Light-Horse Harry: A Biography of Washington’s Great Cavalryman, General Henry Lee (Heroes and Villains from American History)

by Noel B. Gerson

  Du Coudray himself arrived simultaneously with the letters, bearing a recommendation in the busy Deane’s own hand. Unfortunately, he regarded the letter as an actual appointment.

  A large, genial obstacle stood in his path: Henry Knox, perhaps the most popular of American generals. His colleagues immediately rallied to his defense. Nathanael Greene sent a furious letter to the Congress, threatening to resign his own commission if Knox was superseded. Major General John Sullivan went a step further, and actually submitted his resignation, to take effect immediately on the appointment of du Coudray.

  Junior officers were expected to be seen but not heard when matters of such importance were being decided. But Harry Lee was loyal to his friends, and Knox had been kind to him. He sent a letter of his own to Governor Henry of Virginia, promising to resign if Knox was ousted, and to make certain his decision was known in the right places, he delivered a copy by hand to Washington’s headquarters.

  The worried commander-in-chief was not pleased by the young officer’s impudence, but had no time for such trifles. His concern over the fall of Ticonderoga, his worries about Howe and the new political storm, not to mention his unceasing fight for recruits and supplies, left him with no opportunity to chastise a brash youth.

  Harry’s impetuous gesture did him no harm in other high quarters. Knox was grateful to him, but nevertheless deemed it necessary to lecture him on military proprieties. John Sullivan sought out the Virginian and publicly shook his hand, praising him loudly. And Nathanael Greene invited him to dinner.

  This occasion is the first known contact of Greene and Lee, an association that was to ripen into a professional and personal friendship of the greatest military significance. The one-time blacksmith’s apprentice from Rhode Island, whose martial attitudes had led to his expulsion from the Society of Friends, and the dashing Virginia aristocrat were men of vastly different temperaments and personalities, yet they enjoyed each other’s company from the start.

  “Captain Lee and I spent an evening discussing the waging of the war, and I envy his sure grasp of essentials. I must study plans of campaigns and of battles before I know how to act, but he need only glance at a map of a situation to be guided, surely and accurately, by a marvelous instinct,” Greene declared.

  “General Greene,” Harry wrote, “is perhaps the best theoretician in our Army. His judgments are based on the experiences of others, from antiquity to the present, and if he does not recommend new strategies, neither does he forget the errors of those who went down in defeat. He well remembers all the great victories of history.”

  In less than four years the team of Nathanael Greene and Harry Lee would make history of their own.

  For the present, however, each went his separate way, with Harry spending his days on patrol duty.

  One problem was settled by the ever-diplomatic Washington, who recommended that Congress grant du Coudray an appointment as “Inspector General” of artillery, a meaningless title. Knox remained as chief of the department, his colleagues were satisfied and Silas Deane was able to report to the French government that du Coudray had been given a post of honor.

  Intelligence reached Morristown that the enemy was landing vast numbers of fresh troops at New York Town, and that each day transports arrived carrying Redcoats and mercenaries. Some said that there were as many as fifty thousand men disembarking, but these stories were exaggerated. The actual number was eighteen thousand, itself an imposing figure, but of these, approximately one-third were seriously ill of “shipboard fever.”

  Then, finally, Sir William Howe made his intentions clear. He started preparations for an active campaign, and it soon became apparent that his goal was Philadelphia.

  IV: THE CAPTAIN WINS HIS SPURS

  General Washington expected the enemy to march through New Jersey from New York Town, but Billy Howe had tasted more of the Americans’ hit-and-run tactics than he enjoyed, and wanted to march as short a distance to his objective as possible. Hoping to fool the enemy, he bundled his entire corps onto troop transports and, protected by the mighty fleet of his brother, Admiral Lord Howe, sailed south.

  The Americans were not fooled. Washington had too many spies in New York, and General Howe made preparations for his campaign that were too elaborate and protracted. Some of his regiments went on board the transports in July, and sweltered there for the better part of two months.

