annotated by Bill Russo
as part of a series of
family friendly tales.
Christmas in Seventeen Seventy Six
Poem
by Bill Russo, 2016. Story by Anne
Hollingsworth Wharton, 1895
“On
Christmas day in 17 and Seventy-six,
Our
gallant troops with their bayonets fixed,
To
Trenton, New Jersey marched away.
and
routed the Hessian army that day.
In
truth it was a battle rather small
But
the victory news was heard by all.
New
recruits came in many a score
For
they saw U.S. victory was in store”
Soon,
it will be the 250th anniversary of the birth of a nation - The
United States. There will be countless
celebrations and events. One of the biggest may take place in Philadelphia in
2026, if football (soccer) fans have their way.
As of late 2016, the U.S. is the favorite to host the World Cup finals
in the city of the Liberty Bell and where the Declaration of Independence and
the Constitution were signed. Those
earth shaking events all happened in the year 1776. It’s just a history date to us obviously
because none of us were not around when General Washington and his army blazed
the freedom trail.
Have
you ever thought what ordinary people like us were doing more than two
centuries ago? The nation was split
between those favoring to remain aligned with England (Tories) and those who
wished for independence (Whigs). The
cruel war forced many of the Tories to flee the country. Numerous others went into hiding or swore
false allegiance to the Whigs.
Johnny
got his gun and went to war, but what of the mothers who took care of the homes
after the fathers left for battle? You’ve probably seen illustrations of the people of the 1700s. They dressed funny. The heads of many of the men were shrouded in
long hair and they had overgrown beards that made them look like primitive
primates.
But
they were people just like you and me.
Our Christmas tale/bedtime story for today is about a young boy and girl
who lived in Bordentown, New Jersey – not far from the battlefield in Trenton.
The
father of the boy and girl was a soldier in George Washington’s army. The troops were camped a couple miles north
of Trenton on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River.
If
you Google Bordentown on your Android,
Apple, or your PC; you’ll see that the community is about seven miles
below Trenton; where 1500 Hessian troops were holed up after capturing the
town. The Hessians were German soldiers
hired by the English to help defeat the colonial Tories trying to forge a new
nation of 13 colonies. In all, about
30,000 such soldiers of fortune did battle for England in the Revolutionary
War.
The
Hessians holding Bordentown were supplemented by a single troop of about 200
British Light Horsemen. The cavalrymen’s
work was mostly reconnaissance and scouting
Besides
having captured Bordentown, there were British and Hessian troops in the
surrounding area and this seriously interfered with the plans of the father of
the boy and girl of our story. He was a
Captain with Washington’s army and he wanted to be home with his family for the
holiday.
Here’s
the tale, as written more than a century ago by Anne Hollingsworth Wharton:
Captain
Tracy had high hopes of be able to go home to eat his Christmas dinner with his
wife and children. Kitty and Harry Tracy, who had not lived long enough to see
many wars, could not imagine such a thing as Christmas without their father,
and had busied themselves for weeks in making everything ready to have a merry
time with him. Kitty, who loved to play quite as much as any frolicsome Kitty
of to-day, had spent all her spare time in knitting a pair of thick wool
stockings, which seems a wonderful feat for a little girl only eight years old
to perform! Can you see her sitting by the great chimney-place, filled with its
roaring, crackling logs, in her quaint, short-waisted dress, knitting away
steadily, and puckering up her rosy, dimpled face over the strange twists and
turns of that old stocking? I can see her, and I can also hear her sweet voice
as she chatters away to her mother about “how ‘sprised papa will be to find that
his little girl can knit like a grown-up woman,” while Harry spreads out on the
hearth a goodly store of shellbark hickory nuts that he has gathered and is
keeping for his share of the ‘sprise.
“What
if he shouldn’t come?” asks Harry, suddenly.
“Oh,
he’ll come! Papa never stays away on Christmas,” says Kitty, looking up into
her mother’s face for an echo to her words. Instead she sees something very
like tears in her mother’s eyes.
“Oh,
mamma, don’t you think he’ll come?”
“He
will come if he possibly can,” says Mrs. Tracy; “and if he cannot, we will keep
Christmas whenever dear papa does come home.”
“It
won’t be half so nice,” said Kitty, “nothing’s so nice as REALLY Christmas, and
how’s Kris Kringle going to know about it if we change the day?”
“We’ll
let him come just the same, and if he brings anything for papa we can put it
away for him.”
This
plan, still, seemed a poor one to Miss Kitty, who went to her bed in a sober
mood that night, and was heard telling her dear dolly, Martha Washington. that
“wars were mis’able, and that when she married she should have a man who kept a
candy-shop for a husband, and not a soldier—no, Martha, not even if he’s as
nice as papa!” As Martha made no objection to this little arrangement, being an
obedient child, they were both soon fast asleep. The days of that cold winter
of 1776 wore on; so cold it was that the sufferings of the soldiers were great,
their bleeding feet often leaving marks on the pure white snow over which they
marched. As Christmas drew near there was a feeling among the patriots that
some blow was about to be struck; but what it was, and from whence they knew
not; and, better than all, the British had no idea that any strong blow could
come from Washington’s army, weak and out of heart, as they thought, after
being chased through Jersey by Cornwallis.
Mrs.
Tracy looked anxiously each day for news of the husband and father only a few
miles away, yet so separated by the river and the enemy’s troops that they
seemed like a hundred. Christmas Eve came, but brought with it few rejoicings.
The hearts of the people were too sad to be taken up with merrymaking, although
the Hessian soldiers in the town, good-natured Germans, who only fought the
Americans because they were paid for it, gave themselves up to the feasting and
revelry.
