Part 12

The British attacked at once, but were repulsed; undismayed they pressed on again, and again they were driven back across the narrow stream. The spirited conflict continued until nightfall, when the assailants finally gave up and withdrew to bivouac, hoping to renew the fight next morning. In this affair on the Assanpink about a hundred and fifty, mostly British, were killed. Cornwallis dispatched messengers to summon the men he had left at Maidenhead and Princeton, determined if possible to surround, overwhelm and annihilate Washington next day. But the battle on the Assanpink was destined to be the only real fighting in Trenton. Washington had in mind the strategic move which rendered this campaign one of his greatest, if not his very greatest. He determined to outflank his foe by a circuitous march to Princeton over the unguarded road on the south side of the Assanpink.

The night was dark and cold; the camp-fires of both lines burned strong and bright. Behind those of Cornwallis there was a bustle of preparation for the next day’s battle; behind those of Washington there was a stealthy making ready for retreat. The baggage was packed and dispatched to Burlington; a few men were detached to keep the fires well fed and clear; the rest silently stole away about midnight. Their march was long, between sixteen and eighteen miles, and difficult because the frost had turned the mud on the roads into hummocks. But at sunrise on the third of January the head of the column had crossed Stony Brook by the bridge on the Quaker road, and stood about a mile and three-quarters from Princeton, awaiting the result of a council of war. They were masked by the piece of woods which is still standing behind the Quaker meeting-house. It was determined that Washington with the main column should march across the fields, through a kind of depression in the rolling land intervening between the meeting-house and Princeton, in order to reach the town as quickly as possible. Mercer, with three hundred and fifty men and two field-pieces, was to follow the road half a mile farther to its junction with the King’s Highway, and there blow up the upper bridge over Stony Brook, that by which Cornwallis’s reserve, marching to Trenton, must cross the stream. This would likewise detain Cornwallis himself on his return in pursuit.

* * * * *

There were three actions in the battle of Princeton. Two of the three English regiments left in reserve at Princeton were under way betimes to join Cornwallis at Trenton. One of these under Colonel Mawhood, with three companies of horse, had already crossed Stony Brook and had climbed the hill beyond, before they descried Mercer following the road in the valley below; the other was half a mile behind, north of the stream. Mawhood quickly turned back and, uniting the two, engaged Mercer. The Americans were armed with rifles which had no bayonets, and although nearly equal in number to the enemy they were first slowly then rapidly driven up the hill to the ridge south of the King’s Highway and east of the Quaker road. They stood firm before the firing of the English, but yielded when the enemy charged bayonets. In this encounter Mercer was severely wounded and left for dead. Many other officers were likewise wounded as they hung back, striving to rally the flying troops.

Washington, hearing the firing, stopped immediately and, leaving the rest of his column to follow their line of march, put himself at the head of the Pennsylvania volunteers and wheeled. Summoning two pieces of artillery he turned to join the retreating forces of Mercer. The British reached the crest of the hill in pursuit before they saw Washington’s column. The sight brought them to a halt, and while they formed their artillery came up. It seemed to Washington a most critical moment. In an instant Mercer’s command was fused with his own men, and placing himself well out before the line he gave the order to advance. There was no halt until the Commander himself was within thirty yards of the foe; at that instant both lines volleyed simultaneously. The fire was hasty and ineffective. Washington, as if by a miracle, was unscathed. As the smoke blew away, an American brigade came in under Hitchcock, while Hand with his riflemen attacked the British flank. In a few moments Mawhood gave up the fight; his troops, after a few brave efforts, broke and retreated over the hill up the valley of Stony Brook. The bridge was then destroyed.

Meantime the head of the American column had reached the outskirts of Princeton. There, on the edge of the ravine now known as Springdale, was posted still a third British force composed of soldiers from the 40th and 55th Line. The Americans, with Stark at their head, attacked and drove them back as far as Nassau Hall, into which the fugitives hastily threw themselves. From the windows scattered remnants of their regiments could be seen fleeing through fields and byways toward New Brunswick. The American artillery began to play on the walls of the building; one ball, it is said, crashed through the roof and tore from its frame the portrait of George II., hanging in the Prayer Hall; another is still imbedded in the venerable walls. A Princeton militiaman, with the assistance of his neighbors, finally burst the door and the little garrison surrendered.

