Deprived of naval aid, Washington did the best he could and sent Greene two of his best brigades, Anthony Wayne’s and Arthur St. Clair’s. The two units started on the march south, and Harry preceded them, reaching Greene’s headquarters several days earlier. His relations with his General were rather strained now, but he did not complain when Greene announced he would make another push against Charleston and the smaller posts on the seacoast — and assigned Lee’s Legion to its accustomed place, that of the vanguard.
All through the long weeks of November and December the Legion marched and countermarched, launching attacks, capturing enemy stores and doing its share in bringing the war in the Carolinas closer to the conclusion universally regarded as inevitable. Men who had spent years fighting for their country were reluctant to expose themselves to hardships and dangers now, and the virus of peace, which had also infected the British in the area, reduced maneuvers on both sides to little more than shadow-boxing.
Lee’s Legion reflected the spirit of its commander, and the officers, sergeants and men began to talk in terms of going home. Nathanael Greene, himself ill and weary, tried hard to live up to his responsibilities and keep his corps intact. But it was a battle he was destined to lose.
On January 26, 1782, three days before his twenty-sixth birthday, Harry sent a letter to his General, requesting permission to submit his resignation. His reasons, he said, were “disquietude of mind and infirmity of body. The first arises from the indifference with which my efforts to advance the cause of my country is considered by my friends, the persecution of my foes & my consciousness that it is not in my power to efface the disagreeable impression. The second owes its birth to the fidelity with which I served & is nourished by my continuance in the same line of conduct. However disgusted I am with human nature, I wish, from motives of self, to make my way easy and comfortable. This, if ever obtainable, is to be got only in some obscure retreat.
“I have nothing more to say, & will but add my prayers for the honor and prosperity of your arms.”
Nathanael Greene was deeply shocked by the blunt communication. He had not meant to exclude Harry’s name from those commended at Eutaw Springs, and tried hard in a very long reply, that ran many pages and took two days to compose, to make amends. “There is no inconvenience I would not submit to, to oblige you,” he wrote, “no length I would not go to serve you in the line of truth and honor. But I wish you not think of leaving the service. Everybody knows I have the highest opinion of you as an officer, and you know I love you as a friend. Whatever may be your determination, to retire or continue in service, my affection will accompany you, and as far as my influence with mankind has any operation, I shall take pleasure in paying a just tribute to your merit.”
He continued in the same vein for hundreds of words, finally adding, “I owe you the greatest obligations, obligations which I can never cancel, and if in this situation I should be unwilling to do justice to your exertions I should not only be guilty of the basest ingratitude, but a strange contradiction in my own conduct.”
The general concluded on a firm note, saying, “I believe few officers in America or Europe are held in higher esteem.”
His candor and protestations of affection healed the breach, and from that time until the end of their days, he and Harry remained close friends. But the young cavalryman had made up his mind to return to civilian life, and would not be persuaded to remain in service. He and Greene continued to exchange letters at a furious rate, and in one of his franker notes Greene said he knew the reason Harry wanted to leave the Army was because of his desire to be married.
Harry acknowledged the truth of his superior’s observation.
Greene finally granted his permission for the resignation, if Harry would agree to return for a few months in the event that military developments produced a need for services that he alone could perform.
To refuse such a request would have been a denial of all that Harry had done throughout his military career, and he promised to heed a call from the general if he was needed.
That settled the matter, but the Legion insisted on the final word. A group of volunteers, acting secretly, without Harry’s knowledge, made a surprise raid on a small British outpost located only three miles from Charleston. Both cavalry and infantry took part, and the assault, made on February 13, 1782, was conducted for the sole purpose of gaining possession of the British commandant’s dress sword.
On the evening of February 15 the entire Legion gathered at sundown to stage a review for its commander, and the saber was presented to Harry. All of his officers and sergeants had scratched their names on the blade, and he was so overcome he wept. So did his veterans, and then, with rank forgotten, everyone sat down to a meal of beefsteak and wheat bread, the raiders having shown the presence of mind to steal several head of cattle and sacks of wheat from the British, too.
The following morning, at dawn, Harry took the salute from the Legion’s sentry outposts and rode north to Virginia, wearing his frayed, once-elegant green tunic and dirt-smeared white breeches for the last time.
XII: THE COUNTRY SQUIRE
Matilda Lee happened to be the heiress to a considerable fortune as well as being an enchantingly beautiful young woman. Her father had died in the year the war had started, her mother had recently remarried, and she was now the sole owner of a ten-thousand acre estate that produced tobacco and vegetables in abundance, a large stable and one of the most handsome greathouses in Virginia. She was also a minor, and Harry was required by law to post a bond with the executors of her estate before he could marry her.
His father loaned him the vast sum of twenty thousand pounds, which he posted with Richard Henry Lee, the president of the board of executors, and Matilda posted another twenty thousand. The law and the honor of the Lee family having been satisfied, Matilda and Light-Horse Harry Lee were married in March 1782 in the main hall of the bride’s home, where the young couple intended to live.
