Also closely associated with the dashing McLane were forty Oneida Indian warriors, who were impressed by the fact that Harry, like McLane, had taken the trouble to learn their tongue. After a slight hesitation, followed by a conference with McLane and Lindsay, Harry consolidated the Oneida with his own braves, and granted them the distinction of organizing into their own troop, the Third.
The bizarre quality of the Partizan Force attracted a number of adventurous and daring young men serving elsewhere, and Harry screened their applications, interviewing each man himself. He accepted only those whom he wanted — and whose commanding officers willingly released them. In all, the Partizans numbered approximately one hundred and seventy hard-riding, exceptionally courageous men, and Harry put them to work immediately.
The intensity of the raids on British supply columns increased, close watch was kept on all enemy troop movements in and out of Philadelphia, and accurate intelligence as well as additional supplies poured into the American camp. Meanwhile, at Valley Forge itself, a series of miracles had taken place, and a shabby corps of amateur soldiers, the survivors of the most cruel winter imaginable, had been transformed into an elite fighting force.
Not the least of the miracles was that the hardships the men from thirteen states had endured, together, had imbued them with a new spirit that caused them to put aside their parochial differences and think of themselves first as Americans.
Another miracle, less appreciated by the men at the time, manifested itself in the person of Baron Friedrich von Steuben, a one-time junior officer in the Prussian army of Frederick the Great during the Seven Years’ War, whom Washington had made his Inspector General. A drillmaster without an equal in the New World, von Steuben had taught the Americans manuals of arms, drills, disciplines, and, above all, had inspired in them the pride of professional soldiers.
Harry Lee and Allan McLane had made their own miracles, bringing to Valley Forge the food and supplies, blankets and medicines they had taken from the enemy. Nature assisted them, and men were stunned by the “miracle of the shad.” Fish by the thousands appeared in the rivers that marked the boundaries of the bivouac, and everyone, even staid generals, waded into the cold waters to net mountains of shad, some to be eaten fresh, others to be smoked and salted for future use.
Early in May, General Washington announced the greatest of all the miracles. Thanks to the victory achieved by Benedict Arnold over Gentleman Johnny Burgoyne at Saratoga, New York, the previous October — a victory for which General Horatio Gates claimed the credit — Silas Deane, aided by that wisest of Americans, Benjamin Franklin, had finally secured a treaty of alliance with France. Soon a great French fleet would cross the Atlantic, bringing troops, money and precious weapons, lead and gunpowder. The United States no longer faced England alone, but had made common cause with a powerful ally.
Harry Lee’s Partizans showed their own appreciation of the new state of affairs by first doubling, then trebling, the quantity of the booty they stored in Nathanael Greene’s newly-built log warehouses. They made life so miserable for the British that General Sir Henry Clinton, who had just replaced Howe, decided he was overextended. In June he evacuated Philadelphia, and the Partizans celebrated by capturing two major wagon trains, each of more than four hundred carts.
Washington had no intention of letting Clinton return to New York unopposed, and the two armies met on the New Jersey plains in what came to be known as the Battle of Monmouth, a clash in which the Americans proved their worth as soldiers but were unable to win a clear-cut victory. The Partizans, to Harry’s dismay, were so busy foraging they missed the fight.
Thereafter Washington imposed what was tantamount to a blockade of Clinton, who was bottled up in New York, and Harry Lee became a principal instrument in that prolonged siege. The Partizans roamed at will, capturing and cutting off supply columns that ventured into the countryside from New York Town in search of food. Clinton was forced to dispatch large bodies of troops to protect his foragers, and late in September Harry met and defeated a regiment of Redcoat dragoons at Tarrytown, on the Hudson, sending the British fleeing for their lives.
Clinton increased the size of his escorts, and Washington countered by assigning a regiment of tough Pennsylvania infantry from General Anthony Wayne’s brigade to work with the Partizans. The regimental commander, Colonel Richard Butler, was a mercurial but cautious hothead whose temperament matched Harry’s, and between them they drove Clinton to distraction.
