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

by Noel B. Gerson

  Nevertheless, neither Harry on the left nor Greene on the right knew what was happening to the other. General Greene realized only that he had inflicted a severe trouncing on the Redcoats, and had rendered Cornwallis incapable of continuing the fight. Uncertain whether Lee’s Legion was still active or had been destroyed, he withdrew, leaving Cornwallis in technical possession of a portion of the field.

  Meanwhile Harry cut the proud Guards regiment and the haughty mercenaries to shreds. His men accomplished more than any Americans had done since the start of the war, with the exception of the troops that had destroyed Burgoyne’s corps at Saratoga. The remnants of the two enemy units pulled back to rejoin Cornwallis, and Harry rode to the courthouse, his weary men in formation behind him, only to discover that Greene had retired about four miles.

  Both armies had fought until exhausted, and it was impossible for either to renew the battle. Both sides claimed victory, but Greene’s arguments were by far the more impressive. The better part of his army was intact, save for the militia companies that decided they’d seen enough fighting and went home. But Cornwallis’ corps had been shattered, and he was forced to retire to the town of Wilmington, on the Cape Fear River, North Carolina’s chief seaport, which was located about thirty miles from the Atlantic. There he licked his considerable wounds — and sent urgent requests to Sir Henry Clinton for fresh troops so that he could continue to fight the war.

  At the time, few Americans were aware of the magnitude of Nathanael Greene’s triumph at Guilford Courthouse, and the newspapers in England congratulated Cornwallis on his victory. If it be true that he won, his “triumph” was the turning point that cost him the campaign and, eventually, the war.

  No one knew it better than the tired officers and men who gathered at Greene’s headquarters to rest and, after catching their breath, plot their future course. Every unit that had distinguished itself won a commendation from Greene, and none won more praise than Lee’s Legion, without whom, the general informed the commander-in-chief, “our achievements would have been negligible.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Harry Lee was awarded the highest laurels. “Of all officers who served their country and the cause of liberty on this day,” Greene wrote Washington, “Colonel Lee towers above the rest. He well deserves every mark of gratitude & affection that a grateful nation can give him.”

  For once in his short life, Harry cared nothing for glory or praise. He was so tired that, after reporting to the general and making the rounds of his Legion’s bivouac to see for himself that his men were comfortable, he ate a few shreds of jerked beef, dampened some hard biscuits with small beer, and rolled himself in his blanket to sleep until late in the morning on the damp, cold ground.

  X: THE GRAND DESIGN

  In the days that followed the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, Nathanael Greene and his principal subordinates held a running council of war. They were agreed that their strategy might be the decisive factor in determining the outcome of the war in the southern states, and the scent of ultimate victory was in the air. But there were unceasing arguments, with no two colonels advocating the same course.

  One wanted the Army of the South to march into Virginia, where Benedict Arnold, now a brigadier general in the British Army, was burning towns and scattering civilians. It was obvious, however, that such action would leave Cornwallis in complete possession of the South.

  Another of the colonels believed that Greene should remain in his present position, ask Washington for still more reinforcements and force Cornwallis to come to him. But General Greene exploded this potential. Washington, he said, had literally no more troops to spare. The bottom of the manpower barrel had been scraped, and was empty.

  Still another suggestion was somewhat more daring. The Army of the South should pursue Cornwallis and compel him to fight again. Greene vetoed the idea. He simply wasn’t strong enough to meet Cornwallis in another major engagement.

  Harry Lee remained silent through most of the discussions, which his colleagues considered unusual. An extraordinary scheme was forming in his mind, but he wanted to be sure of his ground before submitting it for the consideration of Greene, who alone was charged with the responsibility of making the final decision. Finally, on March 31, he presented Greene with a formal, written memorandum.

