“If they are so cowardly they dare not embrace me,” he wrote, “let them at least reward the heroism of those fine officers and men who served with me and made possible our victory. Whether I was right or wrong, a scheming usurper of command and a pusillanimous poltroon in my conduct, it cannot be controverted that the joint force of cavalry and infantry did take possession of the fort, march the garrison into captivity and behave in such a manner so as to escape with fewer casualties than those marked in any other engagement since the war’s commencement.
“I know not whether I am more disgusted with jealous officers who lust after my scalp, or weakling politicians who are afraid to admit the facts of a victory already known to all the world.”
The elder Lees wisely showed his letter to no one, and for once Martha Washington was not called in as a confidante. Harry’s parents seemed to understand that someone — probably their son — would be stung if the hornet’s nest was jarred too hard.
The end of September came, and the board had not yet been summoned. Harry’s patience was at breaking point, but Washington had not yet found the officers he wanted to sit on the tribunal. Perhaps, too, he was deliberately allowing passions to cool. When he acted at last, on September 29, he once again revealed his genius.
The president of the board was Brigadier General Anthony Wayne, the whole nation’s hero since his triumph at Stony Point. While it was true that he was Harry Lee’s friend, close associate and long-time admirer, it was generally conceded — even by the supporters of Muhlenberg and Woodford — that he was a patriot who would put justice ahead of personal considerations.
The deputy president was Colonel Dan Morgan of Virginia, soon to be made a brigadier general, and his choice was hailed as a master stroke. Morgan was an infantryman, the leader of a band of expert riflemen whose exploits were legendary, and no one could accuse him of being overly partial to the cavalry. As he was a Virginian, he was a native of the same state as the major participants in the quarrel. A rawboned giant with a violent temper, no one would dare accuse him of taking sides in advance. And best of all, he had not expressed an opinion in the case, probably because he had been suffering from a painful and incapacitating attack of arthritis.
Four lieutenant colonels and three majors made up the rest of the panel. All were infantrymen, and Captains McLane and Peyton complained bitterly that no horse-soldiers had been selected. In justice to General Washington, there were no horse-soldiers of Harry’s own rank or higher in the vicinity and, therefore, available for court-martial duty. Army protocol required that a man be tried only by his peers and superiors. It was possible, too, that the commander-in-chief deliberately tipped the scales in favor of the infantry to prevent still more outcries from Muhlenberg and Woodford at a later date.
Harry received a message late in the evening of September 29, summoning him to Smith’s Cove, a village on the Hudson, and he appeared there early the following morning. General Wayne informed him of his right to employ counsel, either military or civilian, but he surprised the court by stating that he preferred to conduct his own defense. It was the first time in his life that the young man who had once hoped to become an attorney had practiced law.
The court spent the morning hearing the testimony of the defendant and that of a number of witnesses, all of them officers who had taken part in the Paulus Hook attack. The court then cleared the hall to deliberate in private, and after less than two hours Harry was called in to hear the verdict.
Most of the charges against him were dismissed, the tribunal commenting repeatedly that they were totally without foundation. They neatly disposed of the charge that he had assumed command of the expedition through trickery by expressing the opinion that “Major Lee did through inattention give Major Clarke a wrong date of his commission, but by no means intending of emposing on Major Clarke by assuming the command of him, having Express orders from his Excellency, the Commander-in-chief, for that special command.” The court therefore deemed him honorably acquitted of the charge.
In dealing with this subject, the board was treading on delicate ground. It was extremely unlikely that Harry, even though otherwise occupied, could have forgotten the date of his promotion to major. In all probability he let a false date “slip out,” in order to prevent an argument that might have disrupted his carefully made plans. The crux of the matter was that Washington had indeed given him supreme command of the party. He knew it, his own officers knew it and he had no intention of allowing a busybody from Stirling’s division to usurp his rightful place.
On the eighth charge, that Harry’s conduct had been unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman, the tribunal expressed itself firmly. “Major Lee’s conduct,” the findings read, “was Uniform and Regular, supporting his Military Character, magnanimity & judgment, and that he by no means acted Dorogatory to the Gentleman & Soldier, which character he fills with honor to his country and credit to the Army.”
For all practical purposes, Harry had won, but was not free until the findings of the board were verified. The report was taken straight to General Washington, who again acted immediately, writing in his own hand on the last page, “The Commander-in-Chief confirms the opinion of the Court. Major Lee is released from his arrest.”
Harry’s exoneration was complete, and he returned to duty with his Partizan Force that same evening.
General Muhlenberg had the grace to bury the hatchet with a flourish, and wrote Harry a letter of congratulations. General Woodford maintained a stiff-necked silence, but when his path and Harry’s accidentally crossed about five months later, he, too, made amends. In the presence of several officers, General Woodford offered his apologies for any inconvenience and embarrassment he might have caused. Harry accepted with the courtesy of one who was a gentleman and a Lee, just as he had replied in the same manner to General Muhlenberg’s letter. Perhaps it was coincidental that he did not serve again with either officer at any time before the end of the war.
