“Today, General Charles Lee’s troubling behaviour might be seen as evidence of narcissistic personality disorder.”

By Jim Stempel

THE MORNING OF June 28, 1778 dawned hot and muggy across central New Jersey with the promise of a sweltering afternoon. For days George Washington’s Continental Army had been dogging a massive British column of troops and wagons up the dusty roads from Philadelphia toward New York City, and as the sun rose, it appeared battle was finally imminent.

Private Joseph Plumb Martin was marching with the American vanguard.

“Now,” his commanding officer said, addressing the troops, “you have been wishing for some days past to come up with the British, you have been wanting to fight, – now you shall have fighting enough before night.”

Martin and his compatriots were ordered to leave their baggage behind with guards, maintaining only their blankets and provisions. The vanguard totalled some 5,000 hand-picked “selectmen” who represented the cream of the Continental Army. The fight they had been itching for now lay just down the road.

Despite the men’s fervour, command of the forward American units was hardly as sound. Originally, Washington offered command of the vanguard to General Charles Lee, a 46-year-old veteran of the French and Indian War. Lee instantly turned it down, thinking the position beneath him. Then, when the van was reinforced with more men, Lee changed his tune and immediately demanded the position less he be “disgrac’d.” Bowing to Lee’s seniority, Washington agreed to shoehorn him into command at the very last minute – a move that would leave the Continentals vulnerable should the British decide to turn and attack as the change of command was taking place.

Meanwhile, the youthful Marquis de Lafayette – who had leaped enthusiastically at the position upon Lee’s original refusal – had created his own set of troubles. The French-aristocrat-turned-Continental-general had failed to consolidate the forward units, as ordered. Further, in his dash to locate the British, Lafayette had marched his troops well beyond the support of Washington’s main body, exhausting his men in the process.

Grasping the dire situation, Washington immediately ordered all units in the disparate vanguard to converge on Englishtown, a small village a few miles northwest of Monmouth Courthouse, where the British were then encamped. Fortunately for the Continentals, this was accomplished on June 27 without complication. Late in the day, Washington rode into Englishtown to met with Lee, ordering him to attack the British rearguard promptly the following morning.

General Charles Lee was of English, aristocratic birth and had served in both the British and Polish armies. He had been presented to Congress as a man of prodigious military know-how. But for Washington, the eccentric Englishman had caused no end of headaches. Handling a division during the disastrous New York campaign, Lee repeatedly failed to follow orders, had attempted to usurp troops to his own designs, and had finally, and foolishly, been captured by the British while spending a night in a local tavern near Basking Ridge, New Jersey. He would later be freed in a prisoner exchange.

Pompous, hopelessly vain, and given to indignant outbursts, Lee had sniped at Washington’s abilities behind his back for years, while lauding his own. Now, given the command he had demanded as battle loomed, it was expected that he would demonstrate the military brilliance of which he had habitually boasted.

As Washington departed Englishtown late on June 27, one might have expected the eccentric Lee to eagerly begin preparations for the next morning’s attack. Yet Lee issued no orders and retired to bed without having made a single arrangement for battle. Concerned at the inactivity, Washington had his aide, Alexander Hamilton, draft and deliver unambiguous orders for Lee to attack early on June 28.

Startled from bed by the arrival of fresh orders, Lee still could not manage to put the vanguard on the road until 9 a.m., despite the fact he had been informed of the British troop movements just before dawn. Having made no attempt to discern the lay of the land, local roads, or even to digest the latest intelligence, the general marched his vanguard off that morning into the unknown.

By 10 a.m. Lee neared the courthouse, only to be told that the British might be occupying defensive positions and, indeed, could launch a preemptive attack. Lee was also advised that the ground ahead was cut up with deep ravines and creeks that could prove troublesome if not handled with care, but this seemed not to make an impression. After moving General “Mad Anthony” Wayne into a more forward position, Lee then rode forward to assess the situation himself.

Near the courthouse, Lee and Wayne observed a formation of British cavalry and infantry near the mouth of the road leading east to Middletown and Sandy Hook beyond where the British Navy was thought to be waiting to ferry the British column to safety at New York. Although too far to away make an accurate count of the enemy’s strength, Lee estimated the Redcoat rearguard to number 1,500 to 2,000.

While Washington had simply wanted an attack on the outnumbered British rearguard, Lee hoped to bag the lot. He determined to have Wayne demonstrate in front of the British while Lee himself led a strong column secretly around the enemy right to cut off their escape. It was a snap decision made with little reconnaissance or knowledge of the ground ahead. Yet, for the haughty Lee, it seemed like a stroke of bold martial wizardry.

“My dear Marquis,” he boasted to Lafayette, “I think those people are ours.”