“Lee,” the British general said in October, “immobilizes a division, and Butler another. I’d give my soul to see them killed or captured.”
Later that autumn Harry transferred his base of operations to Long Island. Although frequently harassed by Redcoat dragoon units sent to search for him and clip his wings, he managed, between November and January, to cut off nearly all of Clinton’s sources of food supplies on the island.
Early in 1779, with the Americans in winter quarters at various bases, Harry was transferred with his men to New Jersey, where his chief role was that of keeping watch on all enemy movements in and out of New York Town. The intelligence reports he sent direct to the commander-in-chief were so crisp, authoritative and complete that Washington used them as models when he exhorted other officers on reconnaissance duty to send in similar data.
Spring found the Partizan Force ranging up and down the Hudson River, as Washington had reason to fear that the British, who still clung to the hope of taking the Mohawk Valley and cutting off all of New England, might soon launch a new offensive. A quick reconnaissance indicated that something was indeed stirring, but was only in its initial stages. Clinton, comfortably ensconced in New York, was in no hurry to fight new battles.
Washington read the thorough reports, and suggested that, as the situation wasn’t yet urgent, Harry might enjoy a brief leave of absence. Someone had called to the commander-in-chief’s attention the fact that Major Lee hadn’t taken a single day’s leave since first joining the Army three years earlier.
The thought of a holiday hadn’t crossed Harry’s mind, and he wrote to Washington that he was in no need of either a rest or a change of scene. The general felt otherwise, and ordered him to take a furlough, leaving McLane in charge of the Partizans during his absence. Immediately concerned, Harry was afraid he was being replaced, and needed assurances from Colonel Hamilton that he still enjoyed the commander-in-chief’s confidence and esteem.
The orders granting the furlough were issued, but Harry refused to leave until he wrung a promise from McLane that a messenger would be sent to Virginia for him if anything untoward developed. McLane gave his word, and Harry started out for home. En route, a new thought struck him. Perhaps his parents had taken advantage of their friendship with General Washington to obtain the furlough for him, behind his back. He was horrified.
He flung the accusation at them immediately after exchanging greetings with them. His father, no play-actor, obviously didn’t know what he was talking about. But Mrs. Lee admitted, wistfully, that she had told Martha Washington she was anxious for a brief visit with her eldest son, whom she hadn’t seen in almost three years. Harry, afforded a glimpse of women at work, knew this was one battle he couldn’t win, and forgave her.
Like so many families in so many wars, the Lees scarcely knew their son. An exuberant youth had ridden off to war, and a grim, taciturn young man who seemed far older than his twenty-three years had come home. He spoke and thought of nothing but the war, and couldn’t be distracted. He dutifully went out to inspect the plantation with his father, but wasn’t interested, and when shown the books for the past year, confessed he had no head for agricultural figures.
He had changed in other ways, too. He never quoted the poets, and he retired early every night, sleeping until late the following morning. And he disturbed the routines of Leesylvania by sending servants to Alexandria for the latest war news. But in some respects he was still the same. He ate anything, at any hour. He paid “duty calls” on relati
ves in the neighborhood, but made no attempt to conceal his boredom. He spent an entire morning cleaning, polishing, and adjusting the hair-spring triggers on a brace of pistols he had bought in Baltimore.
He tried out several colts, advising his father that several were valuable and that others should be sold. And when he learned that farm animals were difficult to procure, he promised to send home the first pair of work horses awarded to him as booty. It was his prerogative, as a field-grade officer, to keep five percent of the loot he captured, but as worldly goods had always meant so little to him and the army’s needs had been so great, he had never bothered to exercise his rights.
Mrs. Lee had entertained fond hopes that her son might become interested in an eligible young lady. It was no accident that a half-dozen or more of the most eligible happened to drop in for coffee and a chat at the homes of relatives he was visiting. But Harry scarcely bothered to look at any of them. He was civil to them, of course, his gallantry making it impossible for him to treat any woman rudely, but one of the girls later complained that he was unaware of her existence, even when looking straight at her.
