We return to Capt. Johann Ewald in this month’s article about an often overlooked engagement on June 23, 1778. In fact, northern Burlington County saw two hot fights this day: one in Bordentown and one in Crosswicks.
The latter action was a brief fight between elements under American Colonel Elias Dayton’s 3rd NJ Regiment and that of the British advanced guard of the 17,000-strong army caravan trekking through the state. Though outmatched, the Americans caused such a headache that British commander in chief Sir Henry Clinton personally entered the fight to direct artillery at the enemy positions.
Meanwhile, downstream of the Lewis Mill in Bordentown, a separate detachment of Americans were busy fending off Ewald’s Jägers as they approached. It is this action that calls our attention.
The British had just evacuated Philadelphia and chose to march overland through New Jersey to Sandy Hook, where they would board transports en route for New York. The British caravan was at times divided into two separate columns: one with the baggage strapped to 5,000 wagons with about 2,000 women and children in tow, along with another 3,000 troops, and the other column with about 14,000 troops.
Hessian General Wilhelm von Knyphausen was in charge of the baggage train while General Charles Earl Cornwallis, accompanying Gen. Clinton, commanded the main army. Knyphausen quartered at Moorestown, while the other column encamped on Mount Laurel on June 19 before both fell in together at Mount Holly the next day.
After a two-day rest, the column again marched northward through Slabtown, and Petticoat Bridge reaching Black Horse on June 22. Troops within the column were literally dropping dead from marching in the thick June humidity. Aside from the heat, American snipers and skirmishers lurked behind every tree and bush, picking off British troops whenever they could.
American troops stopped up wells, ripped apart bridge planks and drove off cattle ahead of the approaching column. By the time the British reached Monmouth on June 27, they were exhausted and completely disheveled. The battle that occurred the following day surely tested their limits, even if it ended in a draw and did nothing to alter the British objective of safely making it to New York, which they did.
Nevertheless, on June 23, Bordentown once again nearly became the site of yet again another engagement thanks to Capt, Ewald. The Lewis Mill once stood over Black’s Creek along the post road with a small bridge connecting either embankment. It was a southern entry point into Bordentown proper during the Revolution, and a site of frequent armies marching past. In fact, Ewald had quartered with the Lewis family in December 1776.
The Hessian officer knew the area well, and while this route brought him to Burlington County in a sweltering, mosquito-infested heat wave, he had his orders. The Jägers, per usual, were out front leading three British regiments in a feint to draw off the Americans supposedly entrenched on the opposite of Crosswicks Creek.
It failed. However, Ewald’s patrol ran into a group of Continental militia posted across the drawbridge. At first, the men played dumb and tried to wave off their identity. But according to Ewald, “they smelled a rat.” A cannonade soon erupted that drove the Hessians back. The action was brief and had no effect on larger events. But the following morning when the British left the area, one of their last orders was to burn the mill owned by Nathaniel Lewis along Black’s Creek. Ewald felt terrible over this and confided in his journal how well the Lewis family treated him two years before.
Which brings us to the present day.
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About a month ago, I laced up the heavy boots and, armed with a garden spade, a compass and a head full local history, I joined my colleague Doug Kiovsky of the Bordentown Historical Society into the old woods along Black’s Creek. No doubt we made an odd sight along Route 130: we looked as if we enjoyed being along the busy highway eyeing into the abyss.
Even in early April, the overgrowth was an immediate obstacle. Doug, dressed in his usual khaki attire, led the way. He said he’d been back here before and the steps he took indicated a confidence in direction. Who was I to argue?
I came up alongside the creek and the first thing I noticed was how clear the water was. It wasn’t brackish. Black’s Creek surprisingly has a fairly good current ripping through it; despite its shallowness, I began to see how crossing it by foot presented numerous means of treachery. To the naked eye, a small creek doesn’t look like much. Compared to rivers or the ocean, its depth isn’t a factor. But the mud, sand and clay are where a human being can become instantly threatened with a wrong step. If your foot hits a soft spot, you will sink waist deep in muck as liquid as quicksand. For those of us who’ve experienced this unfortunate situation, it doesn’t take much to ponder how a soldier — carrying all his weaponry — would fair.
We continued our trek along the north bank of the creek, ducking and climbing through vines, spider webs and thicket bushes. I wasn’t expecting so many thorns, and regretted leaving the machete behind. We finally came upon the old mill road and the stone anchorage pedestals that sat partially crumbled on either side of the creek. Nothing here indicated an eighteenth century road or Revolutionary War battle. We moved on and hit a dead end where the ground was overly saturated. After doubling back, we found a dry spot in the runoff and continued. By now, it was obvious nothing remained — at least surface level — of the old mill site. A few old maple trees that looked conspicuously out of place were noted; perhaps they served as sight markers two hundred years ago. Everything else was just overgrown weeds.
The two of us discussed the steep embankment and cliff overlooking the creek from the south side. We opted to exit the woods and walk further along Route 130 to a trail entering the tree line where they had discontinued an off ramp for the highway. From the top of this hillside, Black’s Creek is a beautiful meander of bubbling water, flashing reflections of the sun on this clear morning. We perched ourselves at the crest overlooking a spit of grass that jutted out into the creek below and thought it was a good spot for a mill. The water ripped at this spot and my mind envisioned the ease of a giant wheel turning. But even from our vantage point, there was no evidence of the old mill or of a raceway that fed off the creek.
We know after its destruction in June 1778 it was rebuilt and operated well into the nineteenth century before its eventual removal. Today, the only reminder of its existence is the name of Mill Street located off Farnsworth Avenue. Relax fellow treasure hunters. There’s unlikely to be a haul of Revolutionary War relics; nevertheless, the former site is a reminder of Bordentown’s lost history and perhaps an opportunity for future generations to get involved in historical preservation. I can think of no better project for Northern Burlington High School’s history department than a field trip for students interested in archaeology and history.
With the help of groups like the Rev War Alliance of Burlington County and the Bordentown Historical Society, I can think of no better way of getting young Americans involved in learning and exploring our history.
Adam E. Zielinski is president of the Rev War Alliance of Burlington County.
Illustration by Adam E. Zielinski.,