  His plan was extraordinary. He suggested that Greene march into South Carolina, and head toward the town of Camden, in the central part of the state, where a large British garrison was stationed. Meanwhile Lee’s Legion, accompanied by any light, fast-moving troops that the Army could spare, would rejoin Brigadier General Francis Marion and, with his active cooperation, take a string of sturdy British outposts, among them Forts Watson, Motte, Granby, and Galphin.

  Three separate American units were operating in South Carolina, and Harry advocated that their irregulars and militia — among the best in the nation — be utilized to the full. Marion in the east, Colonel Thomas Sumter in the central portion, and General Pickens in the west were shrewd, resilient men, and were currently being wasted.

  There were risks, Harry admitted. Nothing would prevent Cornwallis from moving into Virginia if he wished, and he both hoped and believed that his lordship would march north. South Carolina and Georgia — assuming that the Legion and its allies could eliminate the British outposts — would be restored to the Union. The Loyalists of North Carolina, already disheartened by the battering Cornwallis had taken at Guilford Courthouse, would take to heart the return of the other southern states to the Union and would be still less inclined to join the British.

  Cornwallis’ possible march into Virginia became the crux of the decision. Harry said, in effect, “Let him go there. He’ll be cut off from the South, and will get no reinforcements from the garrisons there. General Washington stands between him and the British in New York. There are virtually no Loyalists in Virginia; the entire population enthusiastically supports the Patriot cause. Washington can move into Virginia with his Army of the North and live off the land — while Cornwallis starves there.”

  In brief, the scheme was predicated on the thesis that Greene would recapture the South and leave Cornwallis to Washington.

  Several of the colonels were won over to the strategy, but Nathanael Greene needed time to ponder. He refused to give an opinion, and retired to his own tent for twenty-four hours of solitary agony. Then, on the night of April 1, he summoned his colonels to dinner, and told them he was making the strategy his own. His decision was an act of great personal courage. If the plan failed, he alone would be blamed; if it succeeded, he would have to share the credit with his brilliant subordinate. It was a sign of Greene’s greatness that his only concern was victory that would bring the long war to an end. He cared little or nothing for applause.

  The entire plan was kept secret from everyone except the top commanders. Special couriers were sent to Marion, Sumter, and Pickens — with verbal messages. Greene refused to take the chance that a written communication might fall into British hands.

  On the morning of April 2, Lee’s Legion marched out of camp, accompanied by an augmented company of Continental infantry from Maryland commanded by Captain Edward Oldham. Only Major Rudolph, now Harry’s deputy, and Major Eggleston, who had been given a brevet promotion after the Battle of Guilford Courthouse, had been told the Legion’s destination.

  Before heading south, Harry deliberately perpetrated a trick on the British, acting on his own initiative. The Legion strung out on the road as though on parade, making itself conspicuous, and headed east on the road to Wilmington. There were enough Loyalist sympathizers in the area to insure that the word would be passed along to Lord Cornwallis, who would assume that Greene was marching against him and had sent the Legion ahead as a vanguard.

  Then, after making the long detour, Harry silently and swiftly turned south after sundown and headed through wooded country for South Carolina. His first task was that of finding Francis Marion, which proved more difficult than he had anticipated. No one in the
delta country seemed to know the Swamp Fox’s whereabouts, and only an accidental meeting with several of the general’s men finally led the Legion deep into the marshes. There, after still more delays, Marion finally appeared, explaining he was taking particular care to remain in hiding because a special British task force of several hundred men had been sent out to capture him.

  He promptly forgot his own safety, however, and joined forces with the Legion. Their first target was Fort Watson, a stout outpost of logs built in a forest of scrub pine. Aware of the long, difficult mission ahead, Harry and Marion were reluctant to make a frontal attack on the post and risk heavy casualties. A reconnaissance of the area surrounding the fort indicated that the Redcoat garrison depended on water from a nearby lake, so a simple scheme was devised.