Now it was the turn of the Continental Congress to react, and that body responded at once, spurred by the prodding of Cousin Richard Henry Lee. Several lieutenants whom Harry had commended were promoted to the rank of captain, and the sum of fifteen thousand dollars was voted for distribution among the sergeants, corporals, and privates, “in such manner as the Commander-in-Chief should direct.” This meant, for all practical purposes, that General Washington would accept Harry’s advice in the matter.
Major Harry Lee himself received the warm congratulations of the Congress, “for the remarkable prudence, address and bravery displayed.” Even more important, a special Congressional medal of gold was struck, and was subsequently presented to him in a ceremony held in General Washington’s presence.
Inexplicably, however, he did not receive a promotion to the rank of lieutenant colonel. Still raw after his court-martial, Harry was at first inclined to believe that the slight had been deliberate, but General Washington made inquiries into the matter on his behalf, and Alexander Hamilton specifically assured the major that the Congress’ failure to promote him had been nothing more than a technical oversight.
Such mishaps were common, and Harry accepted the disappointment with admirable philosophical detachment. He wore his gold medal on his tunic, a distinction that only a tiny handful of heroes enjoyed. He had acquired an international as well as a national reputation, and was known as a brilliant and courageous officer in England, France, and the German states. Eager mothers sought ways to interest him in their daughters, and he was regarded as the most eligible bachelor in the Continental line.
Most important of all, he had won the unqualified confidence of George Washington, who assured him that his talents would be utilized to the full. His promotion would be granted in due time — and, until then, there was work to be done for his country — and for greater glory.
VIII: “LEE’S LEGION”
Major Harry Lee’s duties in the months following his vindication were dull, anticlimactic, and could have been perf
ormed by any competent junior officer. He threw a ring of Partizans around Manhattan Island, and kept watch on all British land and sea movements, reporting anything of significance to General Washington. He maintained a special lookout for a powerful French fleet sent to aid the Americans, and was the first to greet its eccentric commander, Admiral Count d’Estaing.
Only one phase of his activity interested him in the autumn of 1779. As the officer in charge of reconnaissance, he was given responsibility for maintaining the American espionage network in New York. He hired spies and gave them their missions, helped them slip undetected into the British-occupied city and then received their reports when they escaped.
Very little is known of this operation other than that it was extensive. The names of spies, the records of their accomplishments and of the sums paid them were — then, as in later wars — deemed so confidential that Harry’s reports, both verbal and written, were submitted direct to General Washington, and were seen only by the commander-in-chief and a few of his personal aides. Within the confines of a small, select circle, Harry became known as a highly efficient spy master, and no doubt this experience prepared him, in part, for the great challenge that lay ahead.
Few Americans knew that Harry was directing an espionage network. But Sir Henry Clinton was well aware of the young Virginian’s activities, and in December wrote to the War Office, “I have just hanged a spy, aged forty years or thereabouts, but was unable to find means of obtaining information from him before he was executed. For each of Major Lee’s spies I capture and execute, a half-score must slip through my fingers. Would that Lee had been sent home in disgrace by his judges three months ago. The wretched fellow gives me no peace of mind.”
In January 1780, Clinton may have breathed a trifle more easily, as Harry went home to Virginia on his second leave of absence since the start of the war. The conqueror of Paulus Hook was given the reception due a hero, and in spite of wartime shortages a ball was held in his honor soon after his arrival.
He happened to arrive during a relative lull in military operations, so other officers were visiting their homes, too, and Leesylvania echoed to the music of fiddles, the rumble of baritone laughter — and the excited whispers of the ladies who watched the handsome major single out his cousin, Matilda, as his partner for every quadrille.
The “divine Matilda,” as her friends called her, was maturing rapidly, and was reputedly the most skilled flirt in a band of young women who made an art of toying with the affections of the opposite sex. Almost as tall as Harry, slender and vivacious, with dark brown hair that she piled high on her head, Matilda was perhaps the loveliest heiress in Virginia.
Rumors that abounded that January have become romantic legends. According to one, Matilda made a wager with a friend that she could fascinate Harry to such an extent that he would look at no other girl. If she set a net, she was caught in it herself. No one, not even a young lady whose intimates considered her a goddess, dared to deal lightly with the dashing Harry. He took himself too seriously, and if there was one quality of character in which he was conspicuously lacking, it was a robust sense of humor.
Harry spent much of his leave at Stratford, and his mother quietly breathed a sigh of relief. “There is as yet no formal betrothal,” she wrote Mrs. Washington, “as Matilda is still too young for Marriage. But I believe there is a private Understanding between them, and that a Union will follow when next he returns to Virginia.”
A long time would elapse before Harry again saw Matilda — or his own family’s estate. The nature of the war was changing in 1780, and as one theatre of operations atrophied, another became active. Sir Henry Clinton’s enclave at New York Town became an isolated bastion, and virtually all of the northern portion of the United States was now safely in American hands.
The War Office in London was directing a new strategy: the southern states were to be captured and the area made secure; thereafter a concerted drive would be made on the more heavily industrialized north. The British plan unfolded gradually, and the most able of Clinton’s generals, Lord Cornwallis, was made the director of field operations.
