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GIFT OF 
 MICHAEL REESE 
 
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 H 
 
 
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American 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 JOHN T. MORSE, JR. 
 
Stmerican ,tatemen 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY CABOT LODGE 
 
 \ i 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLTN AND COMPANY 
 
 (Cfc fttoertfibe $res, Cambridge 
 
 1890 
 
Copyright, 1889, 
 BY HENRY CABOT LODGE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by II. 0. Iloughton & Company. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 INTRODUCTION 1 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE OLD DOMINION 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE WASHINGTONS 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 ON THE FRONTIEB 52 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 LOVE AND MABRIAGE 92 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 TAKING COMMAND . 125 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 SAVING THE REVOLUTION . . 154 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 "MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY" .... 180 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE ALLIES 234 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 ARNOLD S TREASON, AND THE WAR IN THE SOUTH . 264 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 YORKTOWN 293 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 PEACB . . 318 
 
INTKODUCTION. 
 
 FEBRUARY 9th in the year 1800 was a gala day 
 in Paris. Napoleon had decreed a triumphal pro 
 cession, and on that day a splendid military cere 
 mony was performed in the Champ de Mars, and 
 the trophies of the Egyptian expedition were ex- 
 ultingly displayed. There were, however, two fea 
 tures in all this pomp and show which seemed 
 strangely out of keeping with the glittering pa 
 geant and the sounds of victorious rejoicing. The 
 standards and flags of the army were hung with 
 crape, and after the grand parade the dignitaries 
 of the land proceeded solemnly to the Temple of 
 Mars, and heard the eloquent M. de Fontanes 
 deliver an " Eloge Funebre." 1 
 
 1 A report recently discovered shows that more even was in 
 tended than was actually done. 
 
 The following is a translation of the paper, the original of 
 which is Nos. 172 and 173 of volume 51 of the manuscript series 
 known as Etats-Unis, 1799, 1800 (years 7 and 8 of the French 
 republic) : 
 
 "Report of Talleyrand, Minister of Foreign Affairs, on the occasion 
 
 of the death of George Washington. 
 
 " A nation which some day will be a great nation, and which to 
 day is the wisest and happiest on the face of the earth, weeps at 
 
2 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 About the same time, if tradition may be trusted, 
 the flags upon the conquering Channel fleet of Eng 
 land were lowered to half-mast in token of grief 
 
 the bier of a man whose courage and genius contributed the most to 
 free it from bondage, and elevate it to the rank of an independent 
 and sovereign power. The regrets caused by the death of this great 
 man, the memories aroused by these regrets, and a proper venera 
 tion for all that is held dear and sacred by mankind, impel us to 
 give expression to our sentiments by taking part in an event 
 which deprives the world of one of its brightest ornaments, and 
 removes to the realm of history one of the noblest lives that ever 
 honored the human race. 
 
 The name of Washington is inseparably linked with a memo 
 rable epoch. He adorned this epoch by his talents and the nobil 
 ity of his character, and with virtues that even envy dared not as 
 sail. History offers few examples of such renown. Great from 
 the outset of his career, patriotic before his country had become a 
 nation, brilliant and universal despite the passions and political 
 resentments that would gladly have checked his career, his fame 
 is to-day imperishable, fortune having consecrated his claim 
 to greatness, while the prosperity of a people destined for grand 
 achievements is the best evidence of a fame ever to increase. 
 
 "His own country now honors his memory with funeral cere 
 monies, having lost a citizen whose public actions and unassuming 
 grandeur in private life were a living example of courage, wisdom, 
 and unselfishness ; and France, which from the dawn of the Amer 
 ican Revolution hailed with hope a nation, hitherto unknown, that 
 was discarding the vices of Europe, which foresaw all the glory 
 that this nation would bestow on humanity, and the enlightenment 
 of governments that would ensue from the novel character of the 
 social institutions and the new type of heroism of which Washing 
 ton and America were models for the world at large, France, I 
 repeat, should depart from established usages and do honor to one 
 whose fame is beyond comparison with that of others. 
 
 " The man who, amid the decadence of modern ages, first dared 
 believe that he could inspire degenerate nations with courage to 
 rise to the level of republican virtues, lived for all nations and for 
 all centuries ; and this nation, which first saw in the life and success 
 
INTRODUCTION. 3 
 
 for the same event which had caused the armies of 
 France to \vear the customary badges of mourning. 
 
 If some " traveller from an antique land" had 
 observed these manifestations, he would have won 
 dered much whose memory it was that had called 
 them forth from these two great nations, then 
 struggling fiercely with each other for supremacy 
 on land and sea. His wonder would riot have 
 abated had he been told that the man for whom 
 they mourned had wrested an empire from one, and 
 at the time of his death was arming his countrymen 
 against the other. 
 
 These signal honors were paid by England and 
 France to a simple Virginian gentleman who had 
 never left his own country, and who when he died 
 held no other office than the titular command of 
 a provisional army. Yet although these marks of 
 respect from foreign nations were notable and 
 striking, they were slight and formal in comparison 
 with the silence and grief which fell upon the 
 people of the United States when they heard that 
 Washington was dead. He had died in the fullness 
 of time, quietly, quickly, and in his own house, and 
 
 of that illustrious man a foreboding of his destiny, and therein 
 recognized a future to be realized and duties to be performed, has 
 every right to class him as a fellow-citizen. I therefore submit to 
 the First Consul the following decree : 
 
 " Bonaparte, First Consul of the republic, decrees as follows : 
 " Article 1. A statue is to be erected to General Washington. 
 " Article 2. This statue is to be placed in one of the squares of 
 Paris, to be chosen by the minister of the interior, and it shall be 
 his duty to execute the present decree." 
 
