And they fought until they died. When the battle was over, the Americans had lost 15,000 out of 70,000, while the Germans lost 12,000 out of 125,000. Von Hindenburg himself admitted that he had never seen such mad, hopeless, magnificent courage. Again General Wood faced defeat and the necessity of falling back to a stronger position. For weeks thousands of labourers had been digging trenches north of Philadelphia; and now the American army, beaten but defiant, retreated rapidly and in some disorder through Jenkintown and Bristol to this new line of intrenchments that spread in fan shape from the Schuylkill to the Delaware. It was of the most desperate importance now that word be sent to Harrisburg and to the mobilisation camp at Gettysburg and to other recruiting points in the West and South, demanding that all possible reinforcements be rushed to Philadelphia. As communication by telegraph and telephone was cut off, General Wood despatched Colonel Horace M. Reading and Captain William E. Pedrick, officers of the National Guard, in a swift automobile, with instructions that these calls for help be flashed _without fail_ from the wireless station in the lofty granite shaft of the Trenton monument that commemorates Washington’s victory over the Hessians. Unfortunately, owing to bad roads and wrecked bridges, these officers suffered great delay, and only reached the Trenton monument as the German host, with rolling drums, was marching into the New Jersey capital along Pennington Avenue, the triumphant way that Washington had followed after his great victory. As the invaders reached the little park where the monument stands, they saw that a wireless station was in operation there, and demanded its surrender. Colonel Reading, wishing to gain time (for every minute counted), opened a glass door and stepped out on the little balcony at the top of the monument one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. He tried to speak, but a German officer cut him short. He must surrender instantly or they would fire. “Fire and be damned!” shouted the Colonel, and turned to the white-faced wireless operator inside. “Have you got Harrisburg yet?” he asked. “For God’s sake, hustle!” “Just got ‘em,” answered the operator. “I need five minutes to get this message through.” Five minutes! The German officer below, red with anger, was calling out sharp orders. A six-inch gun was set up under the Carolina poplars not a hundred yards from the monument. “We’ll show them!” roared the Prussian, as the gun crew drove home a hundred-pound shell. “Ready!” “Is that message gone?” gasped Reading. “Half of it. I need two minutes.” Two minutes! The officer was aiming the big gun at the base of the monument, and was just giving the word to fire when the heavy bronze door swung open, and between the two bronze soldiers appeared Elias A. Smith, a white-haired veteran, over ninety years old, with a bronze medal on his breast and the Stars and Stripes wound around his waist.