Washington countered by sending his steadiest, most dependable comrade, General Nathanael Greene, to head a new corps in the south. He was given three thousand men, with a promise of more to follow, and Brigadier General Dan Morgan became his deputy in command of infantry.
But it soon became evident that foot soldiers alone could not stem the new Redcoat tide. The British made repeated landings everywhere in the southern states, and the harassed Americans didn’t know where the enemy would strike next. Above all, they loathed and feared the man they considered the Devil incarnate, whom they called “Butcher” Tarleton.
Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton, the son of a Liverpool merchant, had been closely associated with Cornwallis ever since accompanying the general to America in 1776. He was a superb horseman, and displayed organizational talents that had won him a post as Cornwallis’ brigade-major of cavalry. Now, with his lordship holding a higher post, Tarleton had been promoted, and headed a force which the newspapers in England fondly called the British Legion. It was made up in part of cavalry, in part of light infantry and, occasionally, called on the services of American Loyalists.
Tarleton specialized in the lightning raid, attacking communications and supply centers in surprise assaults, then withdrawing again very quickly. He spread havoc and terror wherever he went, and had a hand, in May of 1780, in the conquest of Charleston, South Carolina.
Nathanael Greene quietly and firmly took up the reins laid down by his incompetent predecessor, Horatio Gates, but he soon realized he needed fire to fight fire. South Carolina was occupied by the enemy, Cornwallis was planning a sweep to take North Carolina and Greene needed help.
Specifically, he needed a fast-moving legion of his own, made up of cavalry and light infantry that could operate as a vanguard, meet Tarleton’s force with counterforce and harass Cornwallis as he himself was being badgered. He and General Washington considered only one man for the post of commander, and reached a joint decision more or less simultaneously.
Harry Lee, who had been one of the first to recognize the merits of combined cavalry-infantry operations and had utilized just such a force at Paulus Hook, was summoned to headquarters. There General Washington asked him if he would like to become Commandant of such a Legion and Chief of Cavalry in the Southern Department. The question, of course, was a rhetorical formality.
Washington renewed his application to the Continental Congress for Major Lee’s promotion, asking that it be granted with dispatch, and meanwhile Harry went to work. He was given his choice of cavalry units, and naturally took most of the troops who had served with him in the Partizan Force. He was also granted the privilege of selecting his own infantry.
In all, he was promised five hundred men, but the usual delays and military mishaps made it possible for him to go into the field with no more than three hundred and fifty officers and men. The Legion was an elite body, made up in entirety of Continentals who had enlisted for the duration of the war. All were issued new equipment, the best of the arms and supplies now arriving from France. And Harry, ever-conscious of appearance, ordered a new uniform for the Legion: plumed helmets, dark green tunics, white breeches, and black boots.
“Lee’s Legion,” as the unit was immediately dubbed by the newspapers, was organized in a single month’s time. Harry was so busy hurrying from place to place in New Jersey, gathering provisions, blankets, saddles, and arms that a courier needed two and a half days to catch up with him and hand him his commission as lieutenant colonel, granted by the Congress and countersigned by Washington. Ironically, Colonel Lee was too busy to reply to the many messages of congratulations he received on his belated promotion.
Generals Washington and von Steuben reviewed the Legion in a hastily arranged ceremony, and late in November 1780, Harry began his long march south to join General Greene — and win himself a permanent niche in American
history as a field commander of great distinction.
From the outset the Legion was forced to prove its mettle. Greene and Morgan were in trouble, and there was no time to waste. Harry set a furious pace, riding at the head of the column himself, and his cavalry and infantry learned how to work together by marching together. Quartermasters were sent ahead each day to buy food and arrange for overnight bivouacs, and those who were serving with Harry for the first time learned that he gave an order just once, expected it to be obeyed instantly and without question, and would dismiss any man who failed to do what he was told, when he was told to do it.
Early in December the Legion, tired and dusty, reached General Greene’s headquarters on the banks of the Pee Dee River in North Carolina. The men were given a night to themselves, and Harry immediately joined Greene and Dan Morgan at a dinner conference that lasted most of the evening.
The situation was discouraging. The British held a number of small outpost fortresses in the Carolinas, and used them as headquarters for raids on the countryside intended to disrupt the American defenses and allow Cornwallis to move north unimpeded. At the moment the British were opposed only by a band of irregulars and militia under the command of a forty-eight-year-old brigadier general of South Carolina militia, Francis Marion.
Greene and Morgan praised Marion lavishly, although they called his guerrilla fighters undisciplined and sometimes undependable. Certainly the “Swamp Fox” was proving himself an elusive nuisance to the British, and Tarleton had made several unsuccessful attempts to capture him and disband his irregulars. Harry was instructed to find Marion in the swamp country and join him in his assaults on the Redcoat outposts.
Light-Horse Harry: A Biography of Washington’s Great Cavalryman, General Henry Lee (Heroes and Villains from American History) Page 11