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“EXPENSE MUST NOT BE spared in procuring intelligence in regard to the enemy’s strength, situation, and movements. Without this we wander in a wilderness of uncertainties.” . . . General Washington, December 1776.
At a recent Fighting Quaker meeting, a plea had been read from General Washington begging private citizens to help with covert activity. Of course, the announcement had caused Betsy’s stomach to churn as she had no reason to believe that François was not still in General Washington’s employ. Which meant with Hessian troops occupying Trenton just across the Delaware River, intelligence and false intelligence must be flying with lightning speed back and forth across the river, the duplicitous Frenchman profiting hand over fist.
Several Sundays ago at services, an acquaintance had mentioned to Betsy that John’s sister Joanna Ross Holland was wintering in Trenton whilst her husband was away fighting with the Continental army. Both Betsy and her friend had expressed concern for Joanna’s safety, hoping that with Hessian soldiers now occupying the township that Joanna and the kinswomen with whom she was staying were not being forced to share lodgings with the enemy. Although Betsy often thought of her former sister-in-law and longed to see her, she had not spoken with Joanna since John’s funeral nearly a twelvemonth ago.
That Joanna was now in Trenton gave Betsy a valid reason to venture across the Delaware River and into the village. On the down side, the location of the ferry landing on this side of the river was a goodly distance from Philadelphia and it was an equal distance from Trenton on the opposite shore, meaning she might not be able to comfortably walk the entire way there and back in one day. Consequently she’d be obliged to stay the night in Trenton and pray that she’d be gone from the village before the fighting began, depending, of course, upon when the surprise attack commenced. One other disturbing matter, one that vastly troubled Betsy, was the possibility of stumbling upon Hessian soldiers either on her way to Trenton or on the way back. Recalling the newspaper account of the atrocities committed by Hessian soldiers upon women caused her more than once to thrust all thoughts of the risky undertaking from mind.
But, she kept returning to it.
She may never be afforded another such golden opportunity again. And she would never forgive herself if she did not take full advantage of it now. If Joseph were here, he would, of course, attempt to talk her out of the notion, or insist upon accompanying her. Even if she told him nothing of her plan, he would no doubt sense her preoccupation as she contemplated it and when he finally wrenched the truth from her, then he would talk her out of it.
In the end, Betsy knew she had to move forward. To succeed would mean she had done all in her power to avenge John’s death and prevent François Dubeau from feeding additional false information to General Washington and further damaging the Patriot Cause. If Washington meant to launch a surprise attack upon Trenton, Betsy meant before the attack to provide the great leader with factual information that would help, and not hinder, the rebel troop’s all-important maneuver.
As Betsy and Sarah set out for the rebel camp the following day, Betsy casually mentioned to her sister that she was thinking of going to Trenton on the morrow to see Joanna.
“You cannot be serious!” Sarah exclaimed. “Hessian troops are occupying Trenton!” She lowered her voice. “It is where General Washington means to launch his surprise attack.”
“All the more reason for me to go now,” Betsy replied. “The village may soon be destroyed and once it is, I may never have another opportunity to see Joanna. She will return to her home in Baltimore and in all likelihood, I shall never . . .”
“So, you mean to warn her?”
“No, that is not what I . . . ”
“You told me to keep silent and now you mean to warn . . .”
“I have no intention of giving away our army’s plans, Sarah. And neither must you. I do need your help, however. I need both you and George to come along tomorrow . . .”
“You want George to escort you to Trenton?”
“No.”
“Actually now that I think on it, that is quite a good idea, Betsy. I would feel much better about this foolish notion of yours if George were along. He could . . .”
“No, Sarah. For George to escort me would be far too dangerous. The Hessian soldiers might mistake him for the enemy and cut him down. I refuse to risk our brother’s life!”
“But you will risk your own. And for no good purpose that I can see,” Sarah persisted.