4 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 yet his death called out a display of grief which 
 has rarely been equalled in history. The trappings 
 and suits of woe were there of course, but what 
 made this mourning memorable was that the land 
 seemed hushed with sadness, and that the sorrow 
 dwelt among the people and was neither forced nor 
 fleeting. Men carried it home with them to their 
 firesides and to their churches, to their offices and 
 their workshops. Every preacher took the life 
 which had closed as the noblest of texts, and every 
 orator made it the theme of his loftiest eloquence. 
 For more than a year the newspapers teemed with 
 eulogy and elegy, and both prose and poetry were 
 severely taxed to pay tribute to the memory of the 
 great one who had gone. The prose was often 
 stilted and the verse was generally bad, but yet 
 through it all, from the polished sentences of the 
 funeral oration to the humble effusions of the ob 
 scurest poet s corner, there ran a strong and gen 
 uine feeling, which the highest art could not refine 
 nor the clumsiest fine-writing degrade. 
 
 From that time to this, the stream of praise has 
 
 . flowed on, ever deepening and strengthening, both 
 
 \ at home and abroad. Washington alone in history 
 
 j seems to have risen so high in the estimation of men 
 
 jthat criticism has shrunk away abashed, and has 
 
 tonly been heard whispering in corners or growling 
 
 noarsely in the now famous house in Cheyne Row. 
 
 There is a world of meaning in all this, could 
 
 we but rightly interpret it. It cannot be brushed 
 
 aside as mere popular superstition, formed of fan- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 5 
 
 cies and prejudices, to which intelligent opposition 
 would be useless. Nothing is in fact more false 
 than the way in which popular opinions are often 
 belittled and made light of. The opinion of the 
 world, however reached, becomes in the course of 
 years or centuries the nearest approach we can 
 make to final judgment on things human. Don 
 Quixote may be dumb to one man, and the sonnets 
 of Shakespeare may leave another cold and weary. 
 But the fault is in the reader. There is no doubt of 
 the greatness of Cervantes or Shakespeare, for they 
 have stood the test of time, and the voices of gener 
 ations of men, from which there is no appeal, have 
 declared them to be great. The lyrics that all the 
 world loves and repeats, the poetry which is often 
 called hackneyed, is on the whole the best poetry. 
 The pictures and statues that have drawn crowds of 
 admiring gazers for centuries are the best. The 
 things that are "caviare to the general" often un 
 doubtedly have much merit, but they lack quite as 
 often the warm, generous, and immortal vitality 
 which appeals alike to rich and poor, to the igno 
 rant and to the learned. 
 
 So it is with men. When years after his death 
 the world agrees to call a man great, the verdict 
 must be accepted. The historian may whiten or 
 blacken, the critic may weigh and dissect, the form 
 of the judgment may be altered, but the central fact 
 remains, and with the man, whom the world in its 
 vague way has pronounced great, history must reckon 
 one way or the other, whether for good or ill. 
 
6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 When we come to such a man as Washington, 
 the case is still stronger. Men seem to have agreed 
 that here was greatness which no one could ques 
 tion, and character which no one could fail to re 
 spect. Around other leaders of men, even around 
 the greatest of them, sharp controversies have 
 arisen, and they have their partisans dead as they 
 had them living. Washington had enemies who as 
 sailed him, and friends whom he loved, but in death 
 as in life he seems to stand alone, above conflict and 
 superior to malice. In his own country there is no 
 dispute as to his greatness or his worth. English 
 men, the most unsparing censors of everything 
 American, have paid homage to Washington, from 
 the days of Fox and Byron to those of Tenny 
 son and Gladstone. In France his name has al 
 ways been revered, and in distant lands those who 
 have scarcely heard of the existence of the United 
 States know the country of Washington. To the 
 mighty cairn which the nation and the states have 
 raised to his memory, stones have come from 
 Greece, sending a fragment of the Parthenon ; from 
 Brazil and Switzerland, Turkey and Japan, Siam 
 and India beyond the Ganges. On that sent by 
 China we read : " In devising plans, Washing 
 ton was more decided than Ching Shing or Woo 
 Kwang ; in winning a country he was braver than 
 Tsau Tsau or Ling Pi. Wielding his four-footed 
 falchion, he extended the frontiers and refused to 
 accept the Koyal Dignity. The sentiments of the 
 Three Dynasties have reappeared in him. Can any 
 
INTRODUCTION. 1 
 
 man of ancient or modern times fail to pronounce 
 Washington peerless ? " These comparisons so 
 strange to our ears tell of a fame which has reached 
 farther than we can readily conceive. 
 
 Washington stands as a type, and has stamped 
 himself deep upon the imagination of mankind. 
 Whether the image be true or. false is of no conse 
 quence : the fact endures. He rises up from the 
 dust of history as a Greek statue comes pure and 
 serene from the earth in which it has lain for cen 
 turies. We know his deeds ; but what was it in the 
 man which has given him such a place in the affec 
 tion, the respect, and the imagination of his fellow- 
 men throughout the world ? 
 
