In the early hours of a miserably cold and dreary morning, December 26th, 1776, the day

after Christmas, a company of the 3rd Virginia Regiment of the Continental Army is

posted at a crossroads north of Trenton, New Jersey, under strict orders to allow no one to

pass. But soon, they are approached by a local, a man living close by.

The soldiers are tired, shivering.

Under the command of General George Washington, they've just moved through the dark of night

with a force of 2,400 troops,

fording the ice-choked waters of the Delaware River,

preparing for a surprise attack on a Heshin garrison to the south.

At first, the local man is unpleasant and irritable.

He assumes the soldiers are British.

No, no, we're Americans, they explain.

Fighting for the cause.

And a noble one indeed, replies the man, who, introducing himself as Riker, rushes off to his house and returns with food for the men.

I know something is to be done, and I'm going with you he states turning to a young

lieutenant in the company I'm a doctor and I may help some poor fellow.

Inside of this fateful day as the Battle of Trenton was waged,

Dr. Reicher would find himself looking into the frightened eyes of that same 18-year-old officer

as he struggled to staunch the bleeding from a musket ball severing an artery.

The young man would lose a lot of blood that day, but he would survive, saved by Dr. Riker.

And it's fortunate that he did.

Because that was Lieutenant James Monroe,

...