Betsy’s lips pursed. She had not anticipated having to quell Sarah’s many objections. “Sarah, I intend doing this whether or not you think it is a good idea. I need George to come along tomorrow merely to drive the cart since I did not think you could manage it alone.”
Sarah’s gaze turned quizzical. “You need George to drive the cart where?”
As they were at that moment nearing the bend in the road where one could clearly see the Trenton ferry fronting the Delaware River, Betsy pointed across a desolate field. “There.”
Sarah’s long gaze followed.
“I will ride this far with you and George, then I shall take the ferry from that point across the Delaware to Trenton. You and George may then resume your trek into the woods to the Patriot camp as usual.”
“Are we to wait here for you to return at the end of the day?”
Betsy shook her head. “I intend to stay the night with Joanna and return the following day.”
“I cannot like it, Betsy.”
“Nonetheless, my plan is fixed. You must do your part and see that George is waiting with you when I arrive to collect you tomorrow morning. Early. It is imperative that I leave as early as possible so that if, for some reason, I am obliged to return tomorrow evening, I shall reach Philadelphia by nightfall.”
“Night falls quite early these days, Betsy.” Sarah’s lips thinned. “Though I am loath to admit it, you will indeed be better off staying the night with Joanna. That does not change the fact that you will be walking straight into the enemy’s arms. You recall reading the newspaper accounts about what Hessian soldiers do to women; and . . . without George along to protect you, you will be vulnerable and . . . unprotected! I do not like this plan of yours, Betsy, I do not like it one bit.”
Betsy did not particularly like Sarah reminding her about the Hessian soldiers forcing themselves upon women, but once again, she pushed that nagging fear aside. And the following morning, anticipating the highly-charged day before her, she drew the cart to a halt before Sarah’s home quite early indeed; and was vastly relieved to see both her sister and brother emerge from the house carrying an armload of food that she expected Sarah and their mother had spent the previous evening preparing.
Also to her great relief that morning, the winter weather was cooperating beautifully. It was a brisk cold December day and the sky was clear with not the least hint of foul weather on the horizon. Betsy had packed her basket with a dozen freshly baked corn cakes, carefully wrapped in oilcloth, and on top laid a package done up in tissue paper containing a fringed silk shawl she’d made for Joanna as a Christmas gift.
As planned, once the party of three arrived at the bend in the road adjacent to the river, Betsy had no trouble finding an eager ferryman to accept the few cents she paid him to row her across the Delaware to the New Jersey side. She waved goodbye to Sarah and George, who sat worriedly watching from the cart, before climbing into the small boat.
Seated alone in the ferryboat in front of the oarsman, Betsy prayed she was not embarking on a fool’s errand; that she was not walking straight into a tangled snare from which she might never escape. Perhaps she should have asked George to come along. But no, to have done so would pose too great a threat to his life. The only course open to her was the one she had chosen. “Dear Lord,” she prayed, “please be with me and see me safely home tomorrow evening.”
Reaching the opposite shore, the ferryman told her the trek into Trenton from that point was not quite as far as it was into Philadelphia on the Pennsylvania side. Nonetheless, as she set out alone, Betsy was unable to push down the anxiety rising within her as she headed straight toward the enemy-occupied village. Anticipating the cold weather and the long walk back home that night, or the following afternoon, she had donned heavy woolen stockings and a woolen petticoat beneath her Hodden gray gown, it covered by her new burgundy woolen cloak. She also wore a scarf wrapped about her neck and knitted gloves. To outward appearances, she looked as warm as toast; inside, fear chilled her to her bones.