  Sharpshooters were stationed in the woods near the lake, with orders to shoot anyone from the garrison who came out for water. Two Redcoats were wounded, and the plan seemed assured of success, but the British countered by digging a ditch within the protecting shadow of the fort’s walls. The ground was so soggy that a trickle of water sufficient for the garrison’s needs dribbled under the fort’s wall.

  The Americans were stymied, but soon devised another trick of their own. Soldiers substituted axes for rifles, and cut down trees in the forest to build a clumsy but effective tower higher than the walls of the fort. Then, while Marion’s best marksmen climbed into the tower and sent a steady rain of rifle fire down into the fort below them, Harry led the Legion’s infantry to the water ditch and took possession of it.

  The Redcoat commander saw that his position had been rendered hopeless, and surrendered his entire garrison. The prisoners were marched off to the headquarters of General Greene, who had followed the Legion into the state and established a camp near Camden, where he had laid siege to the fort held by General Lord Rawdon, the British commander in the area.

  A crack battalion of Redcoat light infantry was marching to Rawdon’s support, so Harry and Marion postponed their assault on their next objective, Fort Motte, in order to head off the British. The battalion eluded them, however, and the situation was further complicated by the reluctance of General Sumter to give up his reconnaissance patrols and put his brigade at Greene’s disposal.

  The commander of the Army of the South suffered momentary doubts, and was on the verge of giving up his campaign in South Carolina, but changed his mind overnight and sent Harry a battery of six-pounder artillery. The Lee-Marion march was resumed.

  Fort Motte, once a private mansion, had been transformed into a New World version of a castle, complete with high walls, turrets, and a wide moat. A garrison of more than one hundred and fifty Redcoats held the place, a vitally important bastion in the British defense scheme, as it was the principal communications and supply station linking Charleston on the seacoast with Camden and with the principal forts inland and farther south.

  The reduction of the fort promised to be a formidable task. A siege was undertaken, Marion’s irregulars taking up a position north and east of the “castle,” with the Legion on the west and south, where there was a slight elevation. Harry immediately ordered the erection of a trench and breastworks just past the crest of the rise, about four hundred yards to the south of the walls.

  The two commanders enjoyed a welcome respite when Mrs. Rebecca Motte, who had been evicted from her home by the enemy and was living in a smaller house on the far side of the property, invited them to make their headquarters with her during the operation. They declined, but were pleased to accept a dinner invitation from the lady, an ardent Patriot, and on the first night of the siege ate the most sumptuous meal they had tasted in many months. Several wines were served, and for once Francis Marion drank no vinegar.

  While the trench was being dug and the breastworks thrown up, Harry’s six-pounder guns were moved into place on the hill, and a courier was sent under a flag of truce to the British commander, urging him to surrender and thus avoid casualties. He declined, contemptuously, and the co-leaders of the American task force suspected that Lord Rawdon was sending a relief column from Camden to help preserve the vitally important post.

  Their guess was confirmed by a letter from General Greene, who informed them that Rawdon himself was in command of the troops from Camden. Greene urged them to take Fort Motte with all possible haste, and said that he was coming to support them with his entire Army. It appeared that the area might become the site of a decisive battle, so it was more important than ever that the key fort be taken immediately.

  But the trench and breastworks were only partly completed, and another week of hard labor might be needed before the job was finished. The attackers couldn’t afford to wait that long. Harry and Marion held a council of war with their senior commanders, and it was decided to burn down the fort and literally smoke out the defenders.

  Harry took upon himself the unenviable task of informing Mrs. Motte that the necessities of war required the destruction of her home. She not only accepted the news with monumental calm, but gave him a large bow and sheaf of arrows, gifts from the East Indies that she treasured, and asked they be used to start the fire.

  Again a messenger was sent to the British commandant, warning him of what was in store, but for the second time he refused to consider surrender. So, without further delay, flaming torches tied to arrows were shot onto the roof of the fort by some of Marion’s men, who were expert archers.

