrote to his brother Samuel, "I think the game is pretty near up."

Yet in the midst of this despair, Washington glimpsed an opportunity. He decided on a bold gamble that might result in either a battlefied victory or the complete defeat of his army and the potential loss of the war.

Chapter 15

Victory or Death-

The Gamble at Trenton

Inside his tent on the banks of the Delaware River, General George Washington methodically wrote the same three words over and over on several small pieces of paper. He had decided on a daring plan: crossing the ice-choked Delaware River on Christmas night and mounting a surprise attack on the Hessian garrison there. Knowing that the assault could not hope to succeed if word of the plan reached the enemy, he detailed a Virginia brigade to serve as sentries around the Patriot camp. He ordered them "not to suffer any person to go in or come out-but to detain all persons who attempts either." The general himself selected the password for the night, and that was what he was writing on scraps of paper for distribution to the unit commanders. While the surgeon general of the Continental Army was visiting Washington, one of the slips happened to fall to the floor. "I was struck with the inscription on it," the physician wrote. "It was 'Victory or Death.'"

Contrary to the myth perpetuated by many children's books, the Hessians in Trenton were neither drunk nor idle. Their experienced commander, Colonel Johann Rall, the courageous hero of Chatterton's Hill and Fort Washington, kept his men in constant readiness and on patrol. A series of raids by Washington's army and the local militia in the prior days had put them on edge, and the men slept dressed and armed. Waiting for the Americans in Trenton were fifty Hessian Jaegers, twenty British Light Dragoons, and three Hessian infantry regiments led by Rall, Wilhelm von Knyphausen, and Friedrich Wilhelm von Lossberg, more than fourteen hundred men total. In addition, they had six artillery pieces. Rall realized the precarious nature of the Trenton outpost and frequently demanded reinforcements-to no avail. Unwisely, he decided not to entrench his garrison. Instead, he opted for flexibility and mobility, explaining, "I have not made any redoubts or any kind of fortifications because I have the enemy in all directions." In exasperation, he complained, "Scheiszer bey Scheisz [shit on shit]! Let them come…. We will go at them with the bayonet." British spies had warned of an impending attack on Trenton, but no one knew the exact day and time. The intelligence, combined with the raids, put Rall and his men in a perpetual state of alert and began to fray their nerves.

As the sun set on Christmas Day, Washington's army, including Mordecai Gist and the bedraggled remnants of Smallwood's Battalion, made its way toward the Delaware River. Once again, the unflappable John Glover and his Marblehead Mariners, who had orchestrated the brilliant East River crossing, led the amphibious operation to cross the river. Asked if the plan was doable, Glover confidently reassured Washington "not to be troubled about that as his boys could manage it."

Washington settled on a complicated plan to envelop Rall's garrison. Four independent columns would attack the town. He placed the Marylanders under the command of General Hugh Mercer, a Scottish army physician who had fled to Pennsylvania after the British defeated the Scottish, or Jacobite, uprising of 1745. They would be part of the main force, which would cross at McConkey's Ferry. Once ashore on the other side, the group of twenty-four hundred men would split into two columns. Farther south, two additional forces would cross the river below Trenton-one led by Colonel John Cadwalader of the Philadelphia Associators (a militia unit inspired by Ben Franklin in 1747 to defend Philadelphia) and the other by Brigadier General James Ewing, who commanded elements of the Pennsylvania militia. Although Washington did not know it, neither Cadwalader's nor Ewing's force would cross that night because the icy conditions made the river impassable.

The water had begun to freeze near the shore, and even sections in the center of the river were covered in ice. Yet the men followed their general without complaint. Henry Wells recalled that after the men reached the assembly point and before they boarded the boats, "our General halted his Army and raising on his stirrups made us such an animating speech that we forgot the cold, the hunger and the toil under which we were ready to sink and each man seemed only to be anxious for the onset. The Snow & Slush ice covered the firm ice in the River, yet when our brave commander gave the word and turned his horse's head across the stream, no one complained or held back, but all plunged in emulous who should next touch the Jersey shore after our beloved."

