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

by Noel B. Gerson

  At dawn the shelling was resumed, but the powder magazine remained untouched. Meanwhile three unoccupied houses that stood near Fort Cornwallis were on fire, the Redcoats sent flaming torches attached to arrows into them from the parapets. Two other deserted houses were still standing, which made Harry wonder if the resourceful Browne was up to some new tricks.

  The bombardment continued for six hours, and although the Americans were unable to assess the damage inside the walls, they knew it was necessarily heavy. Harry thought the time ripe for another surrender demand, and wrote a brief letter in his own hand. He signed it, as did General Pickens. It read:

  “Sir, It is not our disposition to press the unfortunate. To prevent the effusion of blood, which must follow perseverance in your fruitless resistance, we inform you that we are willing, though in the grasp of victory, to grant such terms as a comparative view of our respective situations can warrant.

  “Your determination will be considered as conclusive, and will regulate our conduct.”

  Captain Armstrong rode alone to Fort Cornwallis, carrying a white flag on the point of his saber. In the event that the Redcoats fired on him, Harry declared, he would take no prisoners when the stronghold was captured. Armstrong was courteously received, however, and although blindfolded, was taken into the fort while Colonel Browne wrote a brief reply, which the Captain then carried back to the American commanders:

  “Gentlemen, I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your summons of this day, and to assure you, that as it is my duty, it is likewise my inclination, to defend the post to the last extremity.”

  The uncompromising rejection made it necessary to take Fort Cornwallis by storm, Harry believed, and Pickens agreed with him. They called a council of war, and planned their tactics. It was decided that the Legion infantry, supported by cavalry, would assault the barricades at nine o’clock the next morning, after an intensive artillery barrage, which would be maintained until American troops had scaled the walls. The Continentals of the Legion would not buckle under enemy fire, even though they would have to advance a considerable distance in the open, but their officers agreed that they would be able to hold their lines and keep the left side of the American line firm.

  Meanwhile a carefully selected battalion of militia, made up of the best fighting men in Pickens’ brigade, would assault the fort from the right, and their task would be a trifle simpler. They would hide in the two unoccupied houses near Fort Cornwallis, and hence would have less ground to cover in the open.

  Harry set the time for the storming operation at nine o’clock the following morning, the late hour giving the artillery a chance to further soften the defenses, beginning at dawn. A short time after daybreak, however, there was a violent explosion that knocked men to the ground and sent a shower of burning wood and debris high into the air.

  When the dust settled, Harry learned that the two unoccupied houses had been demolished, and now he understood Browne’s trickery. The sergeant had been a decoy sent out to buy time. The burning of the three houses near the walls had been a deliberate move to keep the Americans preoccupied while a party sneaked out of the fort and planted mines in the other two houses. The detonating mechanism, probably a fuse, had been strung from the houses to the fort. This morning Browne had seen unusual activity in the enemy camp, had guessed that a storming assault was near and, assuming that the two houses, a natural place of concealment, were already filled with troops, had blown them up.

  Pickens’ infantrymen had been saved from death only because Harry had chosen an unusual hour for the beginning of the attack. Thanks to an accident, scores of American lives had been saved. Many of the militiamen were jittery, but Harry and Pickens planned to carry out the operation on schedule, even though Pickens’ battalion would now have to advance on the fort across a great area of unprotected, open ground.

  But Colonel Browne had played his final card, and when he saw the Americans continuing to prepare for their assault, he knew he could do no more. A Redcoat lieutenant rode out of Fort Cornwallis under a flag of truce, carrying a note jointly addressed to Harry and Pickens. It read:

  “Gentlemen, In your summons of the 3rd instant, no particular conditions were specified; I postponed the consideration of it to this day.

  “From a desire to lessen the distresses of war to individuals, I am inclined to propose to you my acceptance of the inclosed terms; which being similar to those granted to the commanding officers of the American troops and garrison in Charleston, I imagine will be honorable to both parties.”

