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

by Noel B. Gerson

  Congress adjourned for a few weeks in the late summer of 1800, and before reconvening in the raw, uncompleted buildings that were being erected in Washington City, the coming presidential campaign took shape. The Federalists made Aaron Burr their candidate, the Republican-Democrats supported Jefferson, and the high-minded John Adams found himself a President without a party.

  The electoral vote produced confusion of the worst kind. Burr and Jefferson were tied, New England gave some support to Adams and parts of the South, in a wait-and-see attitude, stood for the moment with General Charles Pinckney.

  In the meantime the battle lines were being drawn tighter in Congress, where both major parties were trying to shape the future of the country through legislation reflecting their opposing philosophies. In a three-month period, between mid-November 1800 and mid-February 1801, Harry Lee established a record in the House that, even if he had done nothing else for his country, would have won him a permanent place in history.

  He was one of the prime movers of a bill to enlarge and strengthen the federal judiciary, and led the fight for the measure in the House with such skill and verve that the law was passed in spite of bitter Republican-Democratic opposition. For the first time the judicial branch became the equal of the executive and legislative in fact as well as theory. And in January, when Harry’s good friend, John Marshall, was appointed Chief Justice, the future of the judiciary was assured.

  Harry introduced a bill establishing a national library, and another that put the nation’s main highways, the post roads, under federal control. He supplemented this measure with another authorizing the extension of the post road system to all parts of the country. Virginia and Maryland were both clamoring for control of Washington City, but Harry, believing the federal government should not be subject to the whims of a state, was one of the movers of a bill keeping Washington City under federal jurisdiction. He was also the author of a bill, little noted at the time and subsequently defeated, which gave the federal establishment the power to tax individual citizens as it deemed fit, but provided that a portion of taxes collected should be turned over to the states for their own use.

  Early in February legislative programs were pushed aside when it was officially reported that there had been a tie in the electoral vote for President, and that the decision, under the Constitution, was now referred to the House of Representatives.

  Harry stood firmly in favor of his college friend, Aaron Burr, whom he probably would have supported even had they been total strangers. Any man, he believed, was preferable to Thomas Jefferson. But the situation was complicated by the fact that Alexander Hamilton, the arch-Federalist, could not tolerate Burr and urged every man in the House he knew to support his old foe, Jefferson.

  Harry received a long, earnest plea from Hamilton asking him to switch to Jefferson’s side. He refused, but saw the handwriting written large on the wall, and wrote a discouraged note to Anne, then at Stratford, saying that if Jefferson was elected he would retire permanently from the political arena.

  Thirty-six ballots were taken over a three-day period, and Harry unwaveringly cast his vote for Burr on all thirty-six. Emissaries from Hamilton tried repeatedly to persuade him to change his mind, but his personal animosity to Jefferson was as great as Hamilton’s hatred for Burr, and he would not budge.

  From the start, Harry knew he was fighting a lost cause. In one letter, written to Hamilton and explaining at some length why he could not change his mind or vote, he declared, “Jefferson’s friends are confident of success, and there is in my own mind little doubt that he will be victorious. For your sake I am pleased that you can await this outcome with a complacency of mind. For my own, however, and for that of the United States, I see the nation entering upon its darkest days.

  “I admit that my views are colored by a rancor for Mr. J. that I cannot alter or control. We have opposed each other in too many matters for too many years for me to develop a fondness for him or his methods. There are others, you will say, who have also opposed the principles for which I stand. That is true.

  “Madison comes first to mind in this regard, and before him, you yourself. Never once, however, did my affection for you falter, or yours for me, and this same is true of my friendship with Mr. M. But Mr. J. has been vindictive and petty, has denounced me in a manner unbefitting a gentleman and has, behind my back, sneered at the financial misfortunes that have befallen me. I cannot, therefore, give my confidence, my hand or my vote to one who allows himself to be ruled by petty considerations when he should be concerned only with the welfare, the good and the future of all our people.

  “The perpetuation of our freedoms, in peace and equity, must be the first regard of every statesman. I pray that Burr would be such a statesman were he to receive the vote of the House. I fear that J. would not, and must oppose him to the end.”

  The end came on February 17 when, after some prolonged and delicate maneuvering behind the scenes, several state delegations of Federalists were persuaded to cast their ballots for Thomas Jefferson, who was elected the third President of the United States. Under the system then prevailing, Burr became Vice-President.

  Harry Lee immediately became a lame-duck Congressman, announcing that he had no intention of seeking re-election. He was still a gentleman, however, and when the House waited on Jefferson to extend its congratulations, he accompanied the other Congressmen.

  It was evident from the frigid greetings he and Jefferson exchanged that Harry was banished to a political wilderness. Both men bowed coldly, and neither extended a hand.

  “I offer you my felicitations, sir,” Harry said.

  “I thank you, sir,” Jefferson replied.

  That was the end of the conversation and, for all practical purposes, Harry Lee’s political career.

  In the spring of 1801 he returned to Stratford, intending to resume his life as a planter and, if possible, recoup his financial losses of the past in land speculation. No matter how often he had been burned in the past, he still envisioned the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Others had done it, and so could he.