Richard Henry Lee gave away the bride, and General George Washington, who headed the distinguished guest list, contributed several pipes of his best Madeira wine to help insure the festivity of the occasion. Matilda looked lovelier than ever, in the best tradition. Similarly, according to Cousin George Lee, never one to let any trifling detail escape his eye, Harry — who had never quailed before the enemy in battle — looked very pale and made his responses in a voice so faint that only those relatives who stood nearest to the couple could hear him.
The wedding reception was held at the new home of Matilda’s mother, a few miles away, and the foods that tempted the palates of the guests was not only an indication of the grandeur of an occasion when a Lee married a Lee, but also, more significantly, demonstrated that the new nation was already beginning to enjoy the fruits of the peace that would be incorporated into a formal treaty with Great Britain in the following year.
Huge platters of roasted beef, mutton, venison, and oxen stood on tables, as did great bowls of oysters and plates of a delicacy virtually unobtainable since the start of the war, smoked trout. The ladies enjoyed dishes of “Italian salat greens,” while the men preferred heartier fare, beef tongue and crocks of locally made cheeses, spiced with chopped spring onions.
The ladies toyed with glasses of a light sack, and in addition to Washington’s Madeira there were seven other kinds of wine. Serious drinkers were able to concentrate on whiskey, rum, and brandywine, washed down with ale, porter, or small beer. The reception was the first major social event of its kind held in northern Virginia since 1775, and was attended by more than four hundred hungry, thirsty guests.
The bride and groom accepted a number of toasts, and eagle-eyed Cousin George observed that Harry drank sparingly. Then, as the decibel count rose steadily, Harry and Matilda slipped off to Stratford, and the bridegroom carried the bride over the threshold of the house that had always been hers and that, as the result of a marriage ceremony and the posting of bonds, had now become his, too.
Harry
surprised the relatives and friends who had thought of him only as a soldier by settling down at once to the life of a country squire. The management of Stratford was a time-consuming job, as Matilda owned a mill, four fisheries, and a small quarry as well as the plantation. The new squire made himself familiar with the operations of the estate. He had learned from several pre-war disasters suffered by his father that it was risky to put all his eggs in the tobacco basket, as tobacco prices fluctuated unpredictably from year to year. He wanted a diversification of crops, and within a few weeks of his marriage was planting both corn and wheat. At the same time he made arrangements with Colonel John Fitzgerald, once Washington’s aide and now establishing himself as a grain broker in Alexandria, to handle the sale of Stratford’s produce.
The young newlyweds lived very quietly on their estate, and much to the disappointment of those hungry for splendid entertainment after so many years of privation, gave no large parties. Their social relations were confined to quiet evenings with relatives and neighbors, which was tantamount to the same thing, as most property in the area was owned by one or another Lee.
Not unexpectedly, Harry also kept in close touch with his former officers. Lieutenant Colonel Henry Laurens, an efficient and courageous officer with a good combat record, had been made commander of the Legion after Harry’s resignation, but men loyal to Lee didn’t like their new superior’s ways, and submitted their resignations at so rapid a rate that it appeared for a time that the Legion would fall apart.
Among the first to resign were Captain Armstrong of the cavalry and Captain Pat Carnes of the infantry, who paid a visit to Stratford en route to his own home and brought Harry up to date on the latest gossip.
Former Legionnaires who were encountering difficulty in adjusting to civilian life almost invariably wrote to Harry for advice and help, and he kept up a lively correspondence with them, intervening with General Washington in one instance, when a former lieutenant was arrested for an act he had committed while still in the service, an act — the requisitioning of a horse — performed on the order of higher authority.
The Virginia House of Burgesses voted a bill to pay bounties to all militiamen who had been in the state’s service throughout the war, and Harry wanted to make certain that his Legionnaires, who had transferred to the Continentals, would receive their full share and not be penalized because they had shifted from the state’s armed forces to the nation’s. Thanks to his correspondence with various state officials, Legion members from Virginia were duly protected.
For three quiet years Harry concerned himself only with personal and domestic matters. Matilda gave birth to their first child, a boy, and he was named Nathanael Greene Lee, a gesture that pleased General Greene and tightened the bonds of friendship between the former comrades. Unfortunately, the baby died when only a few months old.
Matilda’s second child, also a boy, was born soon thereafter, and was named Philip, after his maternal grandfather. General Washington, whom Harry frequently visited at Mount Vernon, accepted the honor of becoming the baby’s godfather.
By 1785 Harry was becoming a trifle bored with a life devoted only to the management of an estate, and, in the true Lee tradition, decided to enter politics. He ran for a seat in the Congress of the Confederation, and being a Lee, won handily, with only a token show of opposition from two other candidates.
In the autumn of that year he went off to New York for the meeting of the Congress, and formed a personal friendship with a close associate of Thomas Jefferson’s, James Monroe, even though their political views differed in most matters. Harry also revived his friendship with James Madison, with whom he’d had little or no contact since their college days in Princeton.
One of the most pressing questions of the day was that of navigation rights for Americans on the Spanish-controlled Mississippi River. The majority of Virginians, among them Patrick Henry, the most powerful political force in the state, were insisting that residents of the Kentucky District, which was cut off by mountains from the seaboard, be granted unrestricted rights to send furs and agricultural produce down the Mississippi to New Orleans.
