But Washington himself did not abandon hope. The fainthearted had already deserted, and the men who stayed at the camp burrowed into half-underground huts of logs and frozen mud. If they could get enough food to stay alive, they would continue the fight when warmer weather came.
Harry Lee was recalled to Pennsylvania, and was assigned the task of finding grain and meat for the starving army. He made a survey of the area in the vicinity of Valley Forge, studied the enemy supply routes and set up his own tiny headquarters at the once-prosperous farm of a Patriot named Scott, six miles from the army’s winter bivouac.
Here he established an unvarying routine. Every morning, no matter how vile the weather, the men of the First Troop left the blazing fires in the comfortable old farmhouse long before dawn, saddled their horses and went “fishing.” Every night, long after sundown, Harry led them into the camp at Valley Forge, bearing their “catch.”
The British at Philadelphia were vulnerable, and no one knew it better than Harry Lee. Howe, far from his bases of supply, needed food for his corps. He also had to provide for the civilian population of the largest city in North America. Therefore convoys came from New York and the Maryland coast in a never-ending stream. Some were protected by large escorts, others were given smaller companies of armed troops and still others, of necessity, had to take their chances alone.
Harry attacked them indiscriminately, and his success was phenomenal. It was during this period that he truly came into his own, and the Americans at Valley Forge could not have survived until spring without his unfailing help. He was brilliant, audacious, and untiring, and he won the devoted admiration of everyone in the Patriot camp from the commander-in-chief to the ragged, fever-stricken private soldiers whose lives he saved with medicines and elixirs stolen from the enemy.
It is difficult to measure the true worth of his achievements that winter. Not only did the army depend on his raids, but their unflagging success was a repeated demonstration to dispirited, sick men that the enemy could be beaten. If the young Virginians could outsmart, outride, and outfight the Redcoats, others would be capable of following their example when spring came.
Illness had reduced the ranks of the First Troop to forty-seven effectives, sometimes aided by the most unexpected of allies, eleven warriors of the Iroquois Federation, braves who rode their own horses and took part in the raids for sheer sport. Harry, glad to have their help, rewarded them liberally and returned the compliment by learning to speak the language of the Oneida. When he had time for such studies is something of a mystery, as he was fortunate when he could sleep as long as four to five hours in a night.
Sir William Howe lost patience, and his reaction is an indication of the importance he attached to Harry’s foraging. The British commander sent out reconnaissance parties of his own, learned the location of Harry’s headquarters and then dispatched a full regiment of cavalry, more than three hundred strong, to take the American gadfly, dead or alive.
The Redcoats set out from Philadelphia on the night of January 19, 1778, and traveled by a circuitous route in order to avoid various American outposts that might warn Harry of what was in store. They reached Scott’s farm just before dawn, just as Harry and his men were finishing a hasty breakfast and preparing to leave for their day’s “fishing.”
One of the troopers happened to glance out of a window and saw the scarlet tunics and plumed brass helmets of the enemy vanguard. He shouted a warning, and Harry immediately put his house in order. The doors were barred with furniture, and men were stationed at every window. But the prospects were dim. The Iroquois were at their own camp, about two miles away, and forty-seven defenders faced a force six times their own strength.
Harry knew that extraordinary measures were required, and took them. First, he ordered his men to crouch low behind the windows and remain hidden, no matter what the provocation. Even more important, he instructed them not to fire on the foe until he gave the word.
He watched row after row of Redcoats emerge from the woods, and as he wrote many years later in his Memoirs, “Captain Lee deemed it unlikely that his stratagem of defense could succeed, so great were the numbers of the enemy. The vicissitudes of war offering a commander of troops no choice and compelling him to deal with a situation as he found it, the captain was given no alternative, and perforce carried out the scheme he had envisioned.”
That scheme was based on many factors: his knowledge of the stamina and courage of his own men and their response to pressure, his awareness of the enemy’s attitudes and, equally significant, a careful weighing of the physical factors that favored each side. In a real crisis, Harry Lee was less impetuous than he seemed. Others believed him rash, not understanding that his mind worked at great speed, enabling him to analyze a situation far more rapidly than could military plodders.
The British opened fire, but the bullets lodged in the soft pine logs of the farmhouse wall, and the volley was wasted. The commander of the attacking party urged his men forward, and a second round buried itself harmlessly in the wood. Now the Redcoats were within close range, and Harry called, “Fire at will.”
The Virginians didn’t need to be told to take careful aim at individual targets, as they had been doing little else on scores of raids. They took such a heavy toll that the British, with only two small apple trees in the farmhouse yard to serve as cover, retreated to the protective shield of the woods.
After a brief pause for regrouping, the enemy advanced a second time, and Harry employed the same technique he had used to repulse the first assault. A major, the deputy commander of the British regiment, led the charge, the regimental sergeant major beside him. Both were severely wounded when the Americans replied to the fire, and had to be carried to the woods. Of the six troopers in the front line of attackers, three were killed and the other three badly wounded. Understandably, the Redcoats lost their zest for close combat, and again withdrew.