  Not until August 28 did the British and their mercenaries finally land on the shores of Maryland. Cavalry and light infantry, heavy infantry and artillery, supply columns and ordnance troops came ashore in waves, and Howe, accompanied by Cornwallis, established his temporary headquarters in the little town of Elkton.

  The Americans were as ready as circumstances permitted. Knowing they were outnumbered, they nevertheless prepared to defend the capital of their country. Washington moved up to a forward position, making his headquarters at Wilmington, Delaware, and ordered all available cavalry units to harass the foe.

  Virginia’s First Troop of Dragoons went into the field only a few hours after the initial British landing was reported, and Harry ventured so close to the landing area that he actually saw some of the British units coming ashore. He sent a courier to Wilmington with a report to General Washington of what he had observed, and remained in the vicinity, spoiling for a fight.

  The next day he got one. Howe threw out a cavalry screen to protect his corps while he consolidated his position before advancing, and Redcoat patrols spread out through the gently rolling Maryland countryside. They, too, were eager for combat after being cooped up on the evil-smelling transports for weeks. More than two thousand strong, all of them veterans, they had no reason to fear the three to four hundred American horsemen Washington had sent on scouting and harassment assignments.

  Neither then nor at any later time in his career was Harry Lee concerned about the inferior size of his own forces. His First Troop currently mustered one lieutenant, one ensign, and fifty-nine enlisted men, the others being absent on sick leave. All shared their commander’s yearning for glory and, a scant forty-eight hours after the British vanguard had come ashore, they enthusiastically followed him when he sighted a full battalion of British cavalry in the distance.

  The enemy force was comprised of three full troops, more than two hundred men in all, and few commanders would have deemed it prudent to attack against such odds. But there were factors working in Harry’s favor. The Redcoats had just ridden into the open from a patch of woods, and were riding parallel to it, four abreast. The Americans immediately cut into the woods, and had no difficulty concealing themselves, as the enemy, with a disdain of the New World born of ignorance, were shouting to each other as they rode.

  They were observing no security precautions, either, as Harry was quick to note. All carried carbines, lightweight muskets with short barrels that had been expressly designed for cavalry, that were infinitely superior to the Americans’ weapons. But they were harmlessly slung in holsters, and appeared to be unloaded. The Virginians, on the other hand, kept loaded, primed pistols in their belts, as they had done from the days of their initial recruit training.

  Harry was relying on the element of surprise to help him, and incredible as it seemed, he and his men had not been seen by the British before disappearing into the woods. Either the Redcoats were not expecting opposition, or were indifferent to it. They soon learned to respect their foes.

  The Americans took up positions behind trees, and Harry waited until approximately one-half of the enemy force had ridden past before raising his own pistol. A silent signal was passed up and down the line, each of the Virginians selected his own target and then fired at will. Thirty Britons fell to the ground or drooped in their saddles, all but three of them dead.

  Harry shouted an order, and the First Troop advanced into the open immediately, the men drawing their spare pistols. They concentrated their fire on the British rear, and again took a heavy toll before increasing their pace from a canter to a gall
op. Sabers flashing, they cut and slashed, and before the bewildered, disorganized Redcoats realized what was happening, the troop at the rear was cut off from the rest of the battalion.

  Long months of working together in raiding parties enabled the Virginians to time their thrust perfectly, and, following the instructions Harry had given them, aimed their deadliest blows at the officers. All but one were either killed or wounded, and the Redcoats lost more than fifty troopers as well.

  The bewildered survivors, virtually leaderless, milled around in helpless disorder, while the shocked members of the other troops watched from a distance, unable to fire for fear of hitting their comrades. Harry behaved as though he had been conducting such operations all his life, and displaying a skill that won him a grudging commendation in the British battalion commander’s report to Sir William, he shepherded the uninjured members of the rear troop into the woods.