 Perhaps this question has been fully answered 
 already. Possibly every one who has thought upon 
 the subject has solved the problem, so that even to 
 state it is superfluous. Yet a brilliant writer, the 
 latest historian of the American people, has said : 
 " General Washington is known to us, and Presi 
 dent Washington. But George Washington is an 
 unknown man." These are pregnant words, and 
 that they should be true seems to make any attempt 
 to fill the great gap an act of sheer and hopeless 
 audacity. Yet there can be certainly no reason 
 for adding another to the almost countless lives 
 of Washington unless it be done with the object 
 in view which Mr. McMaster indicates. Any such 
 attempt may fail in execution, but if the purpose 
 be right it has at least an excuse for its existence. 
 
 To try to add to the existing knowledge of the 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 facts in Washington s career would have but little 
 result beyond the multiplication of printed pages. 
 The antiquarian, the historian, and the critic have 
 exhausted every source, and the most minute de 
 tails have been and still are the subject of endless 
 writing and constant discussion. Every house he 
 ever lived in has been drawn and painted ; every 
 portrait, and statue, and medal has been catalogued 
 and engraved. His private affairs, his servants, 
 his horses, his arms, even his clothes, have all 
 passed beneath the merciless microscope of history. 
 His biography has been written and rewritten. 
 His letters have been drawn out from every lurk 
 ing place, and have been given to the world in 
 masses and in detachments. His battles have been 
 fought over and over again, and his state papers 
 have undergone an almost verbal examination. Yet, 
 despite his vast fame and all the labors of the an 
 tiquarian and biographer, Washington is still not 
 understood, as a man he is unfamiliar to the pos 
 terity that reverences his memory. He has been mis 
 represented more or less covertly by hostile critics 
 and by candid friends, and has been disguised and 
 hidden away by the mistaken eulogy and erroneous 
 theories of devout admirers. All that any one now 
 can do, therefore, is to endeavor from this mass of 
 material to depict the very man himself in the vari 
 ous conjunctures of his life, and strive to see what 
 he really was and what he meant then, and w T hat 
 he is and what he means to us and to the world 
 to-day. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 In the progress of time Washington has become 
 in the popular imagination largely mythical; for 
 mythical ideas grow up in this nineteenth century, 
 notwithstanding its boasted intelligence, much as 
 they did in the infancy of the race. The old senti 
 ment of humanity, more ancient and more lasting 
 than any records or monuments, which led men in 
 the dawn of history to worship their ancestors and 
 the founders of states, still endures. As the centuries 
 have gone by, this sentiment has lost its religious 
 flavor, and has become more and more restricted 
 in its application, but it has never been wholly ex 
 tinguished. Let some man arise great above the 
 ordinary bounds of greatness, and the feeling which 
 caused our progenitors to bow down at the shrines 
 of their forefathers and chiefs leads us to invest 
 our modern hero with a mythical character, and 
 picture him in our imagination as a being to whom, 
 a few thousand years ago, altars would have been 
 builded and libations poured out. 
 
 Thus we have to-day in our minds a Washington 
 grand, solemn, and impressive. In this guise he 
 appears as a man of lofty intellect, vast moral force, 
 supremely successful and fortunate, and wholly 
 apart from and above all his fellow-men. This 
 lonely figure rises up to our imagination with all 
 the imperial splendor of the Livian Augustus, and 
 with about as much warmth and life as that un 
 rivalled statue. In this vague but quite serious idea 
 there is a great deal of truth, but not the whole truth. 
 It is the myth of genuine love and veneration 
 
10 INTRO DUG TION. 
 
 springing from the inborn gratitude of man to the 
 founders and chiefs of his race, but it is not by any 
 means the only one of its family. There is another, 
 equally diffused, of wholly different parentage. In 
 its inception this second myth is due to the itin 
 erant parson, bookmaker, and bookseller, Mason 
 Weems. He wrote a brief biography of Washing 
 ton, of trifling historical value, yet with sufficient 
 literary skill to make it widely popular. It neither 
 appealed to nor was read by the cultivated and in 
 structed few, but it reached the homes of the masses 
 of the people. It found its way to the bench of the 
 mechanic, to the house of the farmer, to the log 
 cabins of the frontiersman and pioneer. It was 
 carried across the continent on the first waves of 
 advancing settlement. Its anecdotes and its sim 
 plicity of thought commended it to children both 
 at home and at school, and, passing through edition 
 after edition, its statements were widely spread, 
 and it colored insensibly the ideas of hundreds of 
 persons who never had heard even the name of the 
 author. To Weems we owe the anecdote of the 
 cherry-tree, and other tales of a similar nature. 
 He wrote with Dr. Beattie s life of his son before 
 him as a model, and the result is that Washington 
 comes out in his pages a faultless prig. Whether 
 Weems intended it or not, that is the result which 
 he produced, and that is the Washington who was 
 developed from the wide sale of his book. When 
 this idea took definite and permanent shape it 
 caused a reaction. There was a revolt against it, 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 for the hero thus engendered had qualities which 
 the national sense of humor could not endure in 
 silence. The consequence is, that the Washington 
 of Weems has afforded an endless theme for joke 
 and burlesque. Every professional American hu 
 morist almost has tried his hand at it ; and with 
 each recurring 22d of February the hard-worked 
 jesters of the daily newspapers take it up and 
 make a little fun out of it, sufficient for the day 
 that is passing over them. The opportunity is 
 tempting, because of the ease with which fun can 
 be made when that fundamental source of humor, a 
 violent contrast, can be employed. But there is no 
 irreverence in it all, for the jest is not aimed at 
 the real Washington, but at the Washington por 
 trayed in the Weems biography. The worthy " rec 
 tor of Mount Vernon," as he called himself, meant 
 no harm, and there is a good deal of truth, no doubt, 
 in his book. But the blameless and priggish boy, 
 and the equally faultless and uninteresting man, 
 whom he originated, have become in the process of 
 development a myth. So in its further develop 
 ment is the Washington of the humorist a myth. 
 Both alike are utterly and crudely false. They re 
 semble their great original as much as Greenough s 
 classically nude statue, exposed to the incongruities 
 of the North American climate, resembles in dress 
 and appearance the general of our armies and the 
 first President of the United States. 
 
