Robert caught his first glimpse of the United States Military Academy at West Point from the deck of a steamboat chugging up the Hudson River. Gentle mountains framed the water on both sides,
offering glorious views. West Point loomed above as the steamboat docked at the base of a cliff. As they stepped off the boat, an old man with a hook in place of his hand greeted Robert and other young men offered an appointment to the academy.
Robert stood out among the arrivals—handsome, rosy-cheeked, with wavy dark hair and dark eyes. His family included signers of the Declaration of Independence. His father had fought in the American Revolution. Lees had served the country since before the nation’s birth. But a childhood marked with scandal and uncertainty had also formed the Robert Lee who arrived at West Point.
The young men trudged uphill to the campus built on the site of an old Revolutionary War fort. The academy itself—founded in 1802— proved less impressive than the Hudson River shimmering like a ribbon below. A wide and windy forty-acre parade ground marred by stray boulders promised hours of marching and practicing maneuvers. A mess hall and two large, rather bleak dormitories, or barracks, flanked the parade ground. A two-story building held everything else—a chapel, the library, and classrooms.
Sylvanus Thayer, the superintendent of West Point, greeted each of the young men. Thayer had transformed the academy into one of the toughest places in the country to get an education. Alongside the other young men, Robert bent his head to the entrance exam—reading, writing, and simple math—meant to quickly weed out boys not up to speed.
On June 27, as a fading sun softened the mountains, Lee lined up on the parade ground with one hundred and four others. Those who’d passed the test heard their names called out in alphabetical order. “Lee!” Robert must have let go a breath of relief. He took four steps forward, as they’d been told to do. At the end, about two dozen young men remained standing behind.
The next morning Robert and the other new cadets set up summer camp. Their first duty made plain the lowly status of the “newies”— digging latrines. For two months that summer the cadets crammed into tents, broiling under the sun or drenched by pelting storms.
Each morning Robert woke to the trumpet’s prod of reveille. Newies spilled from their tents for mornings of marching and drilling. Shallow trenches dug twenty-eight inches apart forced the long lines of sweating young men to take precisely measured and matched steps. Afternoon classes followed morning drills and bled into evening hours of study before lights-out at nine o’clock.
Cadets learned to stand at attention. Their new gray uniforms fitted so tightly about the chest that the young men had to stand straight. Shoulders thrust back. Chins leveled perpendicular to the chest. Stomachs pulled in. Arms stretched straight at their sides. No bend in the elbows. Fingers pressed against the seams of their trousers. Feet planted at an angle of forty-five degrees. Tall and ramrod straight, Robert would never lose the soldierly posture drilled into him at West Point.
Robert survived the summer camp, his first test as a soldier. On September 3, 1825, he signed papers officially giving the next five years of his life to the army in exchange for his West Point education. Along with his classmates Robert spoke his oath: “I do solemnly swear that I will bear true allegiance to the United States of America, and that I will serve them honestly and faithfully against all their enemies . . . ; and observe and obey the orders of the President of the United States . . .” Rigorous training lay ahead to mold these young men into army officers who could lead soldiers, build roads and forts, and protect America’s shores and far frontiers.
In his spotless uniform young Robert Lee represented a family known for both glory and misdeeds, for service and scandal. He understood what he had to do. The long shadows of childhood stood with Cadet Lee as he began his West Point years.
Copyright © 2019 by Brandon Marie Miller. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
