Chapter 45: Skirmish

In May I reported that it seemed the British were getting concentrated down toward Amboy. Captain Foster decided that meant Philadelphia for sure, and I warned the ladies in Trenton to be prepared to run for it if Howe's big army came their way. It took me two pleasurable days and long nights to do that.

Washington then moved down to some wooded hills in what the locals called the Watchung Mountains, to keep a closer eye on the British. While his much healthier and somewhat larger army dug in, my unit reverted to its old role of scout and skirmisher. Our ranging days were over for a while. At least we did not have to dig.

Howe's men were marching "light" and had left their portable bridge and big boats behind along with wagon loads of heavy baggage. We fully expected an attack, but instead, during the third week of June, we got a retreat for no reason we could figure out so we did not trust it. We joined up with Dan Morgan's riflemen as skirmishers. They were the leading company in General Greene's division.

If you ever find yourself in a shooting contest, ask if the man you are shooting against ever served with Morgan, the old wagonmaster. If he was one of Morgan's riflemen, you might as well swallow your ball and cap your powderhorn. Not since Cresap's time, way back in '75, had I ever seen such shooting. I thought I was pretty good, but those men could dot the I's on a printed page at a hundred paces.

One night it really did look like we had the British on the run, but then at dawn we ran up against a rearguard of Hessians holding the bridge at New Brunswick. Stubborn bunch, they were. I splashed one in the river, but we were ready to hightail it until Morgan's men arrived. Then the big Germans started falling in rows and piles, and we had them on the run. Wayne and Greene were soon there with the main force, tongues lolling, so we let them through and took a rest. Good trees and water around there but no women.

What had happened was that the British had decided to evacuate New Brunswick altogether. Our little battle did not even earn a name.

The British continued to retreat back toward the coast, burning every home and barn they came to, but a week later they were again on the attack. It was a nasty, hot, sticky day, and we watched the heavily loaded Hessians foundering and falling out even before they came in range. We were screening for Lord Sterling up near Metuchan, George Reedy's old stomping ground. Sterling loved to fight, but was forced to retreat to avoid being flanked. We made them pay, but I think it was the heat as much as our marksmanship that forced Cornwallis give up the pursuit at about Westfield. We had left eight or ten miles of bodies scattered behind us, mostly theirs but a few of ours. Washington took his bloodied army up into the hills, and we were back where we started when spring began except that a couple of hundred good men were dead.