 Such are the myth-makers. They are widely dif 
 ferent from the critics who have assailed Washing- 
 
12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ton in a sidelong way, and who can be better dealt 
 with in a later chapter. These last bring charges 
 which can be met : the myth-maker presents a vague 
 conception, extremely difficult to handle because it 
 is so elusive. 
 
 One of our well-known historical scholars and 
 most learned antiquarians, not long ago, in an essay 
 vindicating the " traditional Washington," treated 
 with scorn the idea of a " new Washington " being 
 discovered. In one sense this is quite right, in 
 another totally wrong. There can be no new Wash- 
 Jngton discovered, because there never was but one. 
 But the real man has been so overlaid with myths 
 and traditions, and so distorted by misleading criti 
 cisms, that, as has already been suggested, he has 
 been wellnigh lost. We have the religious or 
 statuesque myth, we have the Weems myth, and 
 the ludicrous myth of the writer of paragraphs. 
 We have the stately hero of Sparks, and Everett, 
 and Marshall, and Irving, with all his great deeds 
 as general and president duly recorded and set 
 down in polished and eloquent sentences ; and we 
 know him to be very great and wise and pure, and, 
 be it said with bated breath, very dry and cold. 
 We are also familiar with the commonplace man 
 who so wonderfully illustrated the power of char 
 acter as set forth by various persons, either from 
 love of novelty or because the great chief seemed 
 to get in the way of their own heroes. 
 
 If this is all, then the career of Washington and 
 his towering fame present a problem of which the 
 
X s \\ 
 
 [JPNIVERSITYJ] 
 
 world has never seen the like, But this cannot be 
 all: there must.be more behind. Every one knows 
 the famous Stuart portrait of Washington. The 
 last effort of the artist s cunning is there employed 
 to paint his great subject for posterity. How serene 
 and beautiful it is ! It is a noble picture for future 
 ages to look upon. Still it is not all. There is in 
 the dining-room of Memorial Hall at Cambridge 
 another portrait, painted by Savage. It is cold and 
 dry, hard enough to serve for the signboard of an 
 inn, and able, one would think, to withstand all 
 weathers. Yet this picture has something which 
 Stuart left out. There is a rugged strength in the 
 face which gives us pause, there is a massiveness in 
 the jaw, telling of an iron grip and a relentless 
 will, which has infinite meaning. 
 
 " Here s John the Smith s rough-hammered head. Great eye, 
 Gross jaw, and griped lips do what granite can 
 To give you the crown-grasper. What a man ! " 
 
 In death as in life, there is something about 
 Washington, call it greatness, dignity, majesty, 
 what you will, which seems to hold men aloof and 
 keep them from knowing him. In truth he was 
 a most difficult man to know. Carlyle, crying out 
 through hundreds of pages and myriads of words 
 for the " silent man," passed by with a sneer the 
 most absolutely silent great man that history can 
 show. Washington s letters and speeches and mes 
 sages fill many volumes, but they are all on busi 
 ness. They are profoundly silent as to the writer 
 himself. From this Carlyle concluded apparently 
 
14 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 that there was nothing to tell, a very shallow con 
 clusion if it was the one he really reached. Such 
 an idea was certainly far, very far, from the truth. 
 Behind the popular myths, behind the statuesque 
 figure of the orator and the preacher, behind the 
 general and the president of the historian, there 
 was a strong, vigorous man, in whose veins ran 
 warm, red blood, in whose heart were stormy pas 
 sions and deep sympathy for humanity, in whose 
 brain were far-reaching thoughts, and who was in 
 formed throughout his being with a resistless will. 
 The veil of his silence is not often lifted, and never 
 intentionally, but now and then there is a glimpse 
 behind it ; and in stray sentences and in little inci 
 dents strenuously gathered together ; above all, in 
 the right interpretation of the words, and the deeds, 
 and the true history known to all men, we can 
 surely find George Washington " the noblest figure 
 that ever stood in the forefront of a nation s life." 
 
GEOEGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 THE OLD DOMINION. 
 
 To know George Washington, we must first of 
 all know the societ}* in which he was born and 
 brought up. As certain lilies draw their colors 
 from the subtle qualities of the soil hidden beneath 
 the water upon which they float, so are men pro 
 foundly affected by the obscure and insensible in 
 fluences which surround their childhood and youth. 
 The art of the chemist may discover perhaps the 
 secret agent which tints the white flower with blue 
 or pink, but very often the elements, which analysis 
 detects, nature alone can combine. The analogy 
 is not strained or fanciful when we apply it to a 
 past society. We can separate, and classify, and 
 label the various elements, but to combine them in 
 such a way as to form a vivid picture is a work of 
 surpassing difficulty. This is especially true of 
 such a land as Virginia in the middle of the last 
 century. Virginian society, as it existed at that 
 period, is utterly extinct. John Randolph said it 
 had departed before the year 1800. Since then 
 
16 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 another century, with all its manifold changes, has 
 welliiigh come and gone. Most important of all, 
 the last surviving institution of colonial Virginia 
 has been swept away in the crash of civil war, 
 which has opened a gulf between past and present 
 wider and deeper than any that time alone could 
 make. 
 