The First Troop suffered only one casualty. Lieutenant Lindsay, Harry’s second-in-command, sustained a wound in his left hand, but obtained help in reloading his pistol and insisted he could still fire with his right.
He proved it when the British advanced a third time, and for the third time were repulsed. Approximately thirty minutes had passed since the “Battle of Scott’s Farm” had begun, and the Redcoats decided they’d had enough of the Virginians’ marksmanship. Before leaving, however, they rode around to the barn at the rear of the house, intending to steal or drive off the Americans’ horses.
Harry and his men raced to the windows on that side of the house, and after firing a deadly round at the foe, the captain called out in a tone that carried conviction, “Fire away, lads, here comes our infantry! We’ll have them all.”
With that, he and his men fired again and again, as rapidly as they could reload their weapons.
The ruse proved effective, and the British withdrew permanently, not bothering to ascertain for themselves whether American reinforcements had actually arrived at the scene. And they departed in such panicky haste that they left most of their dead and wounded behind, a cardinal sin rarely committed by experienced soldiers.
The Americans stripped the dead, and buried them in a common grave, then tended the wounded as best they could, and relieved them of their weapons. The prisoners were sent off to Valley Forge under escort, along with the badly needed clothing, boots, carbines, and ammunition. And Harry then went off for his days “fishing” with the bulk of his Troop, annoyed because the interruption had delayed him by more than three hours.
News of the battle created a sensation that alleviated the gloom at Valley Forge. Generals toasted the victors with rum and brandywine they had been hoarding for a special occasion, and men strong enough to leave their huts danced and sang. Many wept without shame, and in spite of the bitter cold, a warm reception was planned for Harry.
When he and his foragers finally arrived at Valley Forge that evening, however, the captain, having accomplished the truly spectacular, rev
ealed his innermost character by reporting quietly to Colonel Hamilton at the commander-in-chief’s headquarters, then leaving again for Scott’s farm before anyone else knew he was there.
Before he could set out at dawn again on the morning of January 21, a messenger arrived with a letter written in General Washington’s own hand:
My Dear Lee:
Although I have given you my thanks in the General Orders of this day, for the late instance of your gallant behaviour, I Cannot resist the inclination I feel to repeat them again in this manner. I need no fresh proof of your merit, to bear you in remembrance. I waited only for the proper time and season to show it; those, I hope, are not far off. I shall also think of and will reward the merit of Lindsay, when an opening presents, as far as I can consistently; and I shall not forget the corporal (who gave the alarm), whom you have recommended to my notice. Offer my sincere thanks to the whole of your gallant party, and assure them, that no one felt pleasure more sensibly, or rejoiced more sincerely for your and their escape, than
Your affectionate, etc.
G. WASHINGTON.
The letter was official notification, in a sense, that Captain Harry Lee had become a person of consequence in the American Army. Two weeks later, as he was about to leave the farm for Delaware, having learned that British quartermasters were collecting large herds of cattle there, he also received letters of congratulations from Governor Patrick Henry of Virginia and his own distinguished cousin, Richard Henry Lee. Sir William Howe’s dispatch of a regiment to make him captive, and his escape from a force of that size, thanks to his own efforts, had at last made him famous outside the Army. The story of the adventure, told and retold in increasingly exaggerated form, appeared in newspapers throughout the United States, and men everywhere delighted in the tale of the brave and resourceful captain who had outwitted and outfought Billy Howe’s finest.
In February, Harry and the First Troop rode off to Delaware, where they enjoyed their usual success, collecting several hundred head of cattle for the ravenous troops at Valley Forge. During his absence, General Anthony Wayne, the tough, resourceful, and somewhat eccentric Pennsylvanian, submitted a formal request to General Washington, asking that the now renowned First Troop of Virginians be attached to his command for as long as they could be spared from other duty.
The most unusual aspect of the request was that it was made without Harry’s knowledge. According to eighteenth-century military etiquette, an officer received an invitation from a superior before such a request was submitted. But “Mad Anthony” Wayne was too anxious to avail himself of Harry’s talents to bother with courtesies.
Washington called Wayne to headquarters, and conversed with him privately. No record of the talk was kept, but the gist of it is known. Wayne was informed, politely, that the commander-in-chief had plans of his own for his fellow Virginian, so Wayne withdrew the application. If he was told anything more detailed, he kept the information to himself.
At the beginning of March the First Troop returned to Valley Forge, shepherding more than two hundred head of cattle. The men were grimy, tattered, and tired, but the hungry army gave them a riotous welcome. Harry borrowed a razor, someone supplied him with a bucket of hot water and a cup of soft, rank-smelling soap, and he made himself relatively presentable before going off to report at headquarters.
There he was informed that the senior aide-de-camp wanted to see him, and Alexander Hamilton closed the door of his private office before opening the conversation. They chatted for a few minutes, Harry submitted an informal report, and then Hamilton exploded his bombshell.
The commander-in-chief was extending to Captain Henry Lee, Jr., the high honor of an invitation to join his official family as a member of his staff. He would serve as a personal aide-de-camp, and would act as liaison officer between General Washington and all American cavalry units.
Washington had indeed remembered his old friend’s son, who had won his spurs in his own right, and had offered him the most glittering of prizes.