When Donop retreated from Bordentown to Princeton after the battle of Trenton, he threw up an arrow-head breastwork at the point not far from where Mercer and Stockton Streets now join; on this still lay a cannon of the size known as a thirty-two pounder, the carriage of which was dismantled. It was early morning when Cornwallis became aware that his expected battle would not be fought at Trenton; the roar of artillery gave him the terrible assurance that the blow had been struck on his weakened flank,—that his precious stores at New Brunswick were in danger. Swiftly he issued the necessary orders and appeared at the west end of the town on the King’s Highway, just as Washington was leaving Princeton, his van having been delayed in crossing Stony Brook. The citizens had loaded the gun in the breastwork and on the approach of the intruders they fired it. This utterly deceived the English generals, for they thought themselves facing a well-manned battery. It was some time, tradition says an hour, before they were undeceived and in that precious interval Washington collected his army and marched away. His forces were too weak to risk the venture of seizing New Brunswick, even temporarily; accordingly he turned northwestward and reached Morristown in safety. There and at Middlebrook his headquarters practically remained for the rest of the war. The English were content to secure New Brunswick.

In the battle of Princeton there were engaged somewhat under two thousand men on each side. The actual fighting lasted less than half an hour. We lost very few men—so few that the number cannot be accurately reckoned—possibly thirty; but we lost a brave general, Hugh Mercer, a colonel, a major, and three captains. The English soldiers fought with unsurpassed gallantry. They lost two hundred killed and two hundred and fifty captured, but no officers of distinction. It was not, therefore, a big fight, but it was none the less a great and decisive battle. How important Washington felt it to be, is attested by his personal exposure of himself. How decisive the great military critics have considered it, is shown by the fact that the campaign of which it was the finishing stroke is held by them to have been typical of his genius as a strategist. The two affairs of Trenton and Princeton are in the short histories of the Revolution generally reckoned together. And naturally so, since they occurred so near to one another in time and place. But, strategically and tactically examined, the battle of Trenton made good Washington’s position behind the Delaware; the battle of Princeton secured New Jersey and the Middle States.

After the preliminary actions which took place in New England the remainder of the Revolution falls into three portions—the struggle for the Hudson, to secure communication between New England and the Middle States; the struggle for the Delaware, to secure communication between the Middle States and the South; and thirdly, the effort to regain the South. After the battle of Princeton, Washington was able to establish a line from Amboy around by the west and south to Morristown; New England, the Middle and Southern States were in communication with each other and free. As a result of the first campaign by a numerous and well-equipped Anglo-German army the English held nothing but Newport in Rhode Island and New York City, with posts at King’s Bridge on the north and at New Brunswick on the south. The proof was finally secured that Washington with a permanent army such as the Colonies might, unassisted, have furnished him, would have been a match for any land force the English could have transported to America.

For the remaining years of the war Princeton was held by the Americans. Both the Legislature of the State and the Council of Safety held their meetings within its precincts; for a time Putnam was in command of the little garrison, for a time Sullivan. Early in 1781 thirteen hundred mutinous Pennsylvanians of Washington’s army marched away from Morristown and came in a body to Princeton. They were met by emissaries from Clinton who strove to entice them from their allegiance. But, though mutinous, they were not traitors, for they seized the British emissaries and handed them over to General Wayne to be treated as spies. A committee of Congress appeared and made such arrangements as pacified them. In the autumn of the same year the victory of Yorktown was celebrated with illuminations and general rejoicings. The College was again in session with forty students and local prosperity was restored. In 1782 there was held a meeting to support a continuance of the war.

[Illustration: NASSAU HALL.]

The Revolutionary epoch was fitly brought to a close by a meeting of Congress in Nassau Hall. On June 20, 1783, three hundred Pennsylvania soldiers who were discontented with the terms of their discharge marched from Lancaster to Philadelphia and beset the doors of Congress, holding that assembly imprisoned for three hours under threat of violence if their wrongs were not redressed. The legislators resolved to adjourn to Princeton. They were made heartily welcome, the college halls were put at their disposal, and the houses of the citizens were hospitably opened for their entertainment. Their sessions were held regularly in the College library for over four months, until the fourth of November, when they adjourned to meet at Annapolis three weeks later. Washington was in Princeton twice during this time: once at commencement in September, when he made a present of fifty guineas to the trustees—a sum they spent for the portrait by Peale which now hangs in Nassau Hall, filling, it is said, the very frame from which that of George II. was shot away during the battle. The second time he came in October, at the request of Boudinot, President of Congress, and a trustee of the College, to give advice concerning such weighty matters as the organization of a standing army to defend the frontiers, of a militia to maintain internal order, and of the military school. The Commander-in-Chief was received in solemn session and congratulated by the President on the success of the war. He replied in fitting terms. According to tradition he occupied while in attendance on Congress a room in a house now replaced by the handsome Pyne dormitory on the corner of Witherspoon and Nassau Streets, but his residence was the colonial mansion three miles away on the hill above the town of Rocky Hill which has been preserved as a historical monument and revolutionary museum by the liberality of Mrs. Josephine Swann. It was from this place that he issued his famous farewell address to the army.