The Burgesses had instructed its representatives in the Congress to vote in favor of legislation demanding such rights, and Harry obeyed orders, like a good soldier, but privately disagreed. His own views on the matter were parochial, and dictated by self-interest. If western products flooded the new markets opening in Europe, he feared, his own crops would bring far smaller prices. He made no secret of his opinions, which caused considerable distress in his constituency and paved the way for the first serious defeat of his life.
The months he spent in New York were an education of a new kind. The Confederation, Harry observed, was unwieldy, and it annoyed him to see each of the states zealously guarding its own rights. As an officer who had commanded men from many states and had fought in many, he thought of himself first as an American and second as a Virginian. Again he let his views become known.
In 1786 the voters in his district expressed their displeasure by refusing to re-elect him, and instead sent Madison to the Congress. James Madison actually held views even firmer than Harry’s on the need for a strong federal government that would stop the petty bickering between the individual states, but he was far more discreet in his manner of expressing himself.
The victorious Madison wrote a gracious letter to his old friend, but Harry was furiously angry. Believing that Madison had worked behind his back for his defeat while professing friendship, Harry sent him an intemperate reply. Madison defended himself in a letter that was coldly correct, and the two men corresponded at length, their relationship growing more strained with each communication.
By the time Harry returned to Stratford late in December 1786, Matilda had given birth to a third child, a daughter who was named Lucy, after Harry’s mother. The young father devoted himself to his family and estate, but needed more to occupy him. He had tasted political blood, and the old thirst for glory seized him again. His only public duty, which men of the Lee family accepted as a part of their heritage, was to act as a justice of the peace, and he fulfilled the few minor obligations of his office, but continued to think in terms of playing a role in larger, more important arenas.
All America was stirring in 1787, and Harry’s restlessness was typical of intelligent men everywhere. The Confederation had proved so cumbersome and weak that plans were being made for the preparation of a new Constitution that would establish a strong federal government. Harry realized he had no right to a place in the Virginia delegation to the Constitutional Convention, but saw no reason why he shouldn’t sit in the Virginia convention that would pass judgment on the efforts of the men who would draw up the new Constitution.
It was easy for a Lee to gain support from other Lees, and Harry went to Cousin Richard Henry, the most powerful member of the tribe, who promised to help him. Unfortunately, the seating of Harry would mean the displacing of another Lee, Richard, who liked his visits with fellow legislators so much that he saw no reason why he should retire in favor of his nephew.
There were personal joys and sorrows that occupied Harry in 1787. Late in the spring Matilda gave birth to another son, who was called Henry, the fourth in a direct line of descent to bear the name. A few weeks later Harry’s father died, leaving the bulk of his estate to his four younger sons.
His reasoning, as explained in his will, was that his eldest possessed enough in the way of worldly goods to give him financial security for the rest of his days. However, as a token of his deep affection, he left Harry vast tracts of land in the wilderness of the Kentucky District.
Family concerns did not interfere with the fascination Harry felt for the activities of the Constitutional Convention, which met in Philadelphia under the Presidency of General Washington. Every literate man in Virginia held firm views on the subject, and only in Massachusetts were the state’s leaders as violently divided. Washington, ably supported by Madison, believed America would perish unless a
strong federal government was established.
Most of the other prominent political figures in the state disagreed. Richard Henry Lee and Patrick Henry were afraid that the government set up under the proposed Constitution would lead to a dictatorship that would destroy personal liberties, and two of the Virginia delegates to the Convention, Governor Edmund Randolph and Harry’s next-door neighbor, George Mason, had refused to sign their names to the document.
Harry Lee unequivocally supported the adherents of a strong federal government. His experience as an Army officer had convinced him that the states worked against one another, and that only a greater power could govern the nation. The Continentals had been fine soldiers, but state militia, in the main, had been useless. The war would have been won at least a year earlier, he believed, had there been a federal government.
After Washington’s return home from Philadelphia, Harry spent several evenings at Mount Vernon discussing the Constitution with the general, and then began to campaign on its behalf. The thirty-one-year-old embryo politician worked as hard and as enthusiastically as he had ten years earlier in raiding British supply trains. He made speeches everywhere. He went to taverns and addressed men who had gone there for a quiet drink. And he wrote scores of letters, some to friends and acquaintances, some to total strangers.
He announced his candidacy for the Virginia convention, but there were so many others who wanted the seat that he believed his chances of being elected slight. The most positive aspect of his zeal was the end of his feud with Madison. They stood on the same side in what both believed a great cause, and they corresponded at length. In fact, Harry was worried that Madison, who was spending much of his time in New York and Philadelphia, might not be elected to the state convention, and repeatedly urged his friend to come home. In the meantime, Harry made repeated visits to Madison’s district and made impassioned speeches on his behalf.
Light-Horse Harry: A Biography of Washington’s Great Cavalryman, General Henry Lee (Heroes and Villains from American History) Page 18
