Being George Washington by Glenn Beck Read Free Book Online Page A

to trees to winch their guns down—and then up—its perilous slopes, placing at risk their guns’ often fragile wooden carriages and high wheels.
    Washington rode alongside his men. Watching, yes, for others who might fall sleep, but all the while encouraging them onward—faster, faster, and, yet, faster still. “Press on, boys, press on!” he shouted. Time and weather had already allied themselves against his cause. He could not risk any more delay.
    Galloping on sloping, icy ground, his horse skidded to a stop. Bucking and panicking, the beast started tumbling downward, threatening to crush the general under its weight. Washington panicked not for a second. Dropping his reins, he extended his arms and grabbed the horse’s mane with his powerful hands. Miraculously, he pulled the mane—and the animal itself—upward, steadying it enough to keep it, and him, from falling to earth.
    “Was I dreaming?” exclaimed the drummer boy whom Washington had only just roused. “Was that real?”
    “No, lad,” said the soldier standing next to him. “I saw it, too. We all did. And this I know:
nothing
can stop George Washington from reaching Trenton this day. I just hope we make it with him.”
    • • •
    Perhaps that anonymous soldier was wrong. Perhaps there was something that could stop Washington from reaching Trenton: his own men.
    Along he rode. In the snow-whitened distance, men marched toward him. Hessians in their fine brass helmets? The British, venturing from snug winter quarters?
    “Hello!” came the call. “Don’t shoot! We’re Virginians!”
    “What are you doing here?” Washington demanded. He knew they could not be Ewing or Cadwalader’s troops. They were, to a man, Pennsylvanians and Rhode Islanders.
    “Those damnable Hessians snuck like the skunks they are across the river and killed one of our boys. So we had to even the score. We just came from Trenton. Gave them a little taste of their own medicine! I reckon we got one or two of ’em.”
    Washington’s heart sank. The element of surprise he had plotted so carefully had vanished, simply flung away like a chicken bone by a few dozen buckskin-wearing squirrel shooters.
    “What now, General?” asked a voice barely heard above the general’s own seething breath.
    “We have come this far, Hamilton,” Washington answered, “if we go forward we may very well lose our lives. The element of surprise is gone. The chance of arriving before the sun rises is evaporating by the second. But if we march these men back to the river after all this, we will surely lose our army.
    “Captain Hamilton—we have no choice: we go forward!”
    Morning, December 26, 1776
    Outskirts of Trenton
    At 7:20 the sun had risen in the morning skies over Trenton.
    George Washington was not there. He had failed yet again.
    He stared toward the town in the distance, or at least where the town should have been. He could see nothing. Another storm had commenced, and it was historic. The sleet and snow that filled the air was completely blinding and deadened all sound.
    And that was exactly the break Washington needed.
    A horizontal avalanche of white may not have allowed the rebels to see the town, but at least they knew where it was. The Hessians inside that town, on the other hand, had no idea that American muskets and bayonets and cannon now advanced upon them.
    George Washington’s prayers had not failed him; they’d just been answered in an unexpected way.
    The storm also had another benefit: any enemy advance sentries had been forced inside. But while Washington might have guessed that, there was something he could not: the British had spies—and they were much better paid than the ones working for the rebels.
    One of those spies had infiltrated Washington’s headquarters and scurried back to bring word of Washington’s plans to his masters. Washington had no way to know it, but the Hessians
expected
to be attacked this holy season. When those foolish Virginians