By 11:00 p.m., a harsh storm pelted the men with snow, sleet, and biting wind as they crossed the Delaware in flat-bottomed ferry boats and Durham boats. The Durham boats were between forty and sixty feet long and unique to the region. They usually transported freight. Each of the boats could hold forty men-if they stood shoulder to shoulder as the small craft made the treacherous eight-hundred-foot journey. For the troops, many of whom could not swim, falling over the side would likely have meant death in the icy currents. At least one man did fall: Delaware Colonel John Haslet plunged into the icy river and was quickly fished out. Despite the risk of frostbite and hypothermia, the indefatigable Haslet and the Continental Army pressed on.

General Adam Stephen's Virginia Continentals were the first to make the dangerous crossing that night, followed immediately by General Mercer's brigade, which included most of the Marylanders. Marylander John Boudy, who was with Jack Steward and Gist, made the crossing "but thinly clad, and entirely barefoot all the while." He added, "The winter was now sitting in, and extremely cold." The Delaware Regiment and the rest of Lord Stirling's men came in the next group. Washington reported that the men experienced the "greatest fatigue" when "breaking a passage" through the solid ice. Much of the hard work was handled by the Marbleheaders, who manned the long poles used to propel the boats across the ice-packed river.

Miraculously, the Americans didn't lose a single soldier in the crossing. However, the storm had put them far behind their original timetable. Washington had planned to have everyone over the river by midnight, but his army wasn't reassembled on the far side of the Delaware until nearly four in the morning. Not knowing that the other troops hadn't made it across, Washington ordered his exhausted, shivering men to proceed at once on the nine-mile march to Trenton.

Through snow and sleet driven nearly horizontal by the punishing winds, the men and horses trudged through drifts and slid across the icy roads. As always, the Americans were poorly equipped, and few had clothing equal to the conditions. "Many of our poor soldiers are quite barefoot and ill clad," wrote one of the officers on the scene. "Their route was easily traced, as there was a little snow on the ground, which was tinged here and there with blood from the feet of the men who wore broken shoes." Another officer remarked that the men bore the hardship well. "It will be a terrible night for the soldiers who have no shoes," he noted. "Some of them have tied old rags around their feet; others are barefoot, but I have not heard a man complain." Boudy recalled, "Our Army was destitute of shoes and clothing-… It was snowing at this time and the night was unusually stormy. Several of our men froze to death." Not wanting to lose any more of his troops, Washington shouted encouragement to the men: "Soldiers, keep by your officers. For God's sake, keep by your officers!"

As they neared their goal, word came from General John Sullivan that the ammunition had become so wet from the storm that the Patriot guns would no longer fire. But by that time, Washington had little choice but to continue with the battle plan. "Tell General Sullivan to use the bayonet. I am resolved to take Trenton," he told the messenger. Throughout the night, the commander in chief remained determined and resolute; adversity brought forth his best qualities. "Press on! Press on, boys!" he shouted as he rode up and down the line encouraging his men.

Washington's plan called for the Americans to split apart and attack both sides of the city simultaneously. For once, things went according to plan. The Americans arrived on the outskirts of Trenton just before eight o'clock in the morning.

Thanks to the reduced visibility from the storm, they approached within two hundred yards before the sentries sounded the cry, "Der Feind! Heraus! Heraus!" (The enemy! Turn out! Turn out!)

Mercer's brigade, including the Marylanders, was moving down a hill along the west side of the town, entering the village through the house lots and alleys. Shots were fired, and the Americans charged, some yelling, "These are the times that try men's souls!" as their battle cry. The Hessians, disorganized, fell back from the onslaught that seemed to come from all around them. Small groups clashed throughout the city in the house-to-house fighting. Soon smoke from the cannons and muskets filled the streets and, combined with the continuing storm, added to the murk and confusion.

