Valley Forge: George Washington and the Crucible of Victory Read Free Page B

The general immediately desisted, though he offered the opportunity to join their cause, which Allen refused as well. The general had then made him swear that he would reveal nothing of what he had seen or heard while within their ranks and let him go.
    A week later, when the rebels returned to Trenton, Allen left his family behind, rejoined the ranks, and reported to General Grey. Grey asked the same questions Washington had, and again he refused to answer, saying he had given his oath. Rather than enrage the supposedly hot-blooded Grey, the general clapped him on the shoulder, saying he carried the proper honor of an Englishman and assigned him to his staff as a liaison to Loyalists.
    So now he stood, keeping careful watch on a terrified blacksmith who was in way over his head with this war. He had, without doubt, slipped through the lines to try and curry favor, assuming that in another day his village would be occupied…. He had never bargained for this.
    “For your own sake,” Allen whispered, “you better guide us correctly. Are you sure you can do that?”
    “I grew up here, I know every field and woodlot like the back of my hand,” the man whispered in reply, voice trembling.
    “For God’s sake, don’t try to play false or run.”
    He nodded back to the regular British officer who was huddled with Grey.
    “That man hates colonials and will run you through like a dog if you try to take off.”
    The terrified blacksmith did not reply. André stepped away from Grey to join the two.
    “Forward, and you better lead us straight in,” André announced.
    “He will,” Allen offered.
    The three set off and seconds later André could hear the whispered command for the column to follow.
    No matter how hard they tried, a thousand men stepping off into an attack could not be totally silent. There was a clatter as someone apparently tripped or dropped his musket, muted curses, and the sound of boots scuffing across the stubble of the recently mowed hay field.
    Light infantry formed most of the column, supported by a second column behind them, the famed and rightly feared Scottish Black Watch.
    Crossing the open field, the blacksmith led them down into a hollow. Fording a shallow stream a dozen feet wide and only several inches deep, the column slowed for a moment as the advance churned the ground into a morass, slowing the rear of the attacking force. They moved by the oblique to the right, angling across the next field and then experienced several moments of confusion as the attacking force made its way through a farmer’s woodlot, which the blacksmith stated would conceal their advance.
    Allen looked back over his shoulder several times. Light from the rising moon occasionally broke through the thick veil of scudding clouds, revealing the men as they advanced. He could only hope that the pickets were indeed drunk or foolish enough to have campfires. Gazing into a fire for just a few seconds would blind a man’s night vision for several minutes afterward.
    The blacksmith muttered to himself, repeating the Lord’s Prayer over and over again.
    “Be quiet there,” André finally groaned, “or you won’t need to pray, you will be able to explain it to God personally.”
    Emerging out of the woodlot, Allen could see a glow on the horizon, easily recognized by any soldier as the…campfires of an opposing line.
    “Where are their pickets?” It was General Grey, who arrived to join them.
    “The what?” the blacksmith gasped.
    “Their scouts, the guards!” Allen hissed.
    “Over there, I think. I saw them posted on the road.”
    He waved vaguely to their right.
    “Just keep moving, but, by God, if this is a trap, you will be the first to die,” Grey snapped, and turned back.
    “Skirmishers and dragoons forward, deploy fifty yards ahead,” Grey whispered, pointing toward the glowing fires, and seconds later a swarm of light infantry sprinted forward in advance of the main column.
    They were now halfway across