At ten o’clock the British army began its march toward the village, but before they reached it, Howe determined that Chatterton’s Hill should be the first point of attack, and four thousand troops under Leslie moved off to dislodge the formidable looking force on the height.

Hamilton placed his two guns in battery on a rocky ledge about halfway down the hill, and bearing directly upon that part of the Bronx which the British were approaching.  He was screened from the enemy by a small grove of trees.  The Hessians, who were in the lead, refused to wade the swollen stream, and the onslaught was checked that a bridge might hastily be thrown together for their accommodation.  Hamilton waited a half-hour, then poured out his fire.  The bridge was struck, the workmen killed, the Hessians fell back in a panic.  Leslie appealed to the loyalty of the British, forded the river at another point, and rushed up the hill with bayonets fixed, resolved to capture the guns.  But the guns flashed with extraordinary rapidity.  Both the British and the watching Americans were amazed.  There were no tin canisters and grape-shot in the American army, even the round shot were exhausted.  Loading cannon with musket balls was a slow process; but Hamilton was never without resource.  He stood the cannon on end, filled his three-cornered hat with the balls, and loaded as rapidly as had he leaped a century.  His guns mowed down the British in such numbers that Leslie fell back, and joining the Hessian grenadiers and infantry, who had now crossed the stream, charged up the southwestern declivity of the hill and endeavoured to turn McDougall’s right flank.  McDougall’s advance opposed them hotly, while slowly retreating toward the crown of the eminence.  The British cavalry attacked the American militia on the extreme right, and the raw troops fled ignominiously.  McDougall, with only six hundred men and Hamilton’s two guns, sustained an unequal conflict for an hour, twice repulsing the British light infantry and cavalry.  But the attack on his flank compelled him to give way and retreat toward the intrenchments.  Under cover of a heavy rainstorm and of troops despatched in haste, he retreated in good order with his wounded and artillery, leaving the victors in possession of a few inconsiderable breastworks.

Fort Washington was betrayed, and fell on the 16th of November.  Then began that miserable retreat of the American army through the Jerseys, with the British sometimes in full pursuit, sometimes merely camping on the trail of the hapless revolutionists.  For Washington’s force was now reduced to thirty-five hundred, and they were ragged, half fed, and wretched in mind and body.  Many had no shoes, and in one regiment there was not a pair of trousers.  They left the moment their leave expired, and recruits were drummed up with great difficulty.  Washington was obliged to write eight times to General Lee, who was at North Castle with a considerable force, before he was able to hope for relief in that quarter.