A short way up River Road, she passed a couple of farmers, one leading a few sheep somewhere; another pulling a donkey with heavy loads of firewood strapped to its flanks. Eventually the trees on either side of the path thickened and she found herself alone. Minutes later, she spotted a pair of provost guards leaning against a tree, the distracted men conversing with one another. Stark terror knotted her insides as she paused to inhale deep breaths of courage. Slowly setting her feet in motion again, she could not help noticing the soldiers’ handsome blue uniforms trimmed with scarlet braid. On their heads were close-fitting brass helmets with feathery red plumes. Their appearance alone, so unlike the poor unkempt rebel troops, bespoke their . . . foreignness. Betsy slowed her step, her long gaze casting about for a way to skirt around the Hessian guards, who had not yet seen her. Suddenly one soldier glanced up, then in an instant, both men sprang to attention and leveled their muskets straight at her.
“Halt!” the men shouted in unison.
Panic shot through Betsy. She was alone on a deserted stretch of road with two enemy soldiers who, if they chose, could rape and then kill her with no one the wiser. She hardly dared breathe as the men approached her, their dark gazes menacing.
“State your business!”
“I-I am on my way to Trenton, sir. I am . . .” She squared her shoulders. “Expected.” She prayed the German soldiers understood English.
The men exchanged a few unintelligible words; then using the sharp bayonets that extended from the end of their muskets, they motioned her forward.
Betsy drew shallow breaths as the Hessian soldiers marched her at bayonet point ahead of them straight into the township of Trenton. Despite the fear knotting her stomach, her alert gaze took in every aspect of her surroundings. Here and there along the road clusters of grenadiers stood guard, all smartly turned out in dark blue uniforms and wearing the same odd-shaped brass helmets on their heads. A few yards up Front Street, the armed soldiers ushered her onto King Street. The small party continued a bit beyond Second.
Betsy noted that nearly every house they passed had a Union flag fluttering from an upstairs window or draped over the banister, the corners flapping in the brisk breeze. She had heard that virtually the entire town had suddenly professed undying loyalty to the crown and from the look of it that did appear to be the case. Of a sudden the soldiers, in whose custody she now considered herself to be, again shouted, “Halt!”
They’d stopped before a two-storey house with a wide porch and a waist-high railing. Standing sentry here were another half dozen Hessian soldiers, each carrying muskets with sharp bayonets protruding from the ends. Swords sheathed in scabbards hung from their belts. Betsy noticed these men all had mustaches that looked to have been stiffened with boot blacking and their hair was pulled into queues that hung down their backs from beneath their helmets. All the men looked inordinately clean, a stark contrast to the filthy rebel soldiers. To her immense relief, not a one appeared to pay her any heed.
Without being told, Betsy assumed she had been brought to their commanding officer’s headquarters. Was she now about to come face-to-face with the much-feared German commander, Colonel Rall?
In moments, she was ushered inside the house and to a large room in the center of it where a tall, gray-haired man of some fifty years, his dark blue uniform decorated with considerably more stripes and insignia than his subordinates, sat behind a cluttered desk. The man glanced up, but said nothing as his assistant addressed her.
“Welcher name?”
“Mrs. Ross, sir.”
“State your business, madam.”
Before Betsy had a chance to reply, she was startled when another soldier snatched the basket from her arm and began to rifle through it. Would the men gobble up the corn cakes? She grimaced when she saw the soldier strip off the tissue paper covering Joanna’s Christmas gift. Flinging it aside, he roughly shook out the folds of the silk shawl.
“Wofür ist das?”
“Please sir, it is a gift for my sister-in-law. I do not wish to deliver it soiled.”
“Voss ist das?” demanded Colonel Rall, his narrowed gaze also eyeing the red silk.
Did the colonel not speak English?
“I am bringing a Christmas gift to my sister-in-law,” Betsy said again. To her surprise, Colonel Rall reached to snatch the shawl from his assistant and handed it back to Betsy.
“A handsome gift, fräulein.”
A smile of relief wavered across her face. “Thank you, sir.” So, he spoke a bit of English and thankfully, she understood a bit of German.
Rall eyed her up and down. “You are Quaker woman, yah?”
“Yes, sir.” Betsy nodded. She hoped her telltale garb would also attest to her political persuasion.
“Loyalist?”