Very quickly after entering Trenton, Washington's army captured several Hessian artillery pieces. In the thick of the fighting, Rall ordered his men to retake the guns because their loss was considered a dishonor to the regiment.

With drums beating, Rall shouted, "All who are my grenadiers forward!"

By this time, the Americans had infiltrated the entire city, and marksmen took up secure positions in houses and behind fences from which they could pick off the enemy fighters. The American artillery was commanded by Bostonion Colonel Henry Knox, the corpulent former bookseller who had miraculously transported sixty tons of heavy artillery some three hundred miles from Fort Ticonderoga to Dorchester Heights overlooking Boston Harbor in the winter of 1775–1776. Knox concentrated his artillery and continued to pummel the oncoming Hessians. The mercenaries reclaimed their guns-but at great cost. Knox later wrote, "Here succeeded a scene of war, of which I had often conceived but never saw before." Another participant captured the macabre melee: "My blood chill'd to see such horror and distress, blood mingling together, the dying groans, and 'Garments' rolled in 'blood' the sight was too much to bear."

After his guns had been recaptured, Rall tried to rally his men. Acting on faulty intelligence, he assumed that his only escape route, a bridge across Assunpink Creek (a tributary of the Delaware River that flows through Trenton), had been blocked by the Americans. Elements of Rall's, Knyphausen's, and Lossberg's regiments attempted to make a stand, but Rall eventually ordered them to retreat through an orchard to the southeast. At that moment, two bullets struck the Hessian commander in the side. Mortally wounded, he "reeled in the saddle." His men attempted to evade the Patriot forces, but the Americans pursued them. On horseback, Washington led the attack, urging the Marylanders and his other troops forward, shouting, "March on, my brave fellows, after me!"

Hit from three sides, the Hessians, now leaderless, lowered their guns and their flags around 9:00 a.m. in a sign of surrender. Washington had just ordered another cannonade when the officer in charge of the field pieces informed him, "Sir, they have struck."

"Struck!" replied the general.

"Yes, their colours are down."

"So they are," he replied, spurring his horse forward to meet with the enemy. The two groups greeted each other and "after satisfying their curiosity a little, they began to converse familiarly in broken English and German."

Washington made sure the Hessian prisoners were treated humanely, stating, "[Prisoners] should have no reason to complain of our copying the brutal example of the British army in their treatment of of our unfortunate brethen." Through Washington's leadership, the Continental strategy and tactics generally aligned with principles of the Revolution. This democratic army of amateur citizen-soldiers followed a code of conduct that John Adams called a "policy of humanity." This policy governed everything from the way soldiers were supposed to treat civilians to giving quarter to enemy combatants who had surrendered-treating them with respect and not just executing them, as the British often did. To a large degree, these policies were followed in the northern department of the war (but not always in the South). Often these practices were diametrically opposed to the Crown's way of treating prisoners.

Word of the surrender soon spread to the men still positioned throughout Trenton. A huge shout shook the town as the triumphant Americans threw their hats into the air and cheered the victory. In short order, they found forty hogsheads of rum and cracked them open. One observer noted the drunken rabble: "With [Hessian] brass caps on it was laughable to see how our soldiers would strut, fellows with their elbows out, and some without a collar to their half-a-shirt, no shoes, etc." By the time Washington found out about the alcohol and ordered the casks destroyed, "the soldiers drank too freely to admit of Discipline or Defense." Washington had intended to continue his push forward and to attack Princeton and New Brunswick after Trenton, but these plans for a further offensive had be be scotched owing to the state of the army. The victorious yet drunken men rowed back across the icy Delaware. The blizzard continued to rage, and this crossing was even more treacherous than the first, costing the lives of three men. It was noon the next day before all the Americans got back to their camp, some having been awake and fighting against the elements and the enemy for fifty hours. The next morning more than a thousand reported unfit for duty.