But the greatest occasion in Princeton’s history was on the thirty-first of the same month. Congress had assembled in the Prayer Hall to receive in solemn audience the minister plenipotentiary from the Netherlands. There were present, besides the members, Washington, Morris, the superintendent of finance, Luzerne, the French envoy, and many other men of eminence. The company had just assembled when news came that the Treaty of Peace had been signed at Versailles. Many brilliant and beautiful women were present, and their unchecked delight doubled the enthusiasm of all. The reception was the most splendid public function thus far held by the now independent republic. On the twenty-fifth of November the British evacuated New York. Washington left Princeton to attend the ceremony, and afterward journeyed by Annapolis to his home at Mt. Vernon. He believed that, his military career being concluded, he was to spend the rest of his days as a private gentleman.

Providence had ordained otherwise. He had carried the difficult, strange and desultory War of the Revolution to a successful end; he had, by wise counsel and firmness, averted the dangers of a civil war which seemed imminent, so far as he could judge from the temper of those about his headquarters at Newburgh. Once more he was to enter the arena of embittered strife, but in a conflict political and not military. Three of the five great actions in which he was personally present during the Revolution were fought on Jersey soil; his next leadership was displayed in a contest waged in Philadelphia, but largely by Jerseymen or Princetonians. Princeton’s place in American history can not be understood without consideration of the Constitutional Convention, where the passions of localism, separatism and sectional prejudice broke forth afresh. The assembly contained many wise and far-seeing men. Of its fifty-five members, thirty-two were men of academic training. There were one each from London, Oxford, Edinburgh and Aberdeen, and five had been connected with the checkered fortunes of William and Mary. The University of Pennsylvania sent one, Columbia two, Harvard three, Yale four and Princeton nine. The most serious dissension, as is well known, was concerning the relative importance of large and small States in legislation. The Virginia, or large-States plan, was for two houses, basing representation in both on population. It was essentially the work of James Madison, a pupil of Witherspoon. The Jersey, or small-State, plan was for one house, wherein each State should have equal representation. It was the cherished idea of Paterson, another Princetonian. Over these two schemes the battle waged fiercely until it seemed that even Washington, the presiding officer, could not command peace or force a compromise, and that the convention was on the verge of dissolution. Connecticut had ever been accustomed to two houses—one representing the people, one the towns. It was the compromise suggested on this analogy by Sherman and Ellsworth, and urged by them, with the assistance of Davie from Georgia, which finally prevailed. Ellsworth and Davie were both Princetonians. Madison joined hands with Washington in the successful struggle for the acceptance of the new Constitution in Virginia—both Ellsworth and Paterson, their end attained, became the most ardent Federalists.

The history of Princeton during this century has of course not been so dramatic as it was in the last, but the town and neighborhood have secured the permanent influence foreshadowed by its Revolutionary record. They shared in the control of State and nation, they gave their sons freely to the service of the country in each of the three wars since fought. But of course the story of Princeton is, in the main, the story of the University. Reopening its doors under Witherspoon with about forty students, its graduating class as early as 1806 numbered fifty-four, and thence to the outbreak of the Civil War it enjoyed almost unbroken prosperity under four presidents, Samuel Stanhope Smith, Ashbel Green, James Carnahan and John Maclean. The first care of its friends was to provide for thorough training in science, so that it has the honor of having had the first American professor of chemistry. For a time it likewise had a professor of theology; but the founding of the Theological Seminary in 1812 and its permanent location in Princeton the following year committed that branch of learning to an institution which has since become one of the most important in the country. From time to time new buildings were added to both College and Seminary as necessity required. How stern the college discipline was is shown by the fact that at intervals, fortunately rare, students were sent to their homes in numbers scarcely credible in this quieter age; on one occasion a hundred and twenty-five out of something over two hundred. In 1824 Lafayette graciously accepted the degree of Bachelor of Laws from the authorities while passing from New York to Washington. In 1832 Joseph Henry was made professor of natural philosophy, a chair he held with the highest distinction, for it was in his Princeton laboratory that he made his epochal discoveries in electricity, stepping-stones to the revolution of the world by its use; in 1848 he was made director of the Smithsonian Institute. In 1846 was organized a Law School; its three professors were men of the highest distinction, but the project was premature. In 1855 flames destroyed all but the walls of Nassau Hall, whereupon it was speedily remodelled as it still stands; the variation, slight as it was from the original, appears to have been in the interest of economy rather than beauty.

[Illustration: PRESIDENT JAMES McCOSH.]

