Richard Henry Lee's Grave in Cornfield

Tomb, Apparently Forgotten, Found After Struggle

By James Grotius

High on a bluff from which you may see Machodoc Creek near its confluence with the Potomac River, were it not for the dust-covered constalks that rear to the sky and obstruct the view, lies buried in a patch of jimson weed all that remains of the actual author of American Independence.

There is no path to the tomb of Richard Henry Lee; no guides but the family of Negro tenant farmers who will direct you: "Right down yonder wagon-road, through de two gates 'til you gits to de secon' fiel'. Den you can' miss; it's over in dere where de cawn grow rankest."

Richard Henry Lee it was who sired the Revolution when he directed deliberations of the 115 patriots who gathered at Leedstown, on the banks of the Rappahannock, early in the year 1766 and adopted the Leedstown Resolutions, which he drafted. This first declaration of independence antedated one signed at Mecklenburg, N. C., by nine years and came more that 10 years before the National Declaration of Independence.

That grave in the field of waving corn holds the dust of the man who wrote the resolutions adopted by the Continental Congress declaring the colonies to be thenceforth free of the rule of Great Britain.

The significance of his achievements at this point in his life--he still was a young man in his early 40's--warrant him a place of unique honor which never has been granted by posterity.

Few Know of Tiny Graveyard

Any schoolboy or schoolgirl south of Washington can tell you where Stonewall Jackson was mortally wounded; Lincoln's Gettyburg Address is at the tip of thousands of young tongues. Who does not know the story of adventurous Lafayette and his contribution to the Revolution?

There are monuments, fittingly enough to be sure, to General Pulaski and General Von Steuben, to Maury and Jefferson Davis.

Yet it is doubtfull whether more than a few score of studious delvers into American can tell you where Lee is buried and how to get there.

This, you must remember, is the man who was chairman of the committee named to draft the official Declaration of Independence.

Barely three weeks older than his colleague and very close friend, George Washington, Lee is the man who drew up the instructions from the Continental Congress to the general when he accepted the post of commander-in-chief of the Continental Army.

He and his brother, Francis Lightfoot Lee, both were signers of the Declaration of Independence. When Richard Henry died at Chantilly plantation, several miles above Nomini River, his statesmen-compatriots said: "We cannot do without you."

As you turn left into Road 10 just after passing Hague, no marker tells you that the fertile ground which nourishes that stand of corn a mile or more away is hallowed ground. No cross or mound of earth or pile of stones beside the highway informs you that within a brick-walled enclosure some 25 feet square, amidst the corn and the jimson weed, lie the crumbling bones of this forgotten son of Virginia.

You must scramble through the underbrush, if you have been fortunate enough to find the proper cornfield, to the creaking iron gate to discover that the seven-foot wall also guards the graves of his father, Colonel Thomas Lee, his grandfather, Richard Lee, and his grandmother, Lettice (Laeticia) Corbin Lee, great-great-grandparents of Robert E. Lee.

Richard was born in 1647 and educated in England, where the church beckoned invitingly with promises of high ecclesiastical ranking if he would cast his lot with the clergy. He decided, however, that pastures were greener in the Colonies and returned to Virginia. Versed in all phases of "polite learning," this scholarly colonist was entirely conversant in Latin, Hebrew and Greek and jotted down notes in all three languages.

Spot is Called Burnt House Field

This must have stood him in good stead in the latter years of the seventeenth century, for six times between 1676 and 1698 he was a member of the Council of Virginia. Heartily at odds with the objectives of Bacon's Rebellion, he was captured by the firebrand's men in 1676 and spent a lengthy period as a prisoner.

Matholic, in the elbow of land formed where Machodoc Creek flows into the Potomac, burned in 1729, 15 years after Richard's death, and never was rebuilt. It is near the site of this home, on what ever since has been known as "Burnt House Field," that the corn tassels flutter over the historic burial plot.

Son Colonel Thomas Lee, however, became the family sparkplug when his eldest brother chose to marry and live in England, and Thomas it was who built the first Mt. Pleasant mansion near "Burnt House Field" and the more famous Stratford, a few miles up the Potomac. He died in 1750 and another Mt. Pleasant, more distant from Machodoc, now stands on the old Lee estate.

Colonel Lee still was virtually a youth when he was named an agent for Lady Fairfax, "sole proprietess of the Northern Neck" and he was to become the first Virginia-born Governor of the Colony. Hannah Ludwell, daughter of Phillip Ludwell, speaker of the House of Burgesses, was his wife and their six sons (Phillip Ludwell, Thomas Ludwell, Richard Henry, Francis Lightfoot, William and Arthur) were statemen all--patriots who were high in the councils of Virginia's leaders. In no family burial plot under the sun, save perhaps the sarcophagi of royal dynasties, is there likely to be found the dust of men of three generations having greater influence on the life and customs of their times.

Statesmen, sons of statesmen, fathers of statemen--these three Lees helped trace the birth of a nation. Through its toddling days they counceled it and nourished it with their wisdom. They squired the lusty child whose parent, Great Britain, was neglecting to lavish the help and understanding an offspring deserves, until she reached the age of independence and stepped out for herself.

Then they helped give her a government and a Constitution and for another century used their amazing ability to carry the colors of Lee leadership to the forefront of the American scene.

Perhaps the serenity of an unknown cornfield offers the peace and rest that are the recompense of the great. On the other hand, perhaps these builders of civilization would wield a more inspirational force today if their tombs were granted the accessibility, at least, of the fabled mouse-trap-maker who had a path beat to his door.

Visit Inspires Teacher to Poetry

Miss Mary Olive O'Connell, who teaches drama in Washington and spends her vacations with her Warrenton family at their summer home at Lewisetta on the Potomac, was with the party of jungle-crashers who fought their way to the Lee tombs. Once before she had spent an entire day trying to find the hallowed ground. So moved was she by the apparent inconsistencies of the situation, that she took solace in verse, heeding the Muse in a vein delicately nostalgic. This thoughtful little piece might well warrant the consideration of every romance-minded Virginian:

Deep-hidden from the casually curious
By protecting rows of stately corn
Is the forgotten grave of an American hero.
High brick walls withhold the encroaching weeds
That seek to smother the sacred tomb
Wherein lies Stateman Richard Henry Lee
Beneath the soil he loved and fought for
Nearest the heart of his fathers' land.
Silent now the mouth that shouted--Freedom!
Stilled the hand that signed a mighty document
Sleeps 'til eternity a father of our Independence.
Has then the star so lowly fallen
From heights of glory to a common cornfield?
Has memory grown so dim or life so furious
That toward this quiet spot no path is worn?
But stay--is not dignity within these walls,
And peace, far from the speed-mad highway
Is it, perhaps, more fit that here,
Close to the music of the changing seasons,
Deep-hidden from the casually curious
By protecting rows of stately corn
Lies the forgotten grave of an American hero?