 Life and society as they existed in the Virginia 
 of the eighteenth century seem, moreover, to have 
 been sharply broken and ended. We cannot trace 
 our steps backward, as is possible in most cases, over 
 the road by which the world has travelled since 
 those days. We are compelled to take a long leap 
 mentally in order to land ourselves securely in the 
 Virginia which honored the second George, and 
 looked up to Walpole and Pitt as the arbiters of 
 its fate. 
 
 We live in a period of great cities, rapid com 
 munication, vast and varied business interests, 
 enormous diversity of occupation, great industries, 
 diffused intelligence, farming by steam, and with 
 everything and everybody pervaded by an unrest 
 ing, high-strung activity. We transport ourselves 
 to the Virginia of Washington s boyhood, and find 
 a people without cities or towns, with no means of 
 communication except what was afforded by rivers 
 and wood roads ; having no trades, no industries, 
 no means of spreading knowledge, only one occu 
 pation, clumsily performed ; and living a quiet, 
 monotonous existence, which can now hardly be 
 realized. It is " a far cry to Loch- Awe," as the 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 17 
 
 Scotch proverb has it; and this old Virginian soci 
 ety, although we should find it sorry work living in 
 it, is both pleasant and picturesque in the pages of 
 history. 
 
 The population of Virginia, advancing toward 
 half a million, and divided pretty equally between 
 the free whites and the enslaved blacks, was densest, 
 to use a most inappropriate word, at the water s 
 edge and near the mouths of the rivers. Thence 
 it crept backwards, following always the lines of 
 the watercourses, and growing ever thinner and 
 more scattered until it reached the Blue Ridge. 
 Behind the mountains was the wilderness, haunted, 
 as old John Lederer said a century earlier, by mon 
 sters, and inhabited, as the eighteenth-century Vir 
 ginians very well knew, by savages and wild beasts, 
 much more real and dangerous than the hobgob 
 lins of their ancestors. 
 
 The population, in proportion to its numbers, was 
 very widely distributed. It was not collected in 
 groups, after the fashion with which we are now 
 familiar, for then there were no cities or towns in 
 Virginia. The only place which could pretend to 
 either name was Norfolk, the solitary seaport, 
 which, with its six or seven thousand inhabitants, 
 formed the most glaring exception that any rule 
 solicitous of proof could possibly desire. Wil- 
 liamsburg, the capital, was a straggling village, 
 somewhat overweighted with the public buildings 
 and those of the college. It would light up into 
 life and vivacity during the season of politics and 
 
18 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 society, and then relapse again into the country 
 stillness. Outside of Williamsbnrg and Norfolk 
 there were various points which passed in the cata 
 logue and on the map for towns, but which in real 
 ity were merely the shadows of a name. The most 
 populous consisted of a few houses inhabited 
 by storekeepers and traders, some tobacco ware 
 houses, and a tavern, clustered about the church or 
 court-house. Many others had only the church, or, 
 if a county seat, the church and court-house, keep 
 ing solitary state in the woods. There once a week 
 the sound of prayer and gossip, or at longer inter 
 vals the voices of lawyers and politicians, and the 
 shouts of the wrestlers on the green, broke through 
 the stillness which with the going down of the sun 
 resumed its sway in the forests. 
 
 There was little chance here for that friction 
 of mind with mind, or for that quick interchange 
 of thought and sentiment and knowledge which 
 are familiar to the dwellers in cities, and which 
 ihave driven forward more rapidly than all else 
 what we call civilization. Rare meetings for spe 
 cial objects with persons as solitary in their lives 
 and as ill-informed as himself, constituted to the 
 average Virginian the world of society, and there 
 was nothing from outside to supply the deficiencies 
 at home. Once a fortnight a mail crawled down 
 from the North, and once a month another crept on 
 to the South. (George Washington was four years 
 old when the first newspaper was published in the 
 colony, and he was twenty when the first actors 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 19 
 
 appeared at Williamsburg. What was not brought 
 was not sought} The Virginians did not go down 
 to the sea in ships. They were not a seafaring- 
 race, and as they had neither trade nor commerce 
 they were totally destitute of the inquiring, enter 
 prising spirit, and of the knowledge brought by 
 those pursuits which involve travel and adventure. 
 The English tobacco-ships worked their way up the 
 rivers, taking the great staple, and leaving their 
 varied goods, and their tardy news from Europe, 
 wherever they stopped. This was the sum of the 
 information and intercourse which Virginia got 
 from across the sea, for travellers were practically 
 unknown. Few came on business, fewer still from 
 curiosity. . Stray peddlers from the North, or trap 
 pers from beyond the mountains with their packs 
 of furs, chiefly constituted what would now be 
 called the travelling public. There were in truth 
 no means of travelling except on foot, on horse 
 back, or by boat on the rivers, which formed the 
 best and most expeditious highways. Stage-coaches, 
 or other public conveyances, were unknown. Over 
 some of the roads the rich man, with his six horses 
 and black outriders, might make his way in a lum 
 bering carriage, but most of the roads were little 
 better than woodland paths ; and the rivers, inno 
 cent of bridges, offered in the uncertain fords 
 abundance of inconvenience, not unmixed with 
 peril. The taverns were execrable, and only the 
 ever-ready hospitality of the people made it pos 
 sible to get from place to place. The result was 
 
20 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 that the Virginians stayed at home, and sought 
 and welcomed the rare stranger at their gates as if 
 they were well aware that they were entertaining 
 angels. 
 