Wayne moved forward to begin his diversion and immediately came under heavy artillery fire. Worse, the British formation on his front appeared to be growing in strength. Lee, who was already leading his column toward the British right discounted Wayne’s reports. Despite his overconfidence, he emerged from the woods about half-way to the objective to assess the situation and was horrified to discover a fresh British column marching towards the courthouse. If not stopped, that column might easily cut the American vanguard off from the main Continental body approaching from Englishtown.

Lee promptly sent a body of selectmen under Lafayette to disrupt the British reinforcements advancing on the courthouse, but the American column came under a severe cannonade almost immediately and could not gain the objective. Two more heavy British columns were then spotted heading toward the scattered units of the American vanguard. The truth suddenly dawned on Lee: He was not facing a minor rearguard, but rather a major assault. Chaos quickly ensued.

Unlike Lee, the British commander, Sir Henry Clinton, knew exactly what he was doing: He was driving at the Continentals with his finest, most seasoned units, in all some 10,000 men. The detachments of the American vanguard – now scattered, uninformed and virtually defenceless – began to withdraw, lest they be flanked, cut off and overwhelmed piecemeal.

Lee tried to patch together a hasty defence, but neglected to inform all of his unit commanders of his plans. He had also failed to select a fallback position. The ground behind the Americans – broken with streams and deep gullies called morasses – made a uniform withdrawal impossible. Lee quickly lost all control of the battlefield.

As Washington approached with the main body of the Continental Army, he discovered Lee’s entire vanguard in a disorganized retreat. Private Martin, who had fallen back with the American left wing, was seated nearby just as Washington made his appearance. He later recalled:

We had not retreated far before we came to a defile, a muddy, sloughy brook. While the artillery were passing this place, we sat down by the roadside. In a few minutes the Commander in Chief and suite [staff] crossed the road just where we were sitting. I heard him ask our officers ‘by whose order the troops were retreating,’ and being answered, ‘by General Lee’s,’ he said something, but as he was moving forward all the time this was passing, he was too far off for me to hear it distinctly. Those that were nearer to him said that his words were ‘d—-n him.’ Whether he did thus express himself or not I do not know. It was certainly very unlike him, but he seemed at the instant to be in a great passion; his looks if not his words seemed to indicate as much.

Washington, having received nothing but optimistic reports from Lee all morning, was livid by what he was witnessing. Lee galloped towards his commander expecting praise for having saved the vanguard. He received none.

Washington demanded an explanation, Lee, taken aback by his commander’s fury proffered an array of excuses. He complained that his orders had been disobeyed, his intelligence was faulty and that he did not wish to fight the British, numerous and professional as they were known to be. Washington reportedly cursed Lee; others recalled that he was obviously infuriated, but civil.

While accounts of the exchange differ slightly, in the 1858 book Battles of the Unites States by Sea and Land, historian Henry B. Dawson records an account of Washington’s meeting with Lee as described by Lafayette in 1824 to then-U.S. vice-president Daniel D. Tompkins.

At this instant the guilty author of the mischief, General Lee, rode up, and the commander-in-chief demanded, in the sternest manner, ‘What is the meaning of  this, sir?’ Disconcerted and crushed under the tone and terrible appearance of his chief, General Lee could do nothing more than stammer, ‘Sir, sir?’ When, with more vehemence, and with a still more indignant expression, the question was repeated. A hurried explanation was attempted – his troops had been misled by contradictory intelligence, his officers had disobeyed his orders, and he had not felt it his duty to oppose the whole force of the enemy with the detachment under his command. Farther remarks were made on both sides, and, closing the interview with calling General Lee ‘a damned poltroon,’ the commander-in-chief hastened back to the high ground between the meetinghouse and the bridge, where he formed the regiments of colonels Shreve, Patton, Grayson, Livingston, Cilley, and Ogden, and the left wing under Lord Stirling.

Washington offered Lee the choice of assisting the rearguard (yet to be assembled) or help deploy the main body as it came up; Lee chose the former. The commander-in-chief rode off in a display of activity and presence of mind that many claimed was his finest battlefield performance.

Martin, still nearby, wrote:

After passing us, he rode on to the plain field and took an observation of the advancing enemy. He remained there some time upon his old English charger, while the shot from the British artillery were rending up the earth all around him.

Alexander Hamilton, one of Washington’s aides, recalled:

I never saw the general to so much advantage. His coolness and firmness were admirable. He instantly took measures for checking the enemy’s advance, and giving time for the army, which was closing rapidly, to form and make proper disposition.