Betsy winced before thrusting up her chin and replying in quite a steady tone, “Indeed, sir. As is my sister-in-law.”
“You have family in Trenton?” asked the assistant whose English seemed tolerably good.
“Yes.” Betsy replied and before being asked also provided Joanna’s direction, explaining that her sister-in-law was visiting here. She also revealed the names of the persons with whom Joanna was staying. Then, her heart in her throat, she breathlessly awaited the Hessian commander’s response. Would the colonel let her proceed, or would he order her to quit the village at once without granting her permission to see Joanna?
Her anxiety mounted as Colonel Rall turned to address his assistant . . . in German. He spoke a few foreign words also to the Hessian soldiers who had escorted her into the village.
“Die Frau ist nett, und sie ist hübsch.”
The soldiers all nodded as Rall’s assistant declared, “Proceed.”
With no further comment from Colonel Rall, the soldiers motioned her from the house and once outdoors, silently led her deeper into the village. Were they taking her to where her sister-in-law was staying, or . . . elsewhere, Betsy wondered.
* * *
EVENTUALLY THE SOLDIERS paused before a tidy home with a Union flag fluttering from a window. When both soldiers nodded toward Betsy, she scampered up the steps and rapped at the door.
“Betsy!” Joanna Holland cried with surprise when she flung open the door and spotted her former sister-in-law standing on the stoop.
“I’ve come for a visit, Joanna.” Betsy smiled at the older girl, whose dark hair and eyes provided an aching reminder of her beloved John.
“How did you know I was in Trenton?” Joanna ushered Betsy inside. “Did you come alone? How did you get past the pickets?”
Betsy blinked away the moisture that had sprung to her eyes. “I’ve brought you a Christmas gift, Joanna.” She pulled the unwrapped shawl from her basket.
“Why, thank you; it’s lovely, Sister; but you took such a risk coming!”
Overhearing the commotion in the foyer, Joanna’s elderly cousins appeared from the rear of the house. Joanna presented Betsy to the pair.
“The pickets let her through,” Joanna marveled.
Betsy nodded. “Colonel Rall asked if . . .”
“You spoke with Colonel Rall?” Joanna’s eyes widened.
“Indeed. He asked why I had come and I told him I was bringing a gift to my sister-in-law whose husband is away fighting . . .”
“Oh, Betsy, you didn’t!” Joanna gasped, a hand flying to her breast.
“They will surely come for us now!” cried one cousin. She wrung her hands together while a stricken look appeared on the face of the other.
Betsy gazed from the elderly women to Joanna. “I didn’t tell Colonel Rall which side your husband is fighting for, Joanna.”
“Oh, praise the Lord, Betsy. You gave us a dreadful fright.”
“I see you have a Union flag fluttering out front.”
“It’s the only way to insure staying alive here,” Joanna said softly as if fearing the Hessian grenadiers who’d escorted Betsy to the house might still be loitering outside. Listening.
“How far did you travel, dear?” asked one of the cousins.
“Just across the river. I live in Philadelphia. I would like to stay the night if it’s no trouble.”
“You must stay longer,” Joanna insisted. “Christmas is but three days away. You mustn’t be alone on Christmas Day, Sister.”
Betsy smiled. Joanna was aware that her immediate family, save Sarah, no longer included her in special gatherings. “Thank you, but I should return home before . . . bad weather sets in.”
“We have been lucky thus far,” one cousin said and the other nodded. “Although I fear our luck will not last much longer. Winters here can be quite brutal indeed.”
The four women then ambled toward the parlor and passed an enjoyable afternoon talking quietly over cups of warm, but somewhat watery, apple cider.
That night, Joanna led Betsy into her bedchamber. “Do come and sit with me by the fire. It will be hours before it’s quiet enough for anyone to sleep.” She drew a chair up before the hearth for Betsy.
“It does seem a bit noisy out,” Betsy murmured. Whilst the women had been eating their evening meal, there seemed to be some sort of disturbance coming from the street. Betsy hoped it was not General Washington and his troops launching their surprise attack.