  Under his terms, parole would be granted to the members of the garrison, who would be allowed to carry their arms with them to Charleston. Officers would be permitted to retain their horses and personal property.

  The artillery remained silent while Harry and Pickens wrote their reply: “Sir, There was a time when your proposals of this day ought to have been accepted. That period is now passed. You had every notice from us, and must have known the futility of your further opposition.

  “Although we should be justified by the military law of both armies to demand unconditional submission, our sympathy for the unfortunate and gallant of our profession has induced us to grant the honorable terms which we herewith enclose.”

  The Americans were willing to let the garrison go to the seacoast on parole, meaning that each individual Redcoat promised he would not fight again at any time for the duration of the war. Officers would be permitted to keep their swords, the ceremonial sword of the garrison commander not included, but the soldiers would be required to surrender their arms. Officers would be allowed to keep their personal horses and property they could “prove” to be personal, but all cannon, shot, powder, and supplies were to be surrendered.

  The Redcoat courier went off with the reply, then returned within a half-hour to say that his commanding officer wanted to speak privately to a representative of the enemy high command. Harry sent Armstrong off to Fort Cornwallis, but was still afraid of possible trickery, and all units of the assault force remained on the alert.

  Captain Armstrong returned a short time later, laughing. The day, June 4, happened to be the birthday of King George III, and if Browne was forced to surrender on that date, the humiliation would spell the end of his military career. Unwilling to put a request for personal clemency into writing, he nevertheless begged the victors for the privilege of delaying his surrender until midnight.

  Harry had learned to respect the foe whom he had threatened to chastise, and was willing to help Browne avoid a deeply embarrassing situation. He hit on the scheme of exchanging further notes relative to the surrender, and a stream of these communications kept couriers on both sides busy through the rest of the day and evening. The assault troops held their positions and rested on their arms.

  It was far better to let the Redcoats surrender like gentlemen rather than shepherd them out of the fort in the dark, so the actual ceremony did not take place until mid-morning on June 5. Legion drummers and buglers broke the silence as the gates of Fort Cornwallis opened, and were answered by their British counterparts, who were the first to appear.

  Then came Colonel Browne, riding alone. He dismounted, as did Captain Armstrong, who rode out from the American lines to meet him. The colonel surrendered his ceremonial sword, the Union Jack flying over the fort was hauled down, and the rest of the garrison marched out. The professionals on both sides were silent, and only a few of the militiamen cheered.

  Armstrong rode to Harry and presented Colonel Browne’s sword to him; that was the end of the ceremony. Legion infantry moved up to take the Redcoats’ weapons, and a Legion detachment occupied Fort Cornwallis and ran up the American flag. It was time now for everyone to eat, so the troops of both armies built fires and started cooking their noon meal in iron pots.

  Harry, taking no chances, kept a Legion guard posted in a circle around the members of the British garrison. At this point he was not worried about possible enemy trickery, but was afraid that some
units of the South Carolina militia might not honor the surrender. He had no intention of allowing his own reputation to be sullied by another massacre like the slaughter that had taken place at Fort Grierson.

  He invited Colonel Browne and General Pickens to dine with him at his headquarters, and for safety’s sake posted a cavalry detachment around the house. He and Browne had learned to respect each other, and Captain Eggleston, who was present, wrote of their conversation as “animated.”

  Browne confessed that the sergeant who had appeared at the American camp was not a deserter. He had been a volunteer who had accepted the extremely hazardous assignment of setting fire to the logs of the ingenious American artillery tower. He had not been able to carry out his mission only because Americans had been at his elbow at all times. Harry would have been within his rights to keep the sergeant a prisoner, try him before a court-martial board and sentence him to a long prison term.

  But the victor could afford to be generous. He had just achieved his greatest triumph, and as a man of courage he admired the sergeant’s valor. So he ordered the man released, and the officers toasted each other before the defeated Redcoats marched off, a detachment of Legion cavalry accompanying them on the first leg of their journey to make certain they weren’t attacked by vengeance-seeking militiamen.

