With the present crisis upon them, the American congressmen recalled the saga of Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus. A humble farmer who lived in the Italian countryside during the early Roman Republic, in the fifth century B.C., Cincinnatus famously served his country during a time of military crisis. A mountain people known as the Aequians had attacked, and the Romans were on the verge of defeat. The Roman senate was thrown into a panic by the thought of enemy hordes soon descending upon Rome. In this desperate situation, they suspended their republic and granted Cincinnatus dictatorial powers for six months. He used that time to defeat the Aequians and save Rome. Afterward, the people sought to crown Cincinnatus king. Instead, the great hero relinquished his dictatorial powers and simply returned to his farm. For his selfless devotion to his people, he was hailed as a paragon of simplicity and virtue. Washington would forever be compared to him.
Washington was really a new type of dictator. Unlike the Romans, Congress did not dissolve the republic and transfer the sovereign power of the nation from the people to Washington. His powers were vast, but they were largely confined to military matters. The supreme authority of the nation remained with the people, while the American commander had full military power to defend them. While perhaps seemingly subtle in the practical sense, this was an important philosophical distinction to the Americans.
In defending Congress’s grant of authority to Washington, John Adams argued that “Congress never thought of making him [a true] dictator or of giving him a sovereignty.”
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The United States was not suspending civilian rule. Americans retained their rights, and their commander was still subject to Congress in civilian matters. But by making Washington a
military
dictator, Congress established the precedent of a strong commander in chief who possessed broad military authority to defend the United States without congressional meddling during wartime.
Washington instantly understood the ramifications of his new authority. The country’s experimentation with the concept of “American commander in chief ” had just reached a turning point. In his response to Congress, Washington wrote,
they have done me the honor to intrust me with powers, in my Military Capacity, of the highest nature and almost unlimited in extent. Instead of thinking myself free’d from all civil Obligations, by this mark of their Confidence, I shall constantly bear in mind, that as the Sword was the last Resort for the preservation of our Liberties, so it ought to be the first thing laid aside, when those Liberties are firmly established.
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He was assuring Congress that a strong commander could nevertheless be a republican one. Washington was very aware of Congress’s fears about military rule. He was eager to show them otherwise. He would prove that the American commander could be a powerful one who used his military authority to defend liberty rather than destroy it.
Washington promptly put his military supremacy to good use: the newly empowered commander made a daring bid to turn the tide of battle.
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Victory or Death
E
veryone expected Washington to use the winter of 1776–1777 to gather his army’s strength. The British assumed he had no other choice. One British commander wrote, “The fact is their army is broken all to pieces and the spirit of their leaders and abettors is all broken.”
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But Washington’s spirit would never be broken.
He did not have time to waste the winter rebuilding. With morale so low and pay so absent, Washington’s soldiers were unlikely to reenlist when their terms expired on December 31. The commander faced the very real possibility of his army evaporating. As he met with a member of Congress, he “appeared much depressed, and lamented the ragged and dissolving state of his army in affecting terms.” While the congressman “gave him assurance of the disposition of Congress to support him,” Washington knew he could expect little help. Only half paying attention to the congressman, he continued “to play with his pen and ink upon several small pieces of paper.” Almost like a madman, he was writing over and over: “Victory or Death.”
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This would be the secret code for his stunning surprise attack.
Washington took a risk. He reasoned, “as nothing but necessity obliged me to retire before the Enemy . . . I conceive it to be my duty, and it corrisponds with my Inclination, to make against them so soon as there shall be the least probability of doing it with propriety.”
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In his usual style, Washington concocted an overly complicated plan to attack the Hessians in Trenton, New Jersey. This time, however, his elaborate scheme actually succeeded.
The newly empowered commander was a cunning one. Washington had been defeated time and time again when he attempted to rely on brute force. This time, he would launch a daring surprise attack, as he had done long ago in the Jumonville massacre. Even if it risked what was left of his fading force, he did not hesitate to try now that Congress was in disarray and he was in full control of his army.
The Hessians in Trenton underestimated the American fighting spirit. They believed that Washington’s beaten-down force was “almost naked, dying of cold, without blankets, and very ill supplied with provisions.” And they were correct on all counts—the Americans were indeed “dying and cold.”
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But as the German mercenaries nested comfortably for the winter in the warm homes, inns, and shops of Trenton, they misjudged Washington’s daring. Little did they know, he was poised for a yuletide attack.
On Christmas Day, Washington and his men faced another nor’easter. The same type of nasty storm that had enabled his escape from Brooklyn that summer now pelted his face with sleet. One of the worst storms in years, “it rained, hailed, snowed, and froze, and at the same time blew a perfect hurricane . . . .”
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But much like before, this nor’easter also masked Washington’s movements from his adversaries. He quickly organized a small flotilla of barges and packed them with his troops. Under the cover of wintry darkness, he and his makeshift fleet nervously rowed through the jagged chunks of ice on the Delaware River. The men stood together shaking—due to cold and fear—as they carefully navigated the treacherous currents.
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Then Washington ordered his men to march through the night, dead set on reaching the Hessians before the first light. But in the 28-degree weather with violent winds, the exhausted troops slowed to a crawl. The men “were nearly half dead from cold for the want of clothing,” and many of them “had not a shoe to their feet and their clothes were ragged as those of a beggar.” Washington rode alongside them, his squared nose flaming red in the wind,
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and warned in his deep, breathy voice, “Keep up with your officers.” If they stopped, they would likely freeze to death, as two of them did.
