.

[Sidenote: British in pursuit.]

Shortly after daybreak the British, at Trenton, heard the dull booming
of a distant cannonade. Washington, escaped from their snares, was
sounding the reveille at Princeton. The British camp awoke and listened.
Soon the rumor spread that the American lines were deserted. Drums beat,
trumpets sounded, ranks were formed in as great haste as if the enemy
were actually in the camps, instead of being at that moment a dozen
miles away. Cornwallis, who had gone to bed expecting to make short work
of Washington in the morning, saw himself fairly outgeneralled. His
rear-guard, his magazines, his baggage, were in danger, his line of
retreat cut off. There was not a moment to lose. Exasperated at the
thought of what they would say of him in England, he gave the order to
press the pursuit to the utmost. The troops took the direct route by
Maidenhead to Princeton; and thus, for the second time, Trenton saw
itself freed from enemies, once routed, twice disgraced, and thoroughly
crestfallen and stripped of their vaunted prestige.

[Sidenote: Mercer's fight.]

Three British battalions lay at Princeton the night before.[7] Two of
them were on the march to Trenton when Washington's troops were
discovered approaching on a back road. Astonished at seeing troops
coming up from that direction, the leading battalion instantly turned
back to meet them. At the same time Washington detached Mercer to seize
the main road, while he himself pushed on with the rest of the troops.
This movement brought on a spirited combat between Mercer and the strong
British battalion, which had just faced about.[8] The fight was short,
sharp, and bloody. After a few volleys, the British charged with the
bayonet, broke through Mercer's ranks, scattered his men, and even
drove back Cadwalader's militia, who were coming up to their support.

Other troops now came up. Washington himself rode in among Mercer's
disordered men, calling out to them to turn and face the enemy. It was
one of those critical moments when everything must be risked. Like
Napoleon pointing his guns at Montereau, the commander momentarily
disappeared in the soldier; and excited by the combat raging around him,
all the Virginian's native daring flashed out like lightning. Waving his
uplifted sword, he pushed his horse into the fire as indifferent to
danger as if he had really believed that the bullet which was to kill
him was not yet cast.

Taking courage