 "It is not difficult to sift this home-keeping peo 
 ple, and find out that portion which was Virginia, 
 for the mass was but an appendage of the small 
 fraction which ruled, led, and did the thinking 
 for the whole community. Half the people were 
 slaves, and in that single wretched word their his 
 tory is told. They were, on the whole, well and 
 kindly treated, but they have no meaning in history 
 except as an institution, and as an influence in the 
 lives, feelings, and character of the men who made 
 the state. 
 
 Above the slaves, little better than they, but sep 
 arated from them by the wide gulf of race and 
 color, were the indented white servants, some con 
 victs, some redemptioners. They, too, have their 
 story told when we have catalogued them. We 
 cross another gulf and come to the farmers, to the 
 men who grew wheat as well as tobacco on their 
 own land, sometimes working alone, sometimes the 
 owners of a few slaves. Some of these men were 
 of the class well known since as the " poor whites " 
 of the South, the weaker brothers who could not 
 resist the poison of slavery, but sank under it into 
 ignorance and poverty. They were contented be 
 cause their skins were white, and because they were 
 thereby part of an aristocracy to whom labor was 
 a badge of serfdom. The larger portion of this 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 21 
 
 middle class, however, were thrifty and industrious 
 enough. Including as they did in their ranks the 
 hunters and pioneers, the traders and merchants, 
 all the freemen in fact who toiled and worked, they 
 formed the mass of the white population, and fur 
 nished the bone and sinew and some of the intel 
 lectual power of Virginia. The only professional 
 men were the clergy, for the lawyers were few, and 
 growing to importance only as the Revolution be 
 gan ; while the physicians were still fewer, and as 
 a class of no importance at all. The clergy were 
 a picturesque element in the social landscape, but 
 they were as a body very poor representatives of 
 learning, religion, and morality. They ranged from 
 hedge parsons and Fleet chaplains, who had slunk 
 away from England to find a desirable obscurity in 
 the new world, to divines of real learning and gen 
 uine piety, who were the supporters of the college, 
 and who would have been a credit to any society. 
 These last, however, were lamentably few in num 
 ber. The mass of the clergy were men who worked 
 their own lands, sold tobacco, were the boon com 
 panions of the planters, hunted, shot, drank hard, 
 and lived well, performing their sacred duties in a 
 perfunctory and not always in a decent manner. 
 
 The clergy, however, formed the stepping-stone 
 socially between the farmers, traders, and small 
 planters, and the highest and most important class 
 in Virginian society. The great planters were the 
 men who owned, ruled, and guided Virginia. Their 
 vast estates were scattered along the rivers from 
 
22 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the seacoast to the mountains. Each plantation 
 was in itself a small village, with the owner s 
 house in the centre, surrounded by outbuilding s and 
 negro cabins, and the pastures, meadows, and fields 
 of tobacco stretching away on all sides. The rare 
 traveller, pursuing his devious way on horseback or 
 in a boat, would catch sight of these noble estates 
 opening up from the road or the river, and then the 
 forest would close in around him for several miles, 
 until through the thinning trees he would see again 
 the white cabins and the cleared fields of the next 
 plantation. 
 
 In such places dwelt the Virginian planters, sur 
 rounded by their families and slaves, and in a soli 
 tude broken only by the infrequent and eagerly 
 welcomed stranger, by their duties as vestrymen 
 and magistrates, or by the annual pilgrimage to 
 Williamsburg in search of society, or to sit in the 
 House of Burgesses. They were occupied by the 
 care of their plantations, which involved a good deal 
 of riding in the open air, but which was at best an 
 easy and indolent pursuit made light by slave labor 
 and trained overseers. As a result the planters had 
 an abundance of spare time, which they devoted to 
 cock-fighting, horse-racing, fishing, shooting, and 
 fox-hunting, all, save the first, wholesome and 
 manly sports, but which did not demand any undue 
 mental strain. There is, indeed, no indication 
 that the Virginians had any great love for intellect 
 ual exertion. When the amiable attorney-general 
 of Charles II. said to the Virginian commission- 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 28 
 
 ers, pleading the cause of learning and religion, 
 " Damn your souls ! grow tobacco ! " he uttered a 
 precept which the mass of the planters seem to 
 have laid to heart. For fifty years there were no \ 
 schools, and down to the Ke volution even the apol- / 
 ogies bearing that honored name were few, and the 
 college was small and struggling. In some of the 
 great families, the eldest sons would be sent to Eng 
 land and to the great universities : they would make 
 the grand tour, play a part in the fashionable soci 
 ety of London, and come back to their plantations 
 fine gentlemen and scholars. Such was Colonel 
 Byrd, in the early part of the eighteenth century, 
 a friend of the Earl of Orrery, and the author of 
 certain amusing memoirs. Such at a later day was 
 Arthur Lee, doctor and diplomat, student and poli 
 tician. But most of these young gentlemen thus 
 sent abroad to improve their minds and manners 
 led a life not materially different from that of our 
 charming friend, Harry Warrington, after his arri 
 val in England. 
 
