But there was one man who did not hesitate nor give up, nor halt on account of floating ice.  With twenty-four hundred hardy veterans, Washington crossed the Delaware.  The night was bitter cold and the passage difficult.  When they landed, and began their march of nine miles to Trenton, a fierce storm of sleet drove in their faces.  Sullivan; marching by the river, sent word that the arms of his men were wet.  “Then tell your general,” said Washington, “to use the bayonet, for the town must be taken.”  In broad daylight they came to the town.  Washington, at the front and on the right of the line, swept down the Pennington road, and as he drove in the pickets he heard the shouts of Sullivan’s men, as, with Stark leading the van, they charged in from the river.  A company of yaegers and the light dragoons slipped away, there was a little confused fighting in the streets, Colonel Rahl fell, mortally wounded, his Hessians threw down their arms, and all was over.  The battle had been fought and won, and the Revolution was saved.

[Illustration:  WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE]

Taking his thousand prisoners with him, Washington recrossed the Delaware to his old position.  Had all done their duty, as he had planned, the British hold on New Jersey would have been shattered.  As it was, it was only loosened.  Congress, aroused at last, had invested Washington with almost dictatorial powers; but the time for action was short.  The army was again melting away, and only by urgent appeals were some veterans retained, and enough new men gathered to make a force of five thousand men.  With this army Washington prepared to finish what he had begun.

Trenton struck alarm and dismay into the British, and Cornwallis, with seven thousand of the best troops, started from New York to redeem what had been lost.  Leaving three regiments at Princeton, he pushed hotly after Washington, who fell back behind the Assunpink River, skirmishing heavily and successfully.  When Cornwallis reached the river he found the American army drawn up on the other side awaiting him.  An attack on the bridge was repulsed, and the prospect looked uninviting.  Some officers urged an immediate assault; but night was falling, and Cornwallis, sure of the game, decided to wait till the morrow.  He, too, forgot that he was facing an enemy who never overlooked a mistake, and never waited an hour.  With quick decision Washington left his camp-fires burning on the river bank, and taking roundabout roads, which he had already reconnoitred, marched on to Princeton.  By sunrise he was in the outskirts of the town.  Mercer, detached with some three hundred men, fell in with Mawhood’s regiment, and a sharp action ensued.  Mercer was mortally wounded, and his men gave way just as the main army came upon the field.  The British charged, and as the raw Pennsylvanian troops in the van wavered, Washington rode to the front, and reining his horse within thirty yards of the British, ordered his men to advance.  The volleys