  Speed and coordination were essential, and the Virginians demonstrated both. By the time the stunned Redcoats still on the field recovered sufficiently to form their lines anew and charge, the Americans had vanished into the woods, taking one embarrassed officer, a sheepish captain, and twenty-three enlisted men with them as prisoners.

  Harry remained under cover until long after night fell, aided by a knowledge of the district that was the result of thorough advance scouting. Then, certain at last that he wasn’t being followed, he took his prisoners to Wilmington, appearing at General Washington’s headquarters at ten o’clock that night.

  The commander-in-chief had just sat down to a late dinner, and sent Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton to determine the cause of the commotion outside. On learning what had happened, Washington interrupted his meal long enough to see the prisoners for himself, shake Harry’s hand and express his approval to the entire First Troop.

  The following morning the Virginians enjoyed the privilege of hearing themselves praised in the General Orders of the Day. And Harry Lee became the hero of the army — for the moment. There was little cause for cheer in the camp, and everyone spoke of his exploit. With the loss of only one man slightly injured, he had killed or wounded more than fifty Redcoats and captured twenty-four others.

  The triumph was a minor incident, as every officer in the Army knew, and in no way affected the basic problem that the Americans faced. Its only significance, other than winning recognition for the First Troop of Virginia Dragoons and their commander, was the promise it held out to others, particularly the untried recruits who had yet to face the enemy in combat, that the British were not invincible.

  Some took the lesson to heart, but others had to relearn it in the days that followed, when Howe began his drive toward Philadelphia and Washington grouped and regrouped his forces before taking a stand. Gradually the engagement known as the Battle of Brandywine developed, and was fought on September 11. Nathanael Greene held center of the American line, commanding a division of Continentals, most of them Virginians, augmented by several smaller units of Virginia militia. The First Troop of Dragoons was assigned to his command, and received no instructions other than those given to everyone.

  “The enemy,” Greene said in an Order of the Day, “must be halted.”

  General Anthony Wayne held the left flank with Continentals and militia, and the right was placed under the command of John Sullivan, who had suffered in the past because of the ineptness of green militia, and was to suffer again.

  Howe’s plan of battle was simple — and effective. He sent Cornwallis with a strong force around Sullivan’s right, and the Redcoats then doubled back to hit the unsuspecting militia recruits from the rear. The inexperienced men panicked, and the entire American line was in danger of collapse. Washington was forced to retreat, but the situation wasn’t hopeless, and the frightful rout of the Battle of Long Island was not repeated. First the commander-in-chief sent an extraordinary young French volunteer, the Marquis de Lafayette, to rally Sullivan’s men, and finally dispatched Greene’s whole division to the sector while several tough, independent brigades continued to give as good as they received in the center.

  The withdrawal of Sullivan forced the rest of the army to retreat, but the maneuver was accomplished in good order, the center pulling back slowly and Wayne giving up ground with great reluctance. The battle was lost, to be sure. Howe was certain to take Philadelphia, and the Continental Congress prepared to travel far to the west, to the frontier town of York, Pennsylvania, a move that began on September 19. But the army had not disintegrated under an attack by a vastly superior corps, and so many brigades gave good accounts of themselves that there was hope they would do better another day.

  Harry Lee’s First Troop fought doggedly at Brandywine, but did nothing to distinguish itself. The maneuvering ability of cavalry was strictly limited under circumstances which forced horsemen to help cover a slow retreat.

  Washington hoped to rally his battered troops and make another stand on the Schuylkill River approaches to Philadelphia, and his senior commanders worked so diligently that less than a week after the Battle of Brandywine the army was ready. Harry Lee’s troop was stationed with the vanguard, in advance of the main body, but the expected battle did not take place. A wild gale roared up the Atlantic coast, and in six hours dumped as many inches of rain on the Americans and British alike. Gunpowder was soaked and rendered useless, and Washington, who could ill afford the catastrophe, lost most of his supplies.