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But Washington was not just looking out for them. He was running out of time. They were late and each additional ray of sun that shone on the horizon further derailed his plan.
The Americans finally arrived at Trenton in the early morning of December 26, 1776, hours behind schedule. Although they had lost the cover of darkness, they had acquired a camouflage of snow that literally covered them. And luckily, the German guards had skipped their patrols. While popular narrative blamed this lapse on hangovers from their Christmas binge, it was more likely that they were in fighting form but merely “unwilling to emerge into the teeth of a bad snowstorm.”
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Trenton’s snowy streets were largely deserted—despite his troops’ tardiness, Washington had not lost the element of surprise after all.
In the light of morning, however, he realized that only a fraction of his men were in position. Just one section of his multipronged assault plan had made it across the river and to Trenton by then. So Washington took another risk. Like a desperate gambler, he went for broke and decided to attack the force of one thousand Hessians anyway.
At just after eight in the morning, he launched the assault. Upon his order, the American cannon and muskets sprayed the little town with lead, catching the Germans by surprise. The soundly sleeping Hessian commander needed to be summoned three times before he put on his clothes and ran out into the storm. The bewildered Hessians grabbed their muskets and attempted to resist, but with the howling winds and horrendous visibility they were unsure of which direction to fire! Adding to the chaos, the civilian townsfolk ran screaming in terror through the once-quaint town’s icy roads, making it even more difficult for the Hessians to hear their officers’ commands.
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In the confused hour-long fight, many of the Americans’ frozen guns malfunctioned. But the patriots were undaunted. They resorted to running towards their enemies brandishing their swords and yelling at the top of their lungs—and it worked.
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The Hessians “ran like frightened devils” or surrendered in droves.
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As the Hessians laid down their guns, the weapons were covered in snow. Not realizing that their enemies had capitulated, the Americans almost shot them. But right before the massacre, a few of the Americans’ young eyes drew close enough to notice that they were unarmed.
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When the Hessians surrendered, Washington secured a treasure trove of prisoners and munitions. The Americans killed or wounded one hundred Hessians and captured over nine hundred, while suffering amazingly few casualties themselves.
Patriots everywhere were overjoyed. Washington proclaimed, “it is a glorious day for our country,”
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as news of the victory spread quickly and soon filled the newspapers throughout the states.
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Reports circulated that “Congress untied the General, and then he instantly fought and conquered at Trenton.”
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Capitalizing on the boost in morale, Washington tried to persuade his men to continue fighting after their commissions expired on the 31st. While he had once disdained the crude manners and antihierarchical tendencies of the northern soldiers, he had grown to respect them deeply. And so, the regal Washington humbled himself before these farmers and craftsmen who filled his ranks, pleading with them as brothers in arms.
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As they stood in a line on the frozen battleground listening to their commander, the soldiers were moved by his call. Despite their appreciation for their general, however, many were eager to escape the horrendous winter conditions and return home. When he asked those reenlisting to step forward, his men hesitated. So Washington then sweetened the pot. Reaching beyond his traditional powers, he promised his men a 67 percent pay raise over the next month should they remain.
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He informed Congress after the fact, adding, “I thought it no time to stand upon trifles.”
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Washington’s patriotic and monetary appeal saved the army. Many of the soldiers reenlisted. In a letter explaining to his fiancée why he could not yet return to her, one soldier summed up the growing sentiment among the troops: “I cannot desert a man (and it would certainly be deserting in a court of honor) who has deserted everything to defend his country.”
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Plus, he would enjoy the pay raise.
From their Baltimore hideout, Congress expressed the “highest satisfaction” with this victory and hoped that it would “prove the fore runner of future success.” They praised their (now dictatorial) commander, writing, “it is entirely to your wisdom and conduct the United States are indebted for the late success of their arms.” Reaffirming their faith in him, they added, “May you still proceed in the same manner to acquire that glory, which, by your disinterested and magnanimous behaviour, you so highly merit.”
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As Washington continued to flex his military muscles, his behavior was not always seen as so magnanimous, however.
But now, he needed to contend with the British backlash. When General Howe received word of the defeat at Trenton, he was furious. No longer willing to wait until spring to crush Washington, he ordered thousands of new troops into New Jersey. And he knew just the man to lead the mission: the decorated general Lord Cornwallis.
At the time, Cornwallis was about to walk the gangplank to sail back to England for a visit with his sick wife, Jemima. But to his dismay, his winter leave was abruptly canceled and he was instead sent to “bag the fox” in New Jersey. Of noble blood, Cornwallis was a highly educated and skilled military leader. Like Howe, he sympathized with the Americans. In fact, Cornwallis was one of the few members of the British House of Lords who called for Britain to stop taxing the colonies before the war. When the war arrived, however, he was ready to defend Britain’s interests ruthlessly against the rebels. He had helped to crush the Americans in the Battle of New York and was now ready to finish off Washington’s army.
Having just celebrated his thirty-ninth birthday, Cornwallis was a short, well-fed gentleman, whose round, dour face and drooping eyes masked a cunning intellect. He was known as an affable man, but not above occasional fits of rage. Respected by his countrymen for his military service in the Seven Years’ War, he was feared by the American side as a tremendously shrewd “madman.”
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Cornwallis displayed a particularly aggressive countenance that winter, having been kept away from his adored wife.