 The sons who stayed at home sometimes gathered 
 a little learning from the clergyman of the parish, 
 or received a fair education at the College of Wil 
 liam and Mary, but very many did not have even 
 so much as this. There was not in truth much use 
 for learning in managing a plantation or raising 
 horses, and men get along surprisingly well without 
 what they do not need, especially if the acquisition 
 demands labor. The Virginian planter thought 
 little and read less, and there were no learned pro- 
 
24 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 fessions to hold out golden prizes and stimulate 
 the love of knowledge. The women fared even 
 worse, for they could not go to Europe or to Wil 
 liam and Mary s, so that after exhausting the teach 
 ing capacity of the parson they settled down to a 
 round of household duties and to the cares of a 
 multitude of slaves, working much harder and 
 more steadily than their lords and masters ever 
 thought of doing. 
 
 The only general form of intellectual exertion 
 was that of governing. The planters managed local 
 affairs through the vestries, and ruled Virginia in 
 the House of Burgesses. To this work they paid 
 strict attention, and, after the fashion of their race, 
 did it very well and very efficiently. They were an 
 extremely competent body whenever they made up 
 their minds to do anything ; but they liked the life 
 and habits of Squire Western, and saw no reason 
 for adopting any others until it was necessary. 
 
 There were, of course, vast differences in the 
 condition of the planters. Some counted their 
 acres by thousands and their slaves by hundreds, 
 while others scrambled along as best they might 
 with one plantation and a few score of negroes. 
 Some dwelt in very handsome houses, picturesque 
 and beautiful, like Gunston Hall or Stratford, or 
 in vast, tasteless, and extravagant piles like Rose- 
 well. Others were contented with very modest 
 houses, consisting of one story with a gabled roof, 
 and flanked by two massive chimneys. In some 
 houses there was a brave show of handsome plate 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 25 
 
 and china, fine furniture, and London-made car 
 riages, rich silks and satins, and brocaded dresses. 
 In others there was earthenware and pewter, home 
 spun and woollen, and little use for horses except in 
 the plough or under the saddle. 
 
 But there were certain qualities common to all 
 the Virginia planters. The luxury was imperfect. 
 The splendor was sometimes barbaric. There were 
 holes in the brocades, and the fresh air of heaven 
 would often blow through a broken window upon 
 the glittering silver and the costly china. It was 
 an easy-going aristocracy, unfinished, and frequently 
 slovenly in its appointments, after the fashion of 
 the warmer climates and the regions of slavery. 
 
 Everything was plentiful except ready money. 
 In this rich and poor were alike. They were all 
 ahead of their income, and it seems as if, from one 
 cause or another, from extravagance or improvi 
 dence, from horses or the gaming-table, every Vir 
 ginian family went through bankruptcy about once 
 in a generation. 
 
 When Harry Warrington arrived in England, 
 all his relations at Castlewood regarded the hand 
 some young fellow as a prince, with his acres and 
 his slaves. It was a natural and pleasing delusion, 
 born of the possession of land and serfs, to which 
 the Virginians themselves gave ready crede.nce. 
 They forgot that the land was so plentiful that it 
 was of little value ; that slaves were the most waste 
 ful form of labor ; and that a failure of the tobacco 
 crop, pledged before it was gathered, meant ruin, 
 
26 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 although they had been reminded more than once 
 of this last impressive fact. They knew that they 
 had plenty to eat and drink, and a herd of people 
 to wait upon them and cultivate their land, as 
 well as obliging London merchants always ready 
 to furnish every luxury in return for the mortgage 
 of a crop or an estate. So they gave themselves 
 little anxiety as to the future and lived in the 
 present, very much to their own satisfaction. 
 
 To the communities of trade and commerce, to 
 the mercantile and industrial spirit of to-day, such 
 an existence and such modes of life appear distress 
 ingly lax and unprogressive. The sages of the 
 bank parlors and the counting-rooms would shake 
 their heads at such spendthrifts as these, refuse to 
 discount their paper, and confidently predict that 
 by no possibility could they come to good. They 
 had their defects, no doubt, these planters and farm 
 ers of Virginia. The life they led was strongly 
 developed on the animal side, and was perhaps 
 neither stimulating nor elevating. The living was 
 the reverse of plain, and the thinking was neither 
 extremely high nor notably laborious. Yet in 
 this very particular there is something rather rest 
 ful and pleasant to the eye wearied by the sight of 
 incessant movement, and to the ear deafened by the 
 continual shout that nothing is good that does not 
 change, and that all change must be good. We 
 should probably find great discomforts and many 
 unpleasant limitations in the life and habits of a 
 hundred years ago on any part of the globe, and yet 
 
THE OLD DOMINION. 27 
 
 at a time when it seems as if rapidity and move 
 ment were the last words and the ultimate ideals of 
 civilization, it is rather agreeable to turn to such 
 a community as the eighteenth-century planters of 
 Virginia. They lived contentedly on the acres of 
 their fathers, and except at rare and stated inter 
 vals they had no other interests than those fur 
 nished by their ancestral domain. At the court 
 house or the vestry, or at Williamsburg, they met 
 their neighbors and talked very keenly about the 
 politics of Europe, or the affairs of the colony. 
 They were little troubled about religion, but they 
 worshipped after the fashion of their fathers, 
 and had a serious fidelity to church and king. 
 They wrangled with their governors over appropri 
 ations, but they lived on good terms with those emi 
 nent persons, and attended state balls at what they 
 called the palace, and danced and made merry 
 with much stateliness and grace. Their every-day 
 life ran on in the quiet of their plantations as 
 calmly as one of their own rivers. The English 
 trader would come and go ; the infrequent stranger 
 would be received and welcomed ; Christmas would 
 be kept in hearty English fashion; young men 
 from a neighboring estate would ride over through 
 the darkening woods to court, or dance, or play the 
 fiddle, like Patrick Henry or Thomas Jefferson; 
 and these simple events were all that made a ripple 
 on the placid stream. Much time was given to 
 sports, rough, hearty, manly sports, with a spice of 
 danger, and these, with an occasional adventurous 
 