The Americans had killed 22 Hessians, severely wounded 84, and taken 896 prisoner, while suffering few losses of their own. Equally important, they had captured "as many muskets, bayonets, cartouche boxes and swords," as well as the artillery, swelling their supplies. Washington ordered his men to treat the prisoners honorably. He even spoke to the Hessian commander, who lay dying in a nearby church. By Washington's report to Congress, the American casualties were "very trifling indeed, only two officers and one or two privates wounded." In actuality, more than that had perished from the harsh weather conditions.

The Americans had won a great victory, but they had little time for rest. Washington hadn't intended to fight again in Trenton so soon, but actions taken by John Cadwalader and his Philadelphia Associators forced his hand. Unable to make it across the river on Christmas night, the Associators and other units tried again on December 27 and successfully made it into Trenton. The Americans now had about three thousand men stranded on the New Jersey side of the river, where they were vulnerable to the approaching enemy. Making matters worse, the enlistment period for the bulk of Washington's men expired on New Year's Day. Washington mustered his oratorical prowess and appealed to the men to continue fighting. "My brave fellows, you have done all I asked you to do and more than could be reasonably expected," he began. "But your country is at stake, your wives, your houses, and all that you hold dear…. If you will consent to stay one month longer, you will render that service to the cause of liberty and to your country which you probably can never do under any other circumstances."

Moved by the general's words and his "most affectionate manner," the majority of the men decided to continue fighting. Washington once again ordered them to load up on boats and cross the icy Delaware River on December 30.

On January 2, 1777, the American army girded for Cornwallis's counterattack, which it knew was on the way. The army camped on the banks of Assunpink Creek. Cornwallis was on his way to the city, leading a force of fifty-five hundred men with twenty-eight cannons; he left another force of about fifteen hundred men to guard Princeton. A bridge crossing the Assunpink was all that divided the two armies.

"Defend the bridge to the last extremity!" Washington ordered his officers in the hearing of the British nearby.

Colonel Charles Scott of the Virginia Regiment uttered a "tremendous oath," before agreeing, "To the last man, excellency."

On the other side of the creek, a small force of riflemen led by Pennsylvania's Colonel Edward Hand was skirmishing with the enemy, buying time for the rest of the Americans to dig in at the creek and cover the key crossing points, including an all-important narrow wooden bridge, one of only a few nearby ways to get over the creek. Behind them, the nearly frozen Delaware River cut off any hope of retreat-and they had no boats for crossing even if it had been possible. In front of them, a much larger force of British and Hessian troops was inexorably approaching. Spoiling for revenge, the Hessian officers ordered their men to take no prisoners. The Patriots' only hope was to hold their ground.

Though it had won a great victory in the very same place just a few days before, the American army now found itself in the grip of despair. "This was the most awful crisis," wrote one of the officers present, "no possible chance of crossing the River; ice as large as houses floating down, and no retreat to the mountains, the British between us and them." Another echoed the same sentiment, recalling, "If there ever was a crisis in the affairs of the Revolution, this was the moment; thirty minutes would have sufficed to bring the two armies into contact, and thirty more would have decided the combat; and, covered with woe, Columbia might have wept the loss of her beloved chief and most valorous sons."

As the Virginians, Marylanders, and other men in Washington's army waited on the banks of the creek, the situation looked dire. With the British bearing down on them, Washington's army was in grave danger of being destroyed. One private summed up the situation: "On one hour, yes, on forty minutes, commencing at the moment when the British troops first saw the bridge and creek before them, depended the all-important, the all-absorbing question whether we should be independent States, or conquered rebels!"