Had Mrs. Lee been a trifle more perspicacious, she would have wondered why Harry paid three calls at Stratford, a large estate on the Potomac owned by distant, wealthy cousins, and why he made no protest when, on each of these visits, he was taken on long tours of the property by the eldest daughter of the house, Matilda Lee. Perhaps Harry’s mother did know of these rides, but dismissed them from her mind as insignificant. After all, Matilda was a girl of only sixteen, just approaching womanhood, and Harry was an experienced soldier who had endured the privations and horrors of war for three years.
It is unlikely that an active romance was sparked during these calls of Harry’s at Stratford in 1779. Harry would have been able to keep quiet if he and Matilda had realized they were drawn to each other, but Matilda enjoyed babbling everything she knew to a large circle of confidantes, most of them relatives. And the secret undoubtedly would have made the family rounds, particularly in an age when everyone wrote long letters and when women had nothing better to occupy them while the menfolk were off at war.
Nevertheless, Matilda made an impression on Harry, and he didn’t forget her. Occasionally, in his infrequent letters to his parents following his 1779 furlough, he asked them to tender his affectionate regards to Cousin Matilda at Stratford.
Apparently a soldier’s life had not altered Harry’s basic attitude toward women. Ladies still found him fascinating, but he thought flirtation cheap, and refused to indulge in it. Several more years would pass before he would show that he was a one-woman manor, at least, that he was interested in only one at a time.
His father was mildly puzzled because Harry paid no visits to the brothels of the area during his visit, and finally asked him why he was abstinent. According to a letter the elder Lee wrote to his brother, Harry replied, “I am ever sensible of the good name this family enjoys in the county, sir.” Being a Lee was a full-time job.
No messenger came from New York to disturb Harry’s furlough, but he found himself incapable of waiting and wondering on the sidelines. So, instead of spending nineteen days at Leesylvania, he left after fifteen, and returned to duty by the shortest routes. His leave of absence had been useful, of course. He had satisfied his mother, gained a few pounds and spent several interesting hours with Cousin Matilda, who had been a mere child in 1776. Also, the family tailor had made him a set of handsome new uniforms, which he had badly needed. So, all in all, the furlough had been a success.
Sir Henry Clinton had obligingly done nothing significant during Harry’s absence from his post. But it became evident, during the late spring of 1779, that the British hoped to extend their hold up the Hudson. Their pivotal headquarters on the river was a virtually impregnable fort, Stony Point, which sat astride the crown of a rugged, high hill. It was surrounded by a stone wall, it was protected by artillery as well as infantry lookouts and was defended by a large but unknown number of men.
Of late there had been more activity than usual at Stony Point, and Harry reported this fact to Washington. The commander-in-chief pondered for a time, and reached some conclusions of his own. He had grown strong, and was becoming more powerful with each passing day. It was no longer necessary for him to wait fearfully for each new enemy attack, and he saw no reason he couldn’t launch an offensive or two of his own.
He took two simultaneous steps. First, he formed a new infantry unit, an elite corps of the sort the Americans had always lacked. Every soldier enlisted in it was a veteran of at least two years’ combat service, and every officer selected for command and staff positions was known personally to Washington and his staff.
Anthony Wayne, restlessly killing time on furlough, was summoned by Washington to take command of this new brigade of light infantry, which was given the best and most modern of equipment. Picket lines were established to keep out all outsiders, both military and civilian, and the brigade went into intensive training.
Meanwhile Harry Lee received secret instructions in Washington’s own hand, ordering him to find out everything he could about Stony Point, its garrison and the approaches to it. The Partizans went to work, and Harry scouted every inch of the ground himself, one night approaching so close to the stone wall that he could count each heel click of the Redcoat sentry’s heels on the stone ramparts.
