I am George Washington, the commander of the Virginian Militia troops. At that time, I was leading the Battle of Trenton. If my army could cross the Delaware River From Pennsylvania into New Jersey to surprise the encamped Hessian troops, it would be a victory of enormous scale and significance for the American Revolution.
The whole world at that time was extremely silent. And the Blood of my men spilled on the snowy ground. And my compatriots were suffering from unconquerable hunger. And it was in a needling, soul-penetrating cold. “How could I win this battle?,”I murmured to myself. I tried hard and finally figured out a plan. That one seemed to be a daring, or almost bizarre plan — a four-pronged overnight attack on the nealy-deserted town of Trenton. It seemed impossible, but it was the last chance we had. However, all my generals except General Gates trotted off to Congress to accuse me of disloyalty because of my unconventional strategy.
Ignorant of what lied ahead, I urged my men to carry on. No men should quit because of the burden of death. I warned them. We processed in pensive, extreme quiet. Because I knew full that if my plan failed, my men and I would be captured. The war would be over. And the American Revolution failed.
We chose the darkest night to set off. My twenty-four hundred men and I began our eight hundred foot journey across the Delaware in Durham boats, also transporting horses and hundreds of tons of guns, artillery, and bullets. It took hours, before an impending daylight threatened our secrecy.
With all men safely on shore, eyes fixed and jaws set, I directed my troops on the nine-mile march to Trenton. Snow and sleet pelted on my men and they were extremely exhausted. I ran alongside the column of shattered men, rallying them in the early, snow-dimmed light: ‘Hold on, boys!” I yelled, “Hold on!”
Standing on the high ground, my men met with the unsuspecting Hessians. General Knox’s cannons boomed our welcome. “March on, my brave fellows,” I said, urging my horse. “Follow me!”
Our American victory was secured in just an hour. When I learned of the final surrender of Hessian troops, I vigorously shook my officer’s hand. “Major Wilkinson,” I said, “this is a glorious day for our country. This is victory belongs to all.”
I promised to treat Hessian prisoners with dignity. And I kindheartedly praised my troops:
“The General, with the utmost sincerity and affection, thanks the officers and soldiers for their spirited and gallant behavior at Trenton yesterday.”
And perhaps it was the spirit of rebellion that inspired us.