When I Was a Little Girl, We Lived in Trenton
Written By Robert Schenker
Local History Librarian
Based on “A Grandmother’s Recollections of The Old Revolutionary Days” by Susan Pindar Embury
Logs crackled in the old fireplace as Grandma, knitting needle in hand, bid me to sit at her feet and listen to one of her tales of “The Old Revolutionary Days.” She was a handsome, stately old woman with bright eyes, a kindly smile, and a heart so open to the world that no one who knew her could say they had not profited from their association. She was quick to lend a helping hand, and her wise counsel seemed somehow beyond her years—as many as they were.
But her favorite thing in the world was to regale us with her stories of Washington, of the war, and the great hopeful spirit of liberty which, like manna, had sustained a fledgling nation through eight long years of armed struggle. Even now, after all these years, I still think of her and the preciousness of those stories, and of the one she told me of that day when her whole world turned upside down and the gaze of history fell squarely on a small town on the banks of the Delaware.
“When I was a young girl, we lived in Trenton, New Jersey. Father was a lieutenant in the patriot army and was one of the brave men who endured the hardships of Valley Forge. I can still remember my own mother scrapping lint to send to those poor, suffering soldiers. I was about ten years old then and had one little brother, two years younger. He was so young then, but still he wanted to fight in the army like Father. You should have seen him in his little soldier uniform, colored in rebel buff and blue, which Mother had made for him after much begging and pleading. He’d strut about the house fighting imaginary battles and shouting commands like a seasoned officer, much to our amusement. Our house was one of the largest and best situated in the town and, though we could not foresee it, it was for this reason that such trouble befell us.
“Hessians—we’d heard a great deal about these objects of dread on account of their lawless brutality. It seemed then that the entire state was overrun by this army of hired soldiers who, in their manners and actions, seemed one step removed from barbarians. From every side came accounts of their savagery. No house nor home, no woman nor child was safe from their wanton cruelty; they pillaged and destroyed as they chose, only stopping short of absolute murder. From the day we first heard of these cruel pillagers, we lived in dread of their appearance, and one day the worst of our fears were soon fulfilled.
“It was a cold winter night; Mother and we two children were gathered in the family room, a great fire blazing in the chimney place, as she spoke to us of dearest Father, still away with the rebel army. Suddenly, there was a noise outside and the sound of many shuffling feet before the door opened and in stalked several strange men and a couple of women of such height and size that they seemed a group of giants and giantesses out of one of Father’s stories. They jabbered away in harsh, guttural tones and came over to the fire, warming their hands against the blaze.
“We children jumped up screaming and clung to our mother. She was a brave little woman and, standing as tall as she could in the presence of giants, she pointed toward the open door and told them to leave at once. They understood her gestures if not her words and shook their heads as they crouched about the fire. One of the women’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the large silver buckles on Mother’s shoes and signaled for her to take them off. Mother hesitated, and before long the giantess was down on the floor wrenching the shoe from Mother’s foot, pulling it off and rapping poor Mother across the face with the heel.
“One of the men at the fire, a captain it seemed, managed to make himself understood to us. He rebuked the buckle thief and explained to Mother that he had been sent to secure quarters for the British commander and his suite. As our house seemed suitable, it was now in their possession. Realizing now that we were completely at their mercy, Mother began to lead them from room to room with as much tact as she could muster; and by sign and what few words they could understand, she imparted to them that Father was an officer in the British army. When they learned of this, they treated us with rough kindness and permitted us to retire to our beds in safety. That night we slept little; all night we heard them rummaging through the closets and cupboards, searching for whatever could be drunk or eaten.
“The next morning, Mother was obliged to open her storeroom and they helped themselves liberally to its contents, like locusts in a ripe field of wheat. Nothing was sacred to these marauders; they killed a hog and butchered it right there on the mahogany dining table. Quickly, all of our winter stores vanished away—pickles, preserves, and all—but at least we had our lives and had not been put out of our homes as others had been; for that we were grateful.