  On September 27, Howe, virtually unopposed, took Philadelphia.

  Sir William immediately set up two supply lines, one between the city and his brother’s fleet, which was still hovering off the Maryland coast, and the other between the fallen American capital and New York Town. Harry Lee was immediately granted the right to resume the raids which had been so successful in the past, and brought in a steady trickle of supplies and munitions.

  He and his men may have felt a sense of urgency in their mission that had been lacking in the past, and they no longer confined their efforts to taking enemy carts, but began to visit the storehouses of farmers suspected of loyalty to the Crown. Harry’s zeal was greater than his judgment, and after he had burned several barns and destroyed some fences, the commander-in-chief found it necessary to issue an order forbidding the destruction of civilian property.

  Washington soon made it clear that his young Virginia neighbor was not out of favor, however. Enough powder and lead came in from various sources for the commander-in-chief to challenge Howe once again, and on October 5 the Battle of Germantown was fought. The First Troop of Dragoons saw no active combat that day, having been granted the honor of serving as General Washington’s personal bodyguard. Harry appreciated the privilege, but would have preferred action.

  Late in the day the Americans were forced to withdraw once more, pulling back about ten miles to the north. But the First Troop remained behind on a surveillance mission that was far more to Harry’s liking. For forty-eight hours he and his men hovered close under the noses of the enemy, keeping a close watch on the Redcoats and sending frequent intelligence reports to the commander-in-chief.

  By now Harry knew the enemy well, and often allowed his men to be seen in the open. He knew that, provided he kept his distance, the Redcoats would not pursue him, and made good use of their careless indifference. They had no idea that the reports he sent to headquarters were detailed, thorough, and so precise they became a major source of information treasured by the American high command.

  By now Harry had acquired a reputation as a man capable of performing dangerous and difficult missions. Therefore, when Joseph Reed, head of the Pennsylvania Committee of Public Safety, wanted information on the situation at a small American outpost on the New Jersey side of the Delaware River, Fort Mercer, which was under heavy enemy attack, Virginia’s First Troop of Dragoons won the hazardous assignment.

  Harry obliged by leading his men safely past the enemy in an operation that required a combination of superb horsemanship and courage. He found Fort Mercer more than hold
ing its own, and on his return to headquarters noted the main British supply route, which he mapped with care and presented in person to the commander-in-chief. Thereafter he resumed his careless gadfly raids.

  Early in December he was given a similar assignment on a larger scale. The First Troop and Dan Morgan’s Virginia Rifles, perhaps the finest body of infantry marksmen in the entire American Army, were sent into New Jersey to harass the enemy and capture supply trains. The expedition was under the command of Nathanael Greene, who was again doubling as the American Quartermaster General, and Greene himself went into the field with the Virginians.

  Here the general had an opportunity to watch Harry Lee in action, and was increasingly impressed by his cool, unflustered efficiency. “The captain’s instinct,” Greene wrote to Washington, now making his temporary headquarters at the dreary village of Whitemarsh, “is as sure and swift as that of the eagle that drops out of the skies to snatch its prey. No convoy within range of his horses is safe from his depredations.”

  Greene was soon recalled by Washington to help prepare the battered army’s winter camp, a “natural fortress” in the Pennsylvania hills called Valley Forge, and Harry and Morgan were on their own. One of their assignments was that of preventing British requisitioning parties from stealing the produce of American farmers, and they accomplished the mission so successfully that most of the platoons Howe sent from Philadelphia to gather supplies in the neighborhood were decimated.

  “An American named Lee,” Sir William declared in annoyance, “is a damned nuisance! I expect the rebels to nip at our heels, but this fellow always draws blood.”

  The American corps withdrew to Valley Forge in a grim march that left the survivors exhausted and ill. American spirits had reached their lowest ebb, food was so scarce that soldiers lucky enough to own boots boiled them and ate the leather. Few men expected the weary Patriot forces to remain banded together until the end of that terrible winter of 1777–78.