On the bank of the Assunpink, Washington carefully arranged his troops, including the Marylanders, so that his most trusted veteran Continentals, with the invaluable artillery pieces, guarded the likeliest crossing places. He interspersed the less reliable militia among the regulars to bolster their courage and prevent gaps in the line. At the key bridge were Scott and his Virginians and the Marylanders led by Gist and Stone. Before the battle began, Scott gave his men a few last words of instruction:

Well, boys, you know the old boss has put us here to defend this bridge; and by God it must be done, let what will come. Now I want to tell you one thing. You're all in the habit of shooting too high. You waste your powder and lead, and I have cursed you about it a hundred times. Now I tell you what it is, nothing must be wasted, every crack must count. For that reason boys, whenever you see them fellows first begin to put their feet upon this bridge do you shin 'em. Take care now and fire low. Bring down your pieces, fire at their legs, one man Wounded in the leg is better [than] a dead one for it takes two more to carry him off and there is three gone. Leg them dam 'em I say leg them.

Washington himself also stayed near the bridge. The men in Colonel Hand's harassing force could no longer hold their position and were falling back slowly to join the rest of the defense. As Hand's men approached the bridge, pursued by the enemy, the general's calm composure gave hope to the soldiers. One private later wrote,

The noble horse of Gen. Washington stood with his breast pressed close against the end of the west rail of the bridge, and the firm, composed, and majestic countenance of the General inspired confidence and assurance in a moment so important and critical. In this passage across the bridge it was my fortune to be next to the west rail, and arriving at the end of the bridge rail, I was pressed against the shoulder of the general's horse and in contact with the general's boot. The horse stood as firm as the rider, and seemed to understand that he was not to quit his post and station.

The British attack on the bridge followed swiftly on the heels of Hand's arrival. Cannons fired a punishing volley from both sides of the creek. Cornwallis sent probing attacks up and down the line of the Assunpink, but the bulk of his assault fell on the bridge.

An officer in the Delaware Regiment recalled one of the assaults on the bridge: "The enemy came down in a very heavy column to force the bridge. The fire was very heavy, and the light troops were ordered to fly to the support of that important post, and as we drew near, I stepped out to the front to order the men to close up; at this time Martinas Sipple was about ten steps behind the man in front of him; I at once drew my sword and threatened to cut his head off if he did not keep close, he then sprang forward and I returned to the front. The enemy were soon defeated."[19]

[19]. After the battle, the Delaware officer did a roll call. Sipple had deserted and fled.

The Hessian grenadiers made the first attempt to cross, making it about halfway before the American fire stopped them. One militiaman reported, "They continued to advance, though their speed was diminished. And as the column reached the bridge it moved slower and slower until the head of it was gradually pressed nearly over, when our fire became so destructive that they broke their ranks and fled." The Hessians lost thirty-one men in the attack, and twenty-nine surrendered.

But the defeat didn't stop the British forces, who again tried to mount an assault on the bridge. "Officers reformed the ranks and again they rushed the bridge, and again was the shower of bullets pushed upon them with redoubled fury," wrote one of the Americans. "This time the column broke before it reached the center of the bridge." Elated in their triumph, the Americans raised a cheer at the site of the British retreat. "It was then that our army raised a shout," recalled one man, "and such a shout I never since heard; by what signal or word of command, I know not. The line was more than a mile in length, and from the nature of the ground the extremes were not in sight of each other, yet they shouted as one man." Still the Redcoats were undaunted. "They came on a third time," noted one American artillerist. "We loaded with canister shot and let them come nearer. We fired all together again, and such destruction it made, you cannot conceive." With that failed attempt, the British withdrew for the night.

The three attempted assaults had left the bridge stained with gore. "The bridge looked red as blood, with their killed and wounded and their red coats," wrote one American. Another added, "Their dead bodies lay thicker and closer together for a space than I ever beheld sheaves of wheat lying in a field which the reapers had just passed."

While they held the bridge and the rest of the field, Washington's men were in grave danger of being encircled and destroyed by Corn-wallis's larger force and the British force about to march down from Prince-ton. But with nightfall approaching, Cornwallis confidently postponed the main attack and opted to wait till the morning. According to legend, he rebuked one of his officers who insisted that unless they attacked immediately Washington would be gone in the morning. Cornwallis retorted, "We've got the old fox safe now. We'll go over and bag him in the morning."