  Unfortunately, he refused to profit by the lessons of some former military colleagues. Henry Knox had been forced to declare bankruptcy, and so had Anthony Wayne. Prowess in war was no guarantee that a man would live happily ever after in comfortable circumstances.

  XVIII: THE WILDERNESS

  There were two more children in the growing brood at Stratford by the summer of 1802, Anne, born two years earlier, and the new infant, Smith. Henry, Jr. was now old enough to be enrolled as a student at the College of William and Mary, annoying his father because he preferred it to Harry’s alma mater at Princeton. Lucy was growing up, too, and discovered boys. She was considered a flirt, and according to family rumors, sometimes behaved in a manner unbecoming a lady and a Lee. Anne’s young brother, Bernard M. Carter, was a frequent visitor to Stratford, and fell so completely under Lucy’s spell that, a few years later, they were married and lived stormy lives, sometimes together, sometimes apart.

  The head of the household was having more than his usual share of troubles, and there was no indication of daylight ahead. The distinguished Robert Morris of Philadelphia had been unable to repay the money Harry had so impetuously loaned him, and was now incarcerated in a debtors’ prison, a situation that distressed the gentry everywhere. It upset Harry more than most, as he had been counting on the repayment of the debt to see him through his own difficulties.

  He sold some property he owned in Richmond, and when that proved too little to satisfy his creditors, he disposed of a portion of the Stratford estate, much to the distress of the entire Lee clan. The ever-observant Cousin George now began to call the eldest son — and heir to Stratford, “Poor young Henry.”

  Harry was true to his word and took no active role in politics, but his hatred of Jefferson remained unabated. The War Department, acting quietly and without publicity, had retired him from the active list of generals, a move that did not cause
him to think any more highly of the President.

  In fact, as he wrote to Madison, now Secretary of State but still his friend, he felt certain that Jefferson and Albert Gallatin, the Secretary of the Treasury, had made a deliberate attempt to humiliate him. Madison tried to reassure him that, with the country at peace and no wars anticipated anywhere, there was no need for a reserve pool of generals. But Harry refused to be reconciled to the situation.

  His only friends in the Administration were Madison and James Monroe, who became the American Minister to France in 1803 and to England in 1804. He corresponded with both, and although they remained warmly sympathetic, they found it diplomatically necessary to avoid commenting on his bitter observations and criticisms of Administration policy.

  Harry also maintained a brisk correspondence with John Marshall, but the Chief Justice considered himself above party partisanship, confining his views on the government to Supreme Court decisions that would do so much to shape the America of the future. It was frustrating to Harry. No one, he complained, would admit to him that Jefferson was truly a rascal.

  In the years that followed, Harry struggled incessantly but in vain to stay out of debt. Every financial venture was a fiasco, every investment a disappointment. Anne was ill for the better part of a year with a “bone fever” that forced her to spend much of her time in bed. Money for luxuries was scarce, and there were few servants at Stratford now. But husband and wife remained devoted to each other. And Harry, by any standards, was a good father.

  He spent long hours augmenting the education of his children by teaching them Latin, philosophy, and French, and reading to them from the classics of literature. There were still horses in the Lee stable, of course — Harry would never become so poor that he could not afford to own a few horses — and his sons learned to ride like cavalrymen, wield sabers like cavalrymen and shoot like cavalrymen.

  Harry was still Squire Lee to his neighbors, many of whom brought their problems to him. According to one story that may be apocryphal, two residents of the area had a violent argument, decided their quarrel could be settled only by a duel and went to Harry soon after dinner one evening to ask him if he would referee the affair. He invited the combatants into his library, where he spent almost the whole night talking to them, and when they departed shortly before dawn they were fast friends.

  In the spring of 1806 Anne became pregnant again, to her own dismay and her husband’s. Neither wanted the expense and bother of still another child. Harry’s financial mess was rapidly becoming insoluble, and relatives who tried to help him untangle his affairs soon gave up in despair.

  Then Anne’s father, who had been ill for several years, died very suddenly, and she had to travel to Shirley for the funeral. The few servants at Stratford were so unreliable that she traveled alone in the family’s one remaining carriage, leaving Harry behind to take care of the children. The mighty had fallen, but were to fall still lower.

  Charles Carter had been worried about his son-in-law’s inability to handle money for years, and when Anne reached Shirley she discovered he had done everything possible in his will, which he had written in 1803, to protect her inheritance. He was afraid, he said, that Anne and her children might “be distressed and come to want.” Therefore he charged the executors and trustees whom he named to “secure the said property for the use and benefit of my said daughter in such a way that she solely during her natural life may enjoy the rents, issues, profits, emoluments, interests and advantages of the said property both real and personal, free from the claim, demand, let, hindrance of molestation of her husband, General Henry Lee, or his creditors, directly or indirectly.”