The post carried with it a variety of awards. The most obvious was a double promotion in rank to a lieutenant colonel. The prestige, of course, would be great. Living would be comfortable; aides slept in beds every night, and ate hot meals daily. Aides also knew virtually all of the commander-in-chief’s closely guarded secrets.
Most officers dreamed in vain of such an assignment. But Harry Lee refused to be rushed, and asked for the privilege of a little time to consider the matter. The surprised Hamilton went off to learn the general’s pleasure, and returned with word that the commander-in-chief was in no hurry. He would be delighted to receive Captain Lee’s decision at Captain Lee’s convenience.
V: THE PARTIZANS
Harry Lee knew from the moment he received George Washington’s invitation that he had no desire to become the general’s aide-de-camp. After eighteen months of active service, he thought of himself as a fighting man, not an administrator. He enjoyed the work at which he had become so adept, and longed for an opportunity to assume greater responsibility. He felt a fierce loyalty to the men he had recruited and who had served under him so faithfully. To abandon them now, he felt, would be a betrayal of their trust.
However, it was risky to reject an honor offered by a man as sensitively thin-skinned as George Washington. An officer could ruin his military career if his reply lacked the precise blend of delicacy, tact, and respect that the commander-in-chief expected from his juniors.
All through the month of March 1778 Harry procrastinated. He spent his days raiding British supply columns, and at least a portion of his short nights composing, editing, and rewriting his carefully balanced letter of refusal. Twice Alexander Hamilton hinted that it would be wise to communicate with the general as soon as possible, and twice Harry indicated that his letter would be forthcoming very soon.
At last, on March 31, he carried it to headquarters himself. It read:
Sir, I should do violence to my own feelings, was I to depart from Camp, without testifying the high sense of gratitude I feel for your Excellency’s approbation of my conduct. I assure you, sir, to deserve a continuance of your Excellency’s patronage, will be a stimulus to glory, second to none in power, of the many that operate on my soul. “It is not in mortals to command success,” to deserve it shall be the object of my unwearied attention.
I must here take the liberty of laying before your Excellency, the reasons which have influence on my judgment, respecting the proposal you was pleased to make me through Colonel Hamilton.
Permit me to premise that I am wedded to my sword, and that my secondary object in the present war, is military reputation. To have possessed a post about your Excellency’s person is certainly the first recommendation I can bear to posterity, affords a field for military instruction, would lead me into an intimate acquaintance with the politics of the states, and might present more immediate opportunities of manifesting my high respect and warm attachment for your Excellency’s character and person. I know, it would also afford true and unexpected joy to my parents and friends.
On the contrary I possess a most affectionate friendship for my soldiers, a fraternal love for the two officers who have served with me, a zeal for the honor of the Cavalry, and an opinion that I should render no real service to your Excellency’s arms.
Having thus shortly stated the reasons which operate on my mind, I will only say, that I most cheerfully will act in any character your Excellency may call me to, and that the second satisfaction I can possibly enjoy is my knowledge that my behaviour has met with your Excellency’s approbation.
I have the honor to be, with the most profound respect and perfect esteem,
Your very obdt. servant,
H. LEE, JR.
General Washington was duly flattered by the tone of the young man he had known since infancy, and was equally adept at reading between the lines. He wasted no time, and early the following morning his reply was delivered to the anxious Harry:
Dear Sir:
By your favor of yesterday I am made acquainted with the feelings of your mind on the subject of my proposal communicated to you by Colonel Hamilton; the undisguised manner in which you express yourself cannot but strengthen my good opinion of you. — As the offer on my part was purely the result of a high sense of your merit, and as I would by no means divert you from a Career in which you promise yourself greater happiness from its affording more happy opportunities of acquiring military fame, I entreat you to pursue your own Inclinations as if nothing had passed on this subject, and to be assured of the good wishes of, Dear Sir,
Yours, etc.
G. WASHINGTON
The exchange of correspondence was closed, but Washington was not content to let the matter drop, “as if nothing had passed on this subject.” Instead he sent a messenger with an urgent communication to the Continental Congress, sitting at York, and for once those gentlemen responded promptly.
Harry was promoted to the rank of major — in the Continental line. He was now a field-grade officer in the Regular Army.
His officers and men were also transferred to the Continentals, and Lieutenant Lindsay was promoted to captain.
In addition, by authorization of the Congress, Major Lee was given command of a special “Partizan Force of Cavalry,” responsible only to the commander-in-chief.
Washington was quick to create the Partizan Force, which was comprised, initially, of two troops. The First was the Virginia unit, now commanded by Lindsay. The Second was a band of raiders that had been almost as successful as Harry’s own men. Its captain was Allan McLane of Delaware, a wealthy, dashing aristocrat who, like his new superior, had grown up in the saddle. Not all of his troops were horsemen, however. Some were rifle-bearing frontier scouts who preferred buckskins to uniforms and resented any attempts to subject them to military discipline.
Light-Horse Harry: A Biography of Washington’s Great Cavalryman, General Henry Lee (Heroes and Villains from American History) Page 7