A small but willing rearguard was patched together under Wayne and placed in a small wood (later named the Point of Woods) flanking the approach of one British column. Artillery and infantry were likewise directed to an overgrown fence line (later referred to as the Hedgerow) directly fronting that advance, while Washington, entirely unfamiliar with the lay of the land, cast about for someone who understood the terrain. Fortunately, one of his officers – Lt. Col. Rhea – had grown-up in the area; his knowledge proved vital. The main Continental body was deployed on Perrine Hill, behind the Hedgerow, while Nathanael Greene’s column occupied a low rise called Combs Hill to the right of Perrine Hill, an artillery position that dominated the area.

As the British column approached the Hedgerow, Wayne’s detachment let loose a volley at close range, savaging the Redcoat advance. The British then whirled right and promptly attacked Wayne’s small party, overwhelming the Americans in violent, hand-to-hand fighting. Wayne and his men fled the woods, but their stand had gained Washington the necessary time to piece together a meagre defence, while beginning to position the main body on the high ground of Perrine Hill.

The Redcoats swept on toward the Hedgerow where the fighting intensified. Meanwhile, artillery was unlimbered on Perrine’s Hill. These guns had clear fields-of-fire, and immediately began hurling shot at the British advance. Under intense musketry from the Hedgerow and accurate cannon fire from Perrine’s Hill, the British had little choice but to pull back, leaving the field littered with their dead and wounded.

Responding to the American bombardment, the British brought up a number of heavy guns for counter-battery fire. This went on for hours in the stifling heat. As the cannons blazed away, men crawled into the shade or looked for streams to refill their canteens and wait out the exchange. By late afternoon, the British were low on ammunition and pulled their guns back, bringing an end to the thunderous cannonade.

Washington, atop Perrine’s Hill with a good view of the battlefield, began receiving reports of a British movement approaching the American left. He dispatched an officer who returned to report that the British were indeed moving on the left in strength. Washington responded by ordering two battalions of selectmen, approximately 600, forward to check the Redcoat advance. Among them was Joseph Plumb Martin.

Unbeknownst to Washington, the enemy approaching was the 42^nd Royal Highlanders. Known as the Black Watch, it was one of the most feared and respected regiments in the British line.

Martin’s unit made contact with the 42^nd after pursuing some withdrawing redcoats through a small orchard.

“The first shot they gave us from this piece cut off the thigh bone of a captain, just above the knee,” recalled Martin, “and the whole heel of a private in the rear of him.”

But the select men did not waver, and a fierce fight at close range ensued.

“We gave it to poor Sawney (for they were Scotch troops) so hot that he was forced to fall back and leave the ground they occupied,” Martin remembered.

The Black Watch withdrew (under orders to do so), and the Continentals pursued, but the fighting on the left was over, the Americans giving as well as they had taken.

At this point, the action switched to the American centre, where Washington sent Wayne toward the Hedgerow, which had been taken by a detachment of British grenadiers. “Mad Anthony,” leading 400 selectmen, went straight at the grenadiers and took them by surprise, pushing them back in a furious assault.

Sir Henry Clinton, grasping the situation, ordered the 33^rd Foot to support the grenadiers. Seriously outnumbered, Wayne nevertheless kept up the fight until the fear of having both flanks overwhelmed, caused him to back away. Once again, Continental selectmen had stood firm against some of the finest units in the British army, their winter training under Baron von Steuben at Valley Forge having paid off dramatically.

Having protected the movement of his immense train east toward Sandy Hook, and with the recent arrival of the main body of the American army, Clinton now saw no reason to prolong the fighting. Having accomplished his objectives, he broke off the engagement and withdrew. After resting his troops until around midnight, his army slipped away under cover of darkness, leaving the weary Americans in command of the field.

When the Continentals moved forward early the following morning, they found the British camps deserted. Washington, his men exhausted from the brutal heat and fatigue of battle, refused to pursue. His men had fought well, and he could claim a narrow victory. That was enough.

With the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse over, General Lee’s performance had become the talk of the army. Had his actions been wise or foolish; honorable or traitorous? Despite Washington’s evident anger over Lee’s conduct that morning, the Continental commander had taken no punitive action against the general. Speculation persists to this day, that the commander-in-chief may have been willing to let the matter drop. Lee however, clearly humiliated, pressed the issue. Rather than seeking an audience with Washington in hopes of clearing the air, he fired off a string of rash and intemperate letters to his superior.

Lee, who had not been formally charged with anything, demanded in writing that he be tried by court martial, so that he might demonstrate “to the army, to Congress, to America, and to the World in general” not only his innocence, but the genius of his actions. For this folly Lee would pay a heavy price.

Washington obliged, officially charging the general with: disobedience of orders, for not attacking the enemy on the morning of June 28 despite repeated instructions to do so; misbehavior before the enemy, for making unnecessary, disorderly, and shameful retreat; and for disrespect to the commander-in-chief, by way of his ill-advised correspondence.