“Mother hoped that when the English commander arrived, he could banish, or at least control, these savages, and that he would take us defenseless ones under his protection; but a new trouble awaited us.
“Carefully folded away out of sight in the linen chest was my brother’s little officer’s coat, and one day when the women were tossing about its contents, they came across the rebel coat! It was a revelation; despite Mother’s words to the contrary, we were not the family of a British officer—we belonged to the hated patriot rebels. What a storm broke around us! They shook the little coat in our faces, jabbering and threatening, and we could understand by their gestures that they only awaited their officer’s orders to punish us. Mother hurried us to our room and we waited in trepidation for the hubbub to die down below. When it grew dark, Mother secreted us outside the house and into the henhouse, where a ladder led up into the loft where normally poultry feed was stored. There were no cackling hens to betray our hiding place, for the enemy had already killed them all.
“Through chinks in the wall, we could see a stir about the house which we prayed indicated the arrival of the English. The Hessians built fires in the barnyard and cooked in great pots like wandering nomads. In the cold grey of the early morning, Mother crept down the ladder and brought up her apron filled with warm ashes from the cookfires to try and warm our numb feet and hands. That was a night I can never forget.
“Shortly after the commotion within the house recommenced, it was evident that the British officer was expected and that our absence had been overlooked. How thankful we were and yet how hungry! We dared not venture out of our hiding place in the daylight. By and by, horses came clattering down the road, and for several hours we trembled in fear and frost in our hidden retreat. Eventually, my mother spied a sentinel in a British uniform pacing before our door.
“With a mother’s courage and intuition, she resolved that we could not stay in hiding and starve or freeze, and so she brought us down from the loft and, taking us by the hand, approached the astonished sentinel, demanding to see the commanding officer. When we were presented to him, she knelt at his feet and implored for his protection for her children. The kindly man was moved by her impassioned pleas and at once assigned us a room with a sentinel at the door to guard against further molestations. But by the grace of heaven, we did not long need his protection; for when blessed Christmas morning came, so did our deliverer, Washington. He and his brave men had crossed the Delaware, nine miles north of Trenton, and marched through a fearful storm to our deliverance.
“In the grey dawn came the beating of the drums and the sounds of firing. The soldiers quartered in our house hastily decamped; all was uproar and confusion. My mother and we children hid in the cellar to escape the shots which fell across the house and remained there until all was quiet and the familiar voices of our neighbors called out to us that it was safe to venture out.
“Oh, that awful day! Our next-door neighbor was killed on his very doorstep, a bullet struck the blacksmith as he was closing the door to his cellar, and many other townspeople were injured by stray shots; but the hated British and their Hessians were routed, the commander killed, and many prisoners taken.
“Mother went all through the house and found it had been thoroughly ransacked and pillaged from floor to ceiling. Her stores of homespun linen and her feather beds were all gone, every article of silver had vanished, and tables and chairs were broken, furniture defaced, and china and glass shattered beyond repair. Worst of all, not a crumb remained of our winter stores.
“But what joy we felt at our deliverance! The success of our army lessened our sense of loss and, with a truly grateful heart, we went cheerfully to work to restore our home to its usual orderly comfort. How proud we children felt to help Mother; we worked like beavers and did our part. At least, Mother told us that she could not do without us, and I believed her then, and still do now.”
Grandmother sat back in her chair, lost in her own memories, a warm smile on her face. With moistened eyes she looked at me. “Study your history, child. Learn all that you can about those troublesome days, and about those brave men who risked and gave their lives for their country and made it what it is—a blessed land. And above all, thank God for Washington.”
Even now I can picture her in my mind, and I still hear her advice echoing across the years, and now I impart it to you, fair reader: study your history, learn all you can, and never forget the spirit of those revolutionary days. So long as even one of us still remembers, we cannot forget.
The End
Source:
Adapted from the 19th-century recollections of Martha Reed Shannon, as documented by her granddaughter Susan Pindar Embury. It offers a child’s-eye view of the night the Revolution came to Trenton.
If you’re interested in learning more:
Leave a Reply