The only serious check in Princeton’s prosperity was caused by the Civil War. Though a large proportion of the students had always come from the Southern States, the rest were enthusiastic in their Northern sympathies, and the national flag was hoisted by them over Nassau Hall in April, 1861. The minority tore it down, but it was promptly restored to its place by a gallant citizen of the town, who in climbing to the apex of the cupola twisted the shaft of the weather-vane and fixed the arrow with its head to the north. Thus it remained until conciliation was complete a few years since (1896), when the pivot was repaired so that the historic index may point in all directions at the will of the winds. The withdrawal of the Southern students left the numbers of the ever-loyal University at a low ebb, and it was not until after the accession of James McCosh to the presidency that the new clientage which has so munificently supported him and his successor was secured. It is also gratifying to note that the sons of the old Princeton Confederates are returning in ever greater numbers. The presidencies of Dr. McCosh and Dr. Patton are too near to belong to history. The evidences of the enormous strides made in material equipment are on every hand: splendid and beautiful buildings, professors of distinction in great numbers, and a body of students numbering, along with those of the Seminary, about fifteen hundred. Near by is the famous Lawrenceville School, itself an epochal institution in the history of our secondary training. Wherever men converse of science, literature or art, the names of Princeton’s sons must be considered; but her chiefest glory thus far has been in her contributions to political and educational life. Representative of a definite theory and practice in her sphere, she breeds men in abundance to uphold her banner in the face of all assaults.

Time, place and the men—these are the factors of history; the first and the last vanish, the scenes alone remain. If history is to be made real, if we are to know in the concrete, from the experience of the men and women who have left the stage, what alone is possible for ourselves and our race, we do well to see and ponder the places which knew those who have gone before. Princeton possesses, in Nassau Hall, a focus of patriotism—a cradle of liberty. In her battle-field, the spot where culminated one of the greatest campaigns of one of the greatest of generals; and in her sons one sees the triumph of the moral forces which combine in true greatness. The lesson to be learned from Princeton’s historic scenes should be that intellect and not numbers controls the world; that ideas and not force overmaster bigness; that truth and right, supported by strong purpose and high principle, prevail in the end.

[Illustration: SEAL OF PRINCETON.]

[Illustration]

PHILADELPHIA

THE CITY PENN FOUNDED AND TO WHICH FRANKLIN GAVE DISTINCTION

BY TALCOTT WILLIAMS

Cities are of nature. Their long life flows in ways she has made longer than the changing rule of which they are part. Nations and boundaries are of man and his laws. Artificial creations all. Cities and their sites are of the same forces as form the rivers and ports, the passes and pathways on which they stand and last as long. Rome outlives its empire, and Damascus the shock of massacre from Chedorlaomer to Timur. The cities of Europe are still where they were twenty centuries ago. The civil structure into which they fit has changed until nothing is left of what once was. These things are missed in the general. They come to be seen in the particular.

Philadelphia stands, and necessarily stands on the straight, ruler-like “Falls line” which passes through every city site from New York to Montgomery, because this prodigious slip changes river navigation wherever it crosses a river valley. Where marine navigation stopped to-day and then, Penn put his city, its site a peninsula about which two rivers joined, a rich alluvial plain, covered with glacial clay, with schistose rocks cropping out across it, the palæozoic marble of the Atlantic coast hard by, and a strip of green serpentine crossing the country from the highest points in the future limits of the city to Chester County, its first granary and feeding ground. These things—the half-sunken Lower Delaware River spreading into Delaware Bay, the term of navigation at the junction of two rivers, and the abrupt approach to the sea of a formation elsewhere miles from the ocean—make Philadelphia all it is in outer look, a flat city built of its own clay, garnished with its own marble, a seaport knowing the sea only in its rivers.

[Illustration: READING THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.

FROM AN OLD FRENCH PRINT.]

In this inland port, as you float in either river, seafaring masts and main rigging, black and tarred, silhouette against the tender green of growing fields. The early houses were brick of the glacier’s leaving, matching London in color; for both are ground out of the same earth mill. Its early stone houses were of the narrow contorted gray schists, and marble quarries had been opened, exhausted and closed to trim the brick before the Revolution. Later these were varied by the green serpentine, a hideous, dull color, the red sandstone of the fertile inland plains, and at last, as railroads made it easy to seek a door-step 1,000 miles away, the marble of Vermont built the City Hall, the granites of Cape Ann the Post Office, and Ohio ashlar a growing number of private homes, matching London once more as a close congener of the Portland stone Penn saw builded into St. Paul’s. The outer resemblance to London noted by Matthew Arnold and many an one besides, rests, as such things do, on concrete fact.