Jingle bells across the Arthur Kill?

Just when you think you've heard about every Revolutionary War story about New Jersey, something else pops up.

A while back I wrote about American troops camping beside the Rahway River in Cranford during the winter of 1779-80. While others were stationed at General Washington's winter headquarters in Morristown, General William Irvine's men were part of the forward defense against potential raids by the British troops stationed on Staten Island. The Redcoats would often come to New Jersey in attempts to steal food and supplies from the locals and had even tried to kidnap Washington.

Morristown gets all the press, but soldiers stationed at the little-known cantonments in Cranford and other communities closer to Staten Island actually had a better time of it. Though everyone had to deal with the heavy snows and cold weather, it was far easier for commanders of the smaller groups to keep their troops fed and housed.

In the midst of this hardship, Washington formulated a daring plan to attack General Wilhelm von Knyphausen's British troops on Staten Island. The narrow Arthur Kill was frozen, offering a rare solid surface for troops to cross from Elizabeth or Perth Amboy. Perhaps Washington was thinking that American forces would be able to reprise the surprise Trenton raid that had turned the tide of the war for the Americans in December 1776.

General William Alexander (a.k.a. Lord Stirling) and Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton met at Crane's Mills on January 13 and 14, 1780 to finalize the tactical aspects of the plan to be executed the following day. Rather than using Durham boats as Washington's troops had in the Delaware crossing, the Americans would be able to use land-based transportation: sleighs.

Yes, you read that right: sleighs. In what's been deemed one of the strangest military operations of the Revolution, Stirling and Hamilton mustered 500 sleighs to transport 2500 troops across the Arthur Kill. One would guess that the secrecy of the operation meant they didn't include jingle bells to the mix.

There's a good reason why there's no famous painting of this crossing to pair with Emanuel Gottlieb Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware. Depending on which data source you consult (and there aren't many), the attack was cancelled either because the British had caught wind of it, or due to extreme cold weather. This, however, didn't stop Washington from ordering several smaller incursions on Staten Island throughout the winter months.

Six months later, von Knyphausen would lead these British troops unsuccessfully in the Battles of Connecticut Farms and Springfield. You have to wonder whether those conflicts would have happened had the sleigh attack on Staten Island been executed successfully.

Meet Basking Ridge's patriot nobleman: Lord Stirling, William Alexander

Driving around parts of Somerset County, you'd be excused for thinking that everything's named "Lord Stirling," because you see it all over the place. There's a park, an apartment complex, stables, a school and even a town with the name. It long led me to wonder "Why in heck did a guy with a British title get so many things named after him?" It all sounded way too much like the product of some English loyalist who ruled a country dominion.

William Alexander, Lord Stirling
by Bass Otis

Nothing could be farther from the truth. Lord Stirling was New York-born William Alexander. He claimed title in the Peerage of Scotland as a descendant of the grandfather of the first Earl of Stirling, perhaps attempting to gain control of the vast land grant that would have come with it. While his claim wasn't validated by the British House of Lords, Alexander continued to use the title, making for what must have eventually been an interesting public relations dilemma for King George.

The land would have been a nice bonus, but Alexander had little to worry about when it came to supporting himself. His mother was a successful merchant, and when he saw the opportunity, he expanded the business to supply the British military during the French and Indian War. Well known in society, he married Sarah Livingston, whose brother William later became the first state governor of New Jersey. (You'll recall the long reach of the Livingston family from our visit to Liberty Hall in Elizabethtown.) The couple had a house in Manhattan, which they sold after building a large estate on 1000 acres in what became Basking Ridge.

Alexander made the most of his New Jersey property, cultivating over 2000 grape vines to support the growth of the winemaking industry in the New World. He also once owned the land that's now known as Sterling Hill in Ogdensburg, but his attempts at iron mining ended up pretty much as Edison's did more than 100 years later, expensive but largely fruitless. He also played his lordship to the hilt, reportedly amassing a huge wardrobe and riding around town in an ornate coach emblazoned with the family crest.

What did any of this have to do with a PR problem for King George? As colonists grew more and more frustrated with British rule, Alexander stood firmly with the patriots. Already a colonel in the New Jersey militia, he'd drawn from his considerable wealth to outfit those who volunteered to serve under him. Considering that and the fact that George Washington was a close family friend, it's not surprising that Alexander agreed to join the Continental Army, becoming the only American brigadier general to claim a title.

Alexander led troops in several pivotal battles in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania between 1776 and 1778, but his defining moment took place during the Battle of Long Island. Outnumbered 25 to one, the troops under his command held the British long enough for the other Continentals to escape to safety. Alexander himself was captured and later freed as part of a prisoner exchange, his valor and audacity recognized by military on both sides. He was elevated to major general, with future president James Monroe serving as his aide-de-camp.

Amid the huzzahs, however, were brickbats from our old reliable, Aaron Burr. It's commonly known that Lord Stirling enjoyed a good glass of wine (or several), but according to Ron Chernow's biography of Alexander Hamilton, Burr outright stated that "Monroe's whole duty was to fill his lordship's tankard and hear, with indications of admiration, his lordship's long stories about himself."

Whether Burr's assessment was accurate or not, it's clear that Alexander held the trust of Washington and the admiration of his troops. He might have been full of himself -- who knows? -- but the new country got more from his service than he profited from his position. After being named commanding officer of the northern troops in 1781, Alexander died of gout, his fortune gone and his feats of bravery apparently forgotten not long after.

Except in Basking Ridge, it seems. His estate was sold to pay his debts, and the house was eventually torn down, but much of his property is now a Somerset County park named in his honor. Adjacent to the larger Great Swamp National Wildlife Refuge, it offers an environmental education center and an extensive trail system, as well as a horse stable. One of our readers also pointed out that the County holds a Lord Stirling 1770s festival each fall, featuring tours, period-appropriate demonstrations and specimens from an archaeological dig of the property.

One more note on Alexander: given his military feats and those of his descendants, one might consider him the original in a line of "Jersey sons of a gun." Several male descendants of his daughter also distinguished themselves in military service, most notably Hidden New Jersey favorite, Civil War General Philip Kearny. The longer I study prominent New Jerseyans, the more fascinating the connections get.