“The Hessian soldiers drink and carouse till all hours.” Joanna’s eyes rolled skyward. “They like to play cards. Villagers who live near Trenton Tavern say the noise coming from there continues long into the night. With Christmas fast upon us, I expect the celebrations will become very loud, indeed. Yet,” she added, “despite the late hours the soldiers keep, Colonel Rall insists they parade bright and early every morning. We happened to witness the spectacle one day. Some of the men were still so drunk from the previous night’s revelries they could scarcely stand upright. I am certain you noticed the Hessians are quite finely fitted out.”
“Indeed, they are a decided contrast to our poorly clad troops.” Betsy held her hands, palms out, before the fire. “My sister Sarah’s husband William is encamped near Philadelphia. We see him often.” She sighed. “It breaks my heart that our troops are suffering so, but there is simply not enough food or supplies to go around. Do you . . . know where Thomas is?” As her sister-in-law had not once mentioned her husband’s whereabouts, Betsy hoped nothing dreadful had happened to him.
Joanna paused before softly replying. “Thomas is serving under General Greene, although, at the moment, I cannot say for certain where his regiment is encamped. Apparently some of our troops are still on the move.” She smiled serenely. “I am confident the Lord will keep him safe.” She seemed to dismiss her own concerns. “Tell me how you are faring, Sister. These past months cannot have been easy for you.”
Betsy gazed into the fire. “It is difficult to believe that this time last year, John and I were cozy together in our little house on Mulberry Street; grateful that we’d made a go of our upholstery business and looking forward to another happy year together. Then . . .” Tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, Joanna, I shall miss John as long as I live.” Somehow she felt closer to her beloved John now that she was here with his sister. “With the Lord’s help,” she concluded bravely, “I am bearing up.”
Joanna reached to squeeze Betsy’s fingertips. “You are as pretty as ever, Sister. I am certain you will marry again. John would not want you to be alone. He loved you dearly, and he would want you to be happy.”
Betsy smiled. “I-I have been seeing Joseph Ashburn. He is also away now, but I-I expect him to return to Philadelphia soon, perhaps in a . . . matter of days.”
“Ah.” A smile played at Joanna lips. “So Captain Ashburn is the reason you wish to return home so quickly. Well, I am glad you will not be alone on Christmas Day. No one should be alone on Christmas, Sister. Least of all you.”
* * *
AFTER THE WOMEN HAD enjoyed a leisurely breakfast the following morning, Betsy announced she must head back.
“Which way will you go, dear?” asked one of the cousins.
“If I am allowed to, I shall return the way I came; ferry across the river below Trenton, then when I reach the other side, simply walk back to Philadelphia.”
“Ah.” The gray-haired woman nodded. “I have it on good authority that another, much larger company of British soldiers is positioned below Assunpink Creek.”
“Oh.” Betsy’s ears perked up. This was the very sort of information that would prove useful to General Washington. Truth was, she had every intention of calling upon the rebel commander before she returned to Philadelphia.
At the door, Betsy and Joanna embraced.
“Thank you for the lovely shawl,” Joanna said. “I will think of you every time I wear it.” She brushed a stray tear from her eye. “Do promise me you’ll be careful. You took such a risk coming,” she said.
“It was lovely to see you, Joanna. Perhaps after the war we shall. . .”
“Indeed, we shall see one another again after the war. I love you with all my heart, Betsy Ross.”
“I love you, too, Joanna.”
Betsy was not surprised when upon leaving her sister-in-law’s home, she was halted only a few feet down King Street. Once again, the menacing-looking grenadier escorted her straight to Colonel Rall’s headquarters, but this time the door to the inner chamber where she’d been interviewed the previous day was tightly shut. From within Betsy could hear the deep rumble of men’s voices. Concentrating upon the sounds, she realized that one voice coming from within the chamber sounded suspiciously familiar.
The one speaking French.