  Stores of powder, shot, and food were loaded onto wagons, and Harry formally turned over Fort Cornwallis to General Pickens. Then, several hours of daylight remaining, he ordered the Legion to prepare for an immediate march. His men knew he wasn’t one to waste a moment, and were neither surprised nor dismayed. Even though they had been up since very early morning, they packed their gear and made ready for the next stage of their campaign.

  XI: THE LAST VICTORIES

  “Lee’s Legion,” Captain Joe Eggleston wrote, “always marched as though the Hounds of Hell were nipping at our heels. There was no sedate pace for us, no pleasantries, no lazy dawdling after dinner under the trees. The colonel was an impatient man who goaded us again and again, until, unable to tolerate the verbal lashing any longer, we responded by marching until ready to drop in our tracks.”

  Lee’s Legion, encumbered though it was by the stores taken from Fort Cornwallis, marched due north from Augusta and reached General Greene’s siege headquarters before Ninety-Six in a little more than forty-eight hours. The weary assault troops of the Army of the South greeted them with an enthusiasm that verged on hysteria.

  Ninety-Six, so named because it was ninety-six miles from the principal town of the Cherokee, the largest Indian nation in the area, was undoubtedly the strongest British fort on American soil. The main defense consisted of a military town, complete with blockhouses, towers, and high walls. A deep ditch had been dug around the walls, which were “Z-shaped,” angling first one way, then another, which made an assault hazardous. Directly in front of the stockade was a smaller, star-shaped fort, self-sufficient in case of need, with its own communications trench connecting it with the main fortress. Surrounding the entire complex was a fence of saplings sharpened to fine points, with still another deep ditch outside it.

  By the time Harry Lee and his men arrived there, Ninety-Six had been standing off Nathanael Greene’s attacks for almost three weeks. The results to date had been negligible. The British garrison had enough ammunition, powder, and food to withstand a long siege, and a small creek that flowed directly into Ninety-Six on the American left gave the defenders ample water.

  Siege trenches and ramparts crisscrossed the entire area in front of the star-shaped fort, and still more were being erected by one of the most remarkable of Europeans to serve the American cause, a noble Pole and professional soldier, Thaddeus Kościuszko, who had arrived in the New World in 1776, and had been given a commission as a colonel on General Washington’s personal recommendation. He was now acting as Chief Engineer for the Army of the South, and had his hands full, as the British defenders expected relief from Lord Rawdon, and refused to consider surrender.

  Twice General Greene had sent messengers to the commandant under a flag of truce to explain that resistance was useless because Rawdon had retired eastward to await the arrival of reinforcements from England that Sir Henry Clinton had promised him. The Redcoat high command at Ninety-Six refused to accept Greene’s word, instead believing he was trying to take the post by a trick.

  Siege conditions were somewhat similar to those Lee’s Legion had endured at Fort Cornwallis. Ordered to take up a position on the right flank, Harry moved up his battery of artillery, and on his first night in the line had to use his infantry to repel two savage attacks by the defenders.

  On June 11 General Greene received a message from Brigadier General Thomas Sumter to the effect that three full regiments of British infantry had just landed at Charleston. Lord Rawdon now had more than two thousand men under his command, and the Americans felt certain he would make a determined effort to drive them off.

  Kościuszko redoubled his efforts to take Ninety-Six, and construction was begun on a new line of trenches closer to the fort. The task promised to be long and arduous, and no one believed it could be completed before Rawdon marched to the aid of the defenders. So picket lines were tightened, and Greene issued an order requesting all units to be on the alert and prevent the Redcoats at Ninety-Six from learning that help would soon be on the way.

  Harry Lee asked for permission to cut off the fort’s water supply, if he could, an operation similar to that which had resulted in the fall of Fort Watson. Kościuszko was dubious, but Greene believed there was little to lose, and authorized the effort.