Of course, at the time these charges were filed, Washington really had no clear understanding exactly what had happened that morning at Monmouth. All that was really known was that an attack had been ordered. Then, when the vanguard marched out to confront the British, before hardly a shot had been fired, they were discovered in rapid and ragged retreat, led rearward by Lee himself.

It’s clear the first two charges against Lee were technically false. The general had, in fact, been in the act of leading an offensive maneuver that morning against the British, no matter how frivolously conceived and ineptly handled it had been. The retreat had been a function of military necessity, ordered by numerous field commanders in consequence of a sudden British advance, which would have savaged the vanguard had it not withdrawn.

But, in that the charges against Lee had been brought by Washington himself, members of the jury did not require a weathervane to understand from which direction the wind was blowing, and those winds did not suggest good tidings for General Lee, whatever the facts might be. Besides, the third charge “disrespect of the commander-in-chief” was obviously true, and the dagger upon which Lee had foolishly impaled himself.

The trial commenced on July 4 as the army began its encampment at New Brunswick. It dragged on until Aug. 12, after meeting in various locations in New Jersey along the army’s march north to White Plains, N.Y., finally convening in Peekskill, where the final verdict was rendered.

Lee plead not guilty to all charges. He defended himself, at times sensibly and articulately, while at others sarcastically cross-examining witnesses, or lecturing at length on military arts and history. In all, some 39 witnesses were called to testify. Lord Stirling presided over the trial, while four generals and eight colonels formed the jury.

The final verdict was rendered on Aug. 12. Much to Lee’s surprise and subsequent rage, he was found guilty on all three counts, although the term “shameful” was removed from the second count. His penalty, pending the approval of Congress, was to be removed from command for one year. The legislature voted to affirm the verdict on Dec. 5, 1778.

Lee spent years campaigning to clear his name, haranguing friend and foe alike, until even Congress had had enough of him, voting to permanently cashier him from the army on Jan. 10, 1780.

Immediately after Monmouth, many in the Continental army had concluded that Lee had been a British plant (because of his aristocratic heritage and his earlier capture by the British) and that his actions at the battle represented treachery, pure and simple. This line of thought was substantially augmented when, in 1850, historian George Moore discovered and published a document written by Lee while in British captivity (1776 – 1778), a detailed outline of how best to defeat Washington’s Continentals. This, many concluded, appeared to drive a final, traitorous nail into the general’s coffin, providing firm evidence of his treason.

The problem with this analysis, however, is that Lee was engaged in an offensive operation against the British when the Redcoats counterattacked; an attack which threw his inept design into disarray.

For those who saw – and still see – treachery in Lee’s performance at Monmouth, there were many far easier ways (and far less dangerous ways for him personally) to assist the British, or sacrifice the vanguard, if that had been his true objective. No, Lee’s performance at Monmouth was an ill-conceived, vainglorious bit of military fluff, foolishly orchestrated, and which collapsed disastrously almost before it had begun due to a complete lack of military practice and planning.

Lee still has a small band of defenders who argue he was unfairly wronged by Washington, and that his performance at Monmouth, while less than superb, was nevertheless credible. Unfortunately, any rigorous analysis of Lee’s pre-combat preparations, his cursory analysis of the field, his inept reconnaissance and hastily conceived offensive scheme, suggest a man of limited military knowhow.

For those inclined to argue on Lee’s behalf, it’s incumbent on them to explain how such a prodigious military intellect could have ignored, confused, botched, and bungled so many basic military protocols so as to initiate one of the worst debacles in American military history. That Lee did not lead the vanguard into utter disaster at Monmouth was a function of good fortune, with an assist from several Continental officers who responded quickly and judiciously to the approaching peril Lee’s ineptitude had created. Indeed, it is hard to find a shred of competence in any aspect of Lee’s performance at Monmouth, prior to Washington’s arrival.

The facts simply do not support the notion that Lee was a capable combat leader, much less the military genius he had always presented himself to be. Frankly, in the final analysis he appears to have been a man of extraordinarily low character, driven almost entirely by personal vanity.

Today, General Charles Lee’s troubling behaviour might be seen as evidence of narcissistic personality disorder, a severe psychopathology. He was little more than an arrogant, incompetent fool, a poseur who forced himself onto center stage at the wrong time and place, only to be failed and disgraced, not by Washington, but by his own, relentless folly.

Jim Stempel is a speaker and author of nine books and numerous articles on American history, spirituality, and warfare. His newest book regarding the American Revolution – Valley Forge to Monmouth: Six Transformative Months of the American Revolution – will be released in January and is currently available for pre-order on virtually all online sites. This serves as a follow-up to his critically acclaimed book American Hannibal, an examination American General Daniel Morgan at the Battle of Cowpens. For a full preview, pricing, and pre-publication reviews of Valley Forge to Monmouth, visit Amazon here. Or, visit his website for all his books, reviews, articles, biography, and interviews.