“Shall
we hang up our stockings?” asked Kitty, in rather a doleful voice.
“Yes,”
said her mother, “Santa Claus won’t forget you, I am sure, although he has been
kept pretty busy looking after the soldiers this winter.”
“Which
side is he on?” asked Harry.
“The
right side, of course,” said Mrs. Tracy, which was the most sensible answer she
could possibly have given. So:
“The
stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon
would be there.”
Two
little rosy faces lay fast asleep upon the pillow when the good old soul came
dashing over the roof about one o’clock, and after filling each stocking with
red apples, and leaving a cornucopia of sugar-plums for each child, he turned
for a moment to look at the sleeping faces, for St. Nicholas has a tender spot
in his great big heart for a soldier’s children. Then, remembering many other
small folks waiting for him all over the land, he sprang up the chimney and was
away in a trice.
Santa
Claus, in the form of Mrs. Tracy’s farmer brother, brought her a splendid
turkey; but because the Hessians were uncommonly fond of turkey, it came hidden
under a load of wood. Harry was very fond of turkey, too, as well as of all
other good things; but when his mother said, “It’s such a fine bird, it seems
too bad to eat it without father,” Harry cried out, “Yes, keep it for papa!”
and Kitty, joining in the chorus, the vote was unanimous, and the turkey was
hung away to await the return of the good soldier, although it seemed strange,
as Kitty told Martha Washington, “to have no papa and no turkey on Christmas
Day.”
The
day passed and night came, cold with a steady fall of rain and sleet. Kitty
prayed that her “dear papa might not be out in the storm, and that he might
come home and wear his beautiful blue stockings”;
“And
eat his turkey,” said Harry’s sleepy voice; after which they were soon in the
land of dreams. Toward morning the good people in Bordentown were suddenly
aroused by firing in the distance, which became more and more distinct as the
day wore on. There was great excitement in the town; men and women gathered
together in little groups in the streets to wonder what it was all about, and
neighbors came dropping into Mrs. Tracy’s parlor, all day long, one after the
other, to say what they thought of the firing. In the evening there came a body
of Hessians flying into the town, to say that General Washington had surprised
the British at Trenton, early that morning, and completely routed them, which
so frightened the Hessians in Bordentown that they left without the slightest
ceremony.
It
was a joyful hour to the good town people when the red-jackets turned their
backs on them, thinking every moment that the patriot army would be after them.
Indeed, it seemed as if wonders would never cease that day, for while
rejoicings were still loud, over the departure of the enemy, there came a knock
at Mrs. Tracy’s door, and while she was wondering whether she dared open it, it
was pushed ajar, and a tall soldier entered. What a scream of delight greeted
that soldier, and how Kitty and Harry danced about him and clung to his knees,
while Mrs. Tracy drew him toward the
warm blaze, and helped him off with his damp cloak!
Cold
and tired Captain Tracy was, after a night’s march in the streets and a day’s
fighting; but he was not too weary to smile at the dear faces around him, or to
pat Kitty’s head when she brought his warm stockings and would put them on the
tired feet, herself.
Suddenly
there was a sharp, quick bark outside the door. “What’s that?”
cried
Harry
“Oh, I
forgot. Open the door. Here, Fido, Fido!”
Into
the room there sprang a beautiful little King Charles spaniel, white, with tan
spots, and ears of the longest, softest, and silkiest.
“What a
little dear!” exclaimed Kitty; “where did it come from?”
“From
the battle of Trenton,” said her father. “His poor master was shot. After the
red-coats had turned their backs, and I was hurrying along one of the streets
where the fight had been the fiercest, I heard a low groan, and, turning, saw a
British officer lying among a number of slain. I raised his head; he begged for
some water, which I brought him, and bending down my ear I heard him whisper,
‘Dying—last battle—say a prayer.’ He tried to follow me in the words of a
prayer, and then, taking my hand, laid it on something soft and warm, nestling
close up to his breast—it was this little dog. The gentleman—for he was a real
gentleman—gasped out, ‘Take care of my poor Fido; good-night,’ and was gone. It
was as much as I could do to get the little creature away from his dead master;
he clung to him as if he loved him better than life. You’ll take care of him,
won’t you, children? I brought him home to you, for a Christmas present.”
“Pretty
little Fido,” said Kitty, taking the soft, curly creature in her arms; “I think
it’s the best present in the world, and to-morrow is to be real Christmas,
because you are home, papa.”
“And
we’ll eat the turkey,” said Harry, “and hickory nuts, lots of them, that I
saved for you. What a good time we’ll have! And oh, papa, don’t go to war any
more, but stay at home, with mother and Kitty and Fido and me.”
“What
would become of our country if we should all do that, my little man? It was a
good day’s work that we did this Christmas, getting the army all across the
river so quickly and quietly that we surprised the enemy, and gained a victory,
with the loss of few men.”
Thus
it was that some of the good people of 1776 spent their Christmas, that their
children and grandchildren might spend many of them as citizens of a free nation.
The End
In
the great picture of the Revolutionary War, the battle at Trenton was
tiny. About 2400 of Washington’s
fighters, captured nearly a thousand British soldiers and caused another
thousand to flee. There were only two
fatalities among the Colonial army – both men died from the hardship of the
march and the encampment, rather than in the battle. Twenty two English soldiers were killed in
the surprise attack by Washington’s forces.
The
skirmish might have been little, but it was huge in restoring the morale of the
shabby colonial army. It ushered in a
wave of fresh money and new recruits that was a great help in the final push to
victory.
Merry Christmas to all.
Merry Christmas to all.
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