_Assunpink And Princeton_

Glorious the day when in arms at Assunpink, And after at Princeton the Briton we met; Few in both armies—they’d skirmishes call them, Now hundreds of thousands in battle are set. But for the numbers engaged, let me tell you, Smart brushes they were, and two battles that told; There ’twas I first drew a bead on a foeman— I, a mere stripling, not twenty years old.

Tell it? Well, friends, that is just my intention; There’s nothing a veteran hates and abhors More than a chance lost to tell his adventures, Or give you his story of battles and wars. Nor is it wonder old men are loquacious, And talk, if you listen, from sun unto sun; Youth has the power to be up and be doing, While age can but tell of the deeds it has done.

Ranged for a mile on the banks of Assunpink, There, southward of Trenton, one morning we lay, When, with his red-coats all marshalled to meet us, Cornwallis came fiercely at close of the day— Driving some scouts who had gone out with Longstreet, From where they were crossing at Shabbaconk Run— Trumpets loud blaring, drums beating, flags flying— Three hours, by the clock, before setting of sun.

Two ways were left them by which to assail us, And neither was perfectly to their desire— One was the bridge we controlled by our cannon, The other the ford that was under our fire. “Death upon one side, and Dismal on t’other,” Said Sambo, our cook, as he gazed on our foes: Cheering and dauntless they marched to the battle, And, doubtful of choice, both the dangers they chose.

Down at the ford, it was said, that the water Was reddened with blood from the soldiers who fell: As for the bridge, where they tried it, their forces Were beaten with terrible slaughter, as well. Grape-shot swept causeway, and pattered on water, And riddled their columns, that broke and gave way; Thrice they charged boldly, and thrice they retreated; Then darkness came down, and so ended the fray.

How did I get there? I came from our corn-mill At noon of the day when the battle begun, Bringing in flour to the troops under Proctor; ’Twas not very long ere that errand was done. Up to that time I had never enlisted, Though Jacob, my brother, had entered with Wayne; But the fight stirred me; I sent back the horses, And made up my mind with the rest to remain.

We camped on our side—the south—of Assunpink, While they bivouacked for the night upon theirs; Both posting sentries and building up watchfires, With those on both sides talking over affairs. “Washington’s caught in a trap!” said Cornwallis, And smiled with a smile that was joyous and grim; “Fox! but I have him!”—the earl had mistaken; The fox, by the coming of daylight, had him.

Early that night, when the leaders held council, Both St. Clair and Reed said our action was clear; Useless to strike at the van of our foemen— His force was too strong; we must fall on his rear. Washington thought so, and bade us replenish Our watchfires till nearly the dawn of the day; Setting some more to make feint of intrenching, While swiftly in darkness the rest moved away.

Marching by Sandtown, and Quaker Bridge crossing, We passed Stony Creek a full hour before dawn, Leaving there Mercer with one scant battalion Our foes to amuse, should they find we were gone; Then the main force pushed its way into Princeton, All ready to strike those who dreamed of no blow; Only a chance that we lost not our labor, And slipped through our fingers, unknowing, the foe.

Mawhood’s brigade, never feeling its danger, Had started for Trenton at dawn of the day, Crossed Stony Creek, after we had gone over, When Mercer’s weak force they beheld on its way; Turning contemptuously back to attack it, They drove it with ease, in disorder ahead— Firelocks alone were no match for their cannon— A fight, and then flight, and brave Mercer lay dead.

Murdered, some said, while imploring for quarter— A dastardly deed, if the thing had been true— Cruel our foes, but in that thing we wronged them, And let us in all give the demon his due. Gallant Hugh Mercer fell sturdily fighting, So long as his right arm his sabre could wield, Stretching his enemies bleeding around him, And then, overpowered, fell prone on the field.

Hearing the firing, we turned and we met them, Our cannon replying to theirs with a will; Fiercely with grape and with canister swept them, And chased them in wrath from the brow of the hill. Racing and chasing it was into Princeton, Where, seeking the lore to be taught in that hall, Red-coats by scores entered college, but stayed not— We rudely expelled them with powder and ball.

Only a skirmish, you see, though a sharp one— It did not last over the fourth of an hour; But ’twas a battle that did us this service— No more, from that day, had we fear of their power. Trenton revived us, Assunpink encouraged, But Princeton gave hope that we held to the last; Flood-tide had come on the black, sullen water, And ebb-tide for ever and ever had passed.

Yes! ’twas the turn of the tide in our favor— A turn of the tide to a haven that bore. Had Lord Cornwallis crossed over Assunpink That day we repelled him, our fighting were o’er. Had he o’ertaken us ere we smote Mawhood, All torn as we were, it seems certain to me, I would not chatter to you about battles, And you and your children would not have been free.

DONALD M’DONALD.

The affair on which this lyric is founded is entirely different from the attack on the fort at Schoharie by Johnson and Brant. It was a raid by a party of loyalists and Indians, led by a Tory partisan, Donald M’Donald. He was an active and relentless leader; but not so bloody as Walter Butler. He should not be confounded with the loyalist general of the same name in North Carolina. He commanded part of the loyalists in the fight near Conewawah during Sullivan’s expedition.

M’Donald died from wounds received in a very singular conflict. A German, named Schell—the name usually spelled Shell—had founded a little settlement about five miles north of Herkimer, which was known as Shell’s Bush. Here he built a block-house, the upper-story projecting all around. One August afternoon, while the people were at work out-of-doors, M’Donald, with sixty men, made a descent on the Bush. The inhabitants generally fled to Fort Dayton. Schell saw the enemy almost too late, but managed to escape to the block-house, with two of his sons—two others were taken. With the aid of Mrs. Schell, who loaded the guns, the little garrison made a vigorous defence. M’Donald, failing in an attempt to burn the block-house, tried to open the door with a crow-bar. A shot from Schell wounded him in the leg, and he was unable to stand. Schell opened the door, dragged in M’Donald, and closed it. Then he stripped his prisoner of all the cartridges he had. Schell felt he had an insurance against fire while his prisoner was inside. But the enemy, enraged at the loss of some of their number, made a rush to the house, and five of them put the ends of their pieces through the loop-holes. Mrs. Schell bent the barrels with the blows of an axe, and Schell and his sons fired down on them. At dusk Schell called to his wife from the second story, and told her that Captain Small was coming from Fort Dayton. Presently he gave directions loudly to imaginary troops, and the enemy taking fright ran away. M’Donald’s leg was taken off next day at Fort Dayton, but he died soon after the operation.