  Harry’s plan was a simple one. The creek was guarded by one section of the fort, and if the Redcoats could be driven out of their tower there, the creek could be diverted. He asked for volunteers to set fire to the tower, and nine of his men responded, eight of them privates and one a sergeant.

  The Army’s artillery laid down a heavy barrage in other sectors to divert the enemy’s attention, and the nine Legionnaires crept forward. But they were discovered when no more than fifty feet from the wall, and the British opened fire on them. Five men, including the sergeant, were killed, while the other four escaped by crawling back to the American line of trenches and breastworks. Harry had not only failed, but had lost five courageous men.

  That same day a British courier disguised as a farmer managed to work his way to the most forward American position by posing as a Patriot sympathizer who lived in the neighborhood. He made a sudden, wild dash for the gates, and the men who fired at him were unable to cut him down. He reached Ninety-Six safely, and the blaring of bugles inside the fort served notice on the attackers that the Redcoats now knew that a relief column was on the march. The garrison would be more difficult to dislodge or discourage, and the Army prepared for a major battle.

  General Greene, in desperation, requested South Carolina’s three brigadiers, Marion, Pickens, and Sumter, to delay Rawdon by every means possible, and sent Colonel Washington’s cavalry to help them in their attempt. But his effort was little more than a gesture, and Nathanael Greene knew it. Militia were not strong enough or disciplined enough to halt British professionals.

  Rawdon soon proved what his enemies feared, and by a ruse left the South Carolina militia far behind him as he advanced toward Ninety-Six.

  Greene was forced to make a choice he had preferred to avoid. He was not strong enough to face the defenders at Ninety-Six and Rawdon’s column simultaneously, and knew he would be crushed if he tried. Therefore he had two painful alternatives: he could either abandon his siege in order to meet Rawdon, or could storm Ninety-Six before the relief column arrived. He favored the latter course, and his senior officers unanimously supported his decision.

  The assault was made on the morning of June 18, Lee’s Legion on the right flank. The attack was preceded by the heaviest artillery bombardment yet made, and then the infantry rushed forward with muskets, bayonets, and scaling ladders. Both sides fought desperately, and the encounter was the bloodiest fo
ught in the entire campaign.

  The Legion fulfilled its battle mission, and after a bitter struggle broke into the star-shaped fort, driving its surviving defenders back into the main town. Harry ordered the American flag hoisted, and waited for other units to join him before proceeding to the main defense line.

  But other American units had been less successful. The enemy had held them off, and in every sector except the Legion’s, the drive had been halted. General Greene sent a message to Harry, telling him to consolidate his position and wait for the rest of the army. The Legion waited all day, its commander fuming, and by sundown it became obvious that the American attack had been contained.

  Harry was now in an exposed position, vulnerable to British attacks from all sides in the dark, but he still refused to retire until Greene again sent a messenger to him, ordering him to pull back. The Legion was compelled to abandon the star-shaped fort, and the unhappy Nathanael Greene had to make another major decision. With Lord Rawdon on the march toward him with a superior force and the British garrison under Lieutenant Colonel John Cruger still intact, he concluded that he had run out of options.

  The Army of the South retreated once more into North Carolina, with the Legion, augmented by Oldham’s Marylanders and a half-battalion of Continental light infantry from Delaware, acting as the rear-guard screen. Rarely, if ever, had Harry Lee’s pride suffered such a severe blow. After winning a series of glittering victories, he was once more covering a major American withdrawal.

  Rawdon turned north to pursue the Americans, but after a short march stopped to reconsider his own situation. He, like Greene, was short of supplies and lacked the strength to deliver a decisive blow that would end the campaign. It was a supreme irony that neither army was powerful enough to win a clear-cut victory. In fact, Rawdon decided that he couldn’t afford the luxury of maintaining Ninety-Six, and withdrew Cruger’s gallant force from the fort, adding it to his own corps.