  British troops immediately appeared from the attic to extinguish the fires. Harry called on his artillery to drive them below, and on the second volley his six-pounders found the range. The British were trapped and, realizing it at last, hoisted a white flag. The garrison marched out, surrendering its arms, and a special guard detail was mounted to keep watch on the prisoners.

  The imperturbable and gracious Mrs. Motte invited victors and vanquished to dine with her, and in true eighteenth-century style, Harry had a spirited, interesting conversation with the Redcoat commandant, a Captain McPherson. During their talk McPherson asked for the privilege of marching to Charleston with his men on parole, a favor Harry and Marion readily granted, as they had too few men to set up a prison camp.

  That afternoon Nathanael Greene arrived with his vanguard, and was elated, establishing an American garrison at the post. With Rawdon in the field, capable of sending support anywhere he elected, it was essential that the remaining British forts be taken as quickly as possible. The assault team was dissolved, with Marion sent to capture Georgetown and the Legion to reduce Fort Granby, on the flat banks of the Congaree River, where a very strong force of three hundred and fifty Redcoats was stationed.

  Harry gave marching orders immediately after the Legion finished its evening meal. Armstrong’s troop was assigned screening duty to determine whether Rawdon would try to support his outpost, and the Legion made its longest and hardest forced march of war, stopping for only a few short rest periods in the next thirty-six hours. It was Harry’s plan to take the fort before Rawdon could get there.

  Once again, his mission appeared extremely difficult. Fort Granby had high walls of soft logs that would absorb rifle and musket fire, and a storming operation would cost the attackers many casualties. Harry thought there might be a quicker, cheaper way to achieve victory.

  The commandant, a major named Maxwell, had acquired a reputation for greed, and had requisitioned horses, livestock, and even jewelry from residents of the area. Presumably he regarded this loot as his private property.

  The cannon were unlimbered, and two shots were fired over the walls into the fort. Then the Legion infantry advanced to a point just beyond musket range, bayonets affixed to their rifles. There they halted, and Captain Eggleston was sent to the fort with a demand that the commandant surrender.

  Maxwell replied that he was willing to give up Fort Granby and its public stores if he and his men could go off to Charleston under parole — and could keep whatever private property that had accumulated. The propriety of the request was debatable, even und
er the most liberal and elastic interpretation of the military codes of the era. But before the terms could be relayed to Harry, one of Armstrong’s troopers arrived with word that Lord Rawdon was marching toward Fort Granby. It was far better to let the unprincipled Maxwell line his own pocket than to lose all chance for a victory without heavy bloodshed, so, when Eggleston brought Harry the conditions, he accepted them.

  The Redcoats and a small detachment of Hessian mercenaries marched out, the officers guarding wagons piled high with booty, and were sent off to Charleston. Less than a day’s march from Fort Granby they encountered the dismayed Rawdon, who discovered that, once again, Harry Lee had beaten him to the punch.

  The stores and arsenal at Fort Granby proved to be treasure houses. General Greene arrived the day after Harry had taken possession of the place, and both were delighted by the supplies of salt, meat, and grain that had been taken, along with precious bags of powder, long bars of lead used to fashion bullets and hundreds of muskets, small arms, and knives.

  There was good news from other areas, too. General Sumter had decided to cooperate, after all, and had captured a British outpost at Orangeburg. Meanwhile General Marion had laid siege to Georgetown, and its fall was expected momentarily.

  The only major strongholds still in enemy hands were the city of Charleston, the town of Savannah, in Georgia, both impregnable as long as Admiral Lord Howe’s fleet controlled the Atlantic; a very strong fort called Ninety-Six and several smaller posts, Forts Galphin, Cornwallis, and Grierson. Meanwhile Lord Cornwallis and his corps had not followed Greene into South Carolina, just as Harry had predicted. Almost inexplicably, his lordship continued to sit at Wilmington, North Carolina, uncertain what to do next, and with each passing day his southern flank grew weaker as Rawdon’s strength was sapped.