His look never changed. It was just the same steady face, whatever
went on before it; whether he saw us provincials beaten back, or
watched a thousand British regulars pile their arms after the
victory at Trenton.
He looked as he does in the great picture in Faneuil Hall, on the
right, as you stand before the rostrum. He stands there, by his
horse, just as I saw him before the passage of the Delaware, with
the steady, serious, immovable look that puts difficulties out of
countenance. It is the look of a man of sense and judgment, who has
come to the determination to save the country, and means to transact
that piece of business without fail.
I never saw that quiet, iron look change but once. I will tell you
about it. It was one of those days after the battle of Trenton, when
he tried to concentrate the troops that he had scattered over the
country, to bring them to bear upon the British. His object was to
show the enemy that they could not keep their foothold.
Between Trenton and Princeton he ordered the assault. The Virginians
were broken at the enemy's first charge, and could not be rallied a
second time against the British bayonets. General Washington
commanded and threatened and entreated in vain.
We of New England saw the crisis, marched rapidly up, and poured in
our fire at the exact moment, Judah Loring and I in the very front.
The British could not stand the fire. We gave it to them plenty, I
tell you.
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