The Partizans’ Third Troop, composed exclusively of Oneida, set up a round-the-clock watch on the fort, and Allan McLane established a lookout post in the woods across the Hudson. An hour-by-hour log was kept on every visitor, every departure, every arrival of bargeloads of supplies carried up the Hudson by boat.
But there were some facts Harry could not obtain. He could only guess at the garrison’s size, and he knew nothing of its interior bastions. There was only one way to get the information he sought, and he wrote Washington, asking for permission to hire a spy. He warned that the expense might be great.
The commander-in-chief sent a reply by return courier, granting Harry the right to do whatever he deemed necessary and authorizing him to spend any sum he deemed appropriate. But a word of caution was added: under no circumstances should the spy allow himself to be caught.
Harry found his spy, and the man went into the fort. It is one of history’s more vexing frustrations to discover that no details of this phase of the operation are available. Neither then nor later did Harry — or McLane, the only other man who knew what was happening — write a single word on the espionage operation.
It was sufficient for military purposes to send a dispatch five days later to General Washington. Major Lee had the honor to report that the garrison consisted of seven hundred and seventy-two officers and men, that there were eleven artillery pieces mounted and ready for use, and that he acquired accurate maps of the post’s interior.
Washington was satisfied, and Wayne’s elite light infantry began a march so secret that only the commander and his colonels knew the brigade’s destination, although the men realized they were on more than a training march and were in for a fight. Washington had warned Wayne that, based on the information Harry had supplied, the fort would be impregnable if the enemy learned of the assault even ten minutes before it was made. Therefore the Partizans, acting in close coordination with Wayne, took the most careful and elaborate security precautions of the war.
Allan McLane’s Troop cleared all traffic, both military and civilian, from the road leading to Stony Point and an area one mile inland from the Hudson. Grizzled Partizans tapped politely at farmhouse doors and told the residents that, for the sake of their health, it would be wise to remain indoors for the night.
No detail was overlooked, and the Third Troop was given a highly unusual assignment, that of clearing all dogs from the vicinity of Stony Point. It had occurred to Harry that the barking of just one animal might arouse the entire garrison.
The First Troop, meanwhile, accepted a difficult land-and-water mission. Some Virginians ranged up a
nd down the shore on both sides of the Hudson, while those familiar with small boats were given the task of hiding in canoes and preventing all craft, large and small alike, from approaching the fort. The men were under strict instructions, however, not to use firearms under any circumstances. Precisely how unhorsed cavalrymen in canoes were expected to halt a British gunboat, for example, had one appeared, was not made clear in Harry’s orders.
Shortly after Wayne’s march had begun, Harry, who was concealed in thickets near the base of Stony Point, learned from Captain Lindsay that a member of the First Troop had deserted. No one knew the man’s destination, but if he chose to alert the enemy, hundreds of Americans would be killed.
Harry handled the crisis at once, and gave instructions that later subjected him to a great deal of criticism. A small squad under the command of a trusted sergeant from Virginia was sent in pursuit of the deserter, and the unfortunate man was caught a short time later, less than two miles from the Partizans’ bivouac deep in the woods west of the Hudson.
He was hanged immediately, without benefit of trial by court-martial or any other legal procedure. Later, when the incident became known, Harry shrugged off the protests of humanitarians. “The lives of more than thirteen hundred Americans were at stake,” he declared, “and if faced with the same situation again, my conduct would not be altered one whit from the decisions I made that night.”
The time agreed for a rendezvous with Wayne approached slowly, and at ten o’clock Harry was waiting for the general at the edge of a marsh about a mile and a half from the fort. The two men, each an admirer of the other, met on schedule and shook hands. Harry requested a favor. The Partizans had spent many days in the most grueling, unrewarding labor, and were anxious to join in the attack. He requested permission to place his troops under Wayne’s command for the operation.
Light-Horse Harry: A Biography of Washington’s Great Cavalryman, General Henry Lee (Heroes and Villains from American History) Page 8
