Washington stood with his forlorn little array on the west bank of the Delaware above Trenton.  He had information that the British had stretched their line very far and thin to the east of the town.  Separating his forces into three bodies, he commanded one of these himself, and during the night of Christmas he crossed the river in boats.  The night was stormy and the crossing was much interrupted by floating cakes of ice; in spite of which he landed his troops safely on the eastern shore.  They had to march nine miles before they reached Trenton, taking Colonel Rall and his garrison of Hessians by surprise.  More than a thousand surrendered and were quickly carried back over the river into captivity.

The prestige of the Battle of Trenton was enormous.  For the first time in six months Washington had beaten the superior forces of the British and beaten them in a fortified town of their own choosing.  The result of the victory was not simply military; it quickly penetrated the population of New Jersey which had been exasperatingly Loyalist, had sold the British provisions, and abetted their intrigues.  Now the New Jersey people suddenly bethought them that they might have chosen the wrong side after all.  This feeling was deepened in them a week later when, at Princeton, Washington suddenly fell upon and routed several British regiments.  By this success he cleared the upper parts of New Jersey of British troops, who were shut once more within the limits of New York City and Long Island.

In January, 1777, no man could say that the turning-point in the American Revolution had been passed.  There were still to come long months, and years even, of doubt and disillusion and suffering; the agony of Valley Forge; the ignominy of betrayal; and the slowly gnawing pain of hope deferred.  But the fact, if men could have but seen it, was clear—­Trenton and Princeton were prophetic of the end.  And what was even clearer was the supreme importance of George Washington.  Had he been cut off after Princeton or had he been forced to retire through accident, the Revolution would have slackened, lost head and direction, and spent itself among thinly parcelled rivulets without strength to reach the sea.  Washington was a Necessary Man.  Without him the struggle would not then have continued.  Sooner or later America would have broken free from England, but he was indispensable to the liberty and independence of the Colonies then.  This thought brooded over him at all times, not to make him boastful or imperious, but to impress him with a deeper awe, and to impress also his men with the supreme importance of his life to them all.  They grew restive when, at Princeton, forgetful of self, he faced a volley of muskets only thirty feet away.  One of his officers wrote after the Trenton campaign: 

Our army love their General very much, but they have one thing against him, which is the little care he takes of himself in any action.  His personal bravery, and the desire he has of animating his troops by example, makes him fearless of danger.  This occasions us much uneasiness.  But Heaven, which has hitherto been his shield, I hope will still continue to guard so valuable a life.[1]

[Footnote 1:  Hapgood, 171.]