  Anne was not comforted by the knowledge that she and her children would not starve. Never had she been so miserable. Her pregnancy was difficult, the first of her five that had caused her any trouble, and her discomfort was compounded by the ague, which she contracted on her journey. She was depressed by her father’s death, and when she returned to Stratford she found her husband’s gloom almost unbearable. For the first time in Harry’s life his vision of the pot of gold had dimmed, and he was beginning to wonder whether his lot would ever improve. He had achieved so much early in life that he had expected continued success, but now, in his middle years, he knew nothing but futility and despair.

  On January 19, 1807, precisely ten days before Harry Lee’s fifty-first birthday, Anne gave birth to her fifth child, a boy. His disconsolate, brooding parents named him Robert Edward.

  In spite of their many problems, Harry and Anne unexpectedly doted on their youngest child. To whatever extent environment shapes a man’s character, Robert E. Lee benefited from the unstinting love of his father and mother. But Harry was destined to know the son whose fame would far eclipse his own for only a few years.

  He would teach a very small boy to ride and to prize intellect, to seek a military career and to place a higher value on personal integrity and moral courage than on life itself. The son learned that honor was precious and, after his father’s death, gained an appreciation of the glory that the most fearless, dashing officer in the American Revolution had won.

  These things, ephemeral and intangible, would be Robert E. Lee’s inheritance from his father. Yet it would be no accident that in 1867, two years after his own enforced retirement from a military life, General Robert E. Lee would, as his first task after laying down his arms, edit and publish a new edition of his father’s Memoirs. The renowned son of a famous lion would be proud of his heritage.

  There was little cause for pride or joy in the days that followed Robert E. Lee’s birth. Anne’s sister, Mildred, died, and following their father’s example, left her estate to Anne in such a way that Harry could not touch or dissipate it.

  Harry, who had enjoyed robust health nearly all of his life, went to bed with a bronchial disease that almost killed him. His creditors were pressing him, and he could not afford to rest, but had no choice. He was unable to leave his bedroom for three months, and never again completely recovered his health. To the end of his days he suffered from a racking cough, and lost so much weight that he looked and felt like an old man.

  He enjoyed only one minor compensation. America’s relations with England were deteriorating steadily, a situation that would not improve until the War of 1812 had been fought, and President Jefferson, who hated war, was forced to prepare for armed conflict. He requested the states to raise a force of one hundred and twenty-five thousand militiamen, he placed an embargo on all trade with Great Britain — and he reactivated the commission of Major General Harry Lee.

  Bad health and worse finances notwithstanding, Harry instantly put the call to duty above family or self. He climbed into uniform, and once again made a familiar tour, traveling through Virginia from county to county, seeking, selecting, and supervising the training of volunteers.

  War did not come in 1808, but Harry spent the better part of a year in the saddle and in the field, ignoring his own problems and his weakened condition. When it finally appeared that war had been averted and he returned home, he was exhausted. Anne had suffered a recurrence of the ague, too, and the family physicians suggested that the Lees seek another climate. Charleston was too warm, all of Georgia was too humid, and the water in New Orleans was “impure and unfit for invalids.” Harry and Anne were advised to travel to South America, preferably to “the Brazils.”

  Jefferson’s embargo blocked their departure, however, as American vessels lay at anchor, unable to move, and American ports were closed to British ships. Harry appealed to Madison for help, hoping that the Secretary of State, who appeared almost certain to succeed Jefferson as President, would find an embargo loophole.

  But there were no loopholes, and Madison could do nothing for his old friend. The noose was tightening as Harry’s creditors became more stridently demanding, and even Stratford would not shelter the family much longer as Henry, Jr., soon to be graduated from William and Mary, would inherit what was left of the estate when he came of a
ge. Harry was reduced to the humiliation of sometimes leaving the house by one door when creditors came to another, and sometimes hiding in the vast greathouse while Anne, the most honest of women, was forced to lie on his behalf and tell creditors he wasn’t at home.

  The situation became intolerable; Harry had always faced danger without flinching, and the mortification was greater than he could bear. On April 11, 1809, one month and seven days after James Madison took office as the fourth President of the United States, his college mate and lifelong friend, Light-Horse Harry Lee surrendered himself to the sheriff of Westmoreland County and was jailed as a debtor.

  Never had a Lee sunk so low, and never before had a Lee failed to provide for his family. It was no help to Harry, pacing his cell — sixteen feet long and thirteen and one-half feet wide — to know he had joined the illustrious company of Revolutionary War bankrupts. His pride and conscience were shattered, even though he realized that, thanks to the farsightedness of two fathers-in-law who had put their estates beyond his reach, his wife and children would not starve.

  The process of declaring bankruptcy and winning release from debtors’ prison was long, tedious, and involved, so Harry labored under no false illusions. He would, he knew, be forced to remain in jail for a long time. Anne wanted to visit him frequently, but he preferred to spare her the indignity, and he requested other, sympathetic relatives to leave him in peace. On his strict orders, his children were forbidden to see him behind bars.

  For a time prison life almost drove Harry mad. He, who had been active all his life, was confined to quarters smaller than his dressing room at Stratford. Fortunately he had no appetite, as the food provided by the county was at times inedible. He lived on the meat and bread that Anne brought him from home, although she took care not to visit him herself, letting him believe she sent a servant with the food parcels. Harry didn’t know there were no more servants at Stratford.