28 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 dash into the wilderness, kept them sound and 
 strong and brave, both in body and mind. There 
 was nothing languid or effeminate about the Vir 
 ginian planter. He was a robust man, quite ready 
 to fight or work when the time came, and well fitted 
 to deal with affairs when he was needed. He was 
 a free-handed, hospitable, generous being, not much 
 given to study or thought, but thoroughly public- 
 spirited and keenly alive to the interests of Vir 
 ginia. Above all things he was an aristocrat, set 
 apart by the dark line of race, color, and heredi 
 tary servitude, as proud as the proudest Austrian 
 with his endless quarterings, as sturdy and vigor 
 ous as an English yeoman, and as jealous of his 
 rights and privileges as any baron who stood by 
 John at Runnymede. To this aristocracy, careless 
 and indolent, given to rough pleasures and indif 
 ferent to the finer and higher sides of life, the call 
 came, as it comes to all men sooner or later, and in 
 response they gave their country soldiers, states 
 men, and jurists of the highest order, and fit for 
 the great work they were asked to do. We must 
 go back to Athens to find another instance of a so 
 ciety so small in numbers, and yet capable of such 
 an outburst of ability and force. They were of 
 sound English stock, with a slight admixture of the 
 Huguenot, the best blood of France ; and although 
 for a century and a half they had seemed to stag 
 nate in the New World, they were strong and fruit 
 ful and effective beyond the measure of ordinary 
 races when the hour of peril and trial was at hand. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WASHINGTONS. 
 
 SUCH was the world and such the community 
 which counted as a small fraction the Washington 
 family. Our immediate concern is with that family, 
 for before we approach the man we must know his 
 ancestors. The greatest leader of scientific thought 
 in this century has come to the aid of the genealo 
 gist, and given to the results of the latter s some 
 what discredited labors a vitality and meaning 
 which it seemed impossible that dry and dusty 
 pedigrees and barren tables of descent should ever 
 possess. We have always selected our race-horses 
 according to the doctrines of evolution, and we 
 now study the character of a great man by examin 
 ing first the history of his forefathers. 
 
 Washington made so great an impression upon 
 the world in his lifetime that genealogists at once 
 undertook for him the construction of a suitable 
 pedigree. The excellent Sir Isaac Heard, garter 
 king-at-arms, worked out a genealogy which seemed 
 reasonable enough, and then wrote to the president 
 in relation to it. Washington in reply thanked him 
 for his politeness, sent him the Virginian genealogy 
 of his own branch, and after expressing a courteous 
 
30 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 interest said, in his simple and direct fashion, that 
 he had been a busy man and had paid but little 
 attention to the subject. His knowledge about his 
 English forefathers was in fact extremely slight. 
 He had heard merely that the first of the name in 
 Virginia had come from one of the northern coun 
 ties of England, but whether from Lancashire or 
 Yorkshire, or one still more northerly, he could not 
 tell. Sir Isaac was not thoroughly satisfied with 
 the correctness of his own work, but presently 
 Baker took it up in his history of Northampton 
 shire, and perfected it to his own satisfaction and 
 that of the world in general. This genealogy de 
 rived Washington s descent from the owners of the 
 manor of Sulgrave, in Northamptonshire, and thence 
 carried it back to the Norman knight, Sir Wil 
 liam de Hertburn. According to this pedigree the 
 Virginian settlers, John and Lawrence, were the 
 sons of Lawrence Washington of Sulgrave Manor, 
 and this genealogy was adopted by Sparks and 
 Irving, as well as by the public at large. Twenty 
 years ago, however, Colonel Chester, by his re 
 searches, broke beyond repair the most essential 
 link in the chain forged by Heard and Baker, 
 proving clearly that the Virginian settlers could 
 not have been the sons of Lawrence of Sulgrave, 
 as identified by the garter king-at-arms. Still 
 naore recently the mythical spirit has taken violent 
 possession of the Washington ancestry, and an in 
 genious gentleman has traced the pedigree of our 
 first president back to Thorfinn and thence to Odin, 
 
THE WASHINGTON S. 31 
 
 which is sufficiently remote, dignified, and lofty to 
 satisfy the most exacting Welshman that ever lived. 
 Still the breach made by Colonel Chester has not 
 been repaired, although many writers, including 
 some who should know better, cling with undimin- 
 ished faith to the Heard pedigree. It is known 
 that Colonel Chester himself believed that he had 
 found the true line, coming, it is supposed, through 
 JB younger branch of the Sulgrave race, but he died 
 before he had discovered the one bit of evidence 
 necessary to prove an essential step, and he was 
 too conscientiously accurate to leave anything to 
 conjecture. 
 
 Thus we are left with no certain knowledge of 
 Washington s forefathers beyond the Virginian 
 settlers, John and Lawrence. There can be, how 
 ever, little doubt that the two emigrants came of \ 
 the Sulgrave stock, although the exact connection 
 has not been established. The identity of arms 
 and of Christian names seems to prove them scions 
 of that race, and the failure to connect them with 
 any other family of the name in England corrobo 
 rates this theory. 1 In that interesting land where 
 
 3 Colonel Chester (N. E. Historical Register, vol. xxi., 18G7, 
 p. 25) lays stress on the president s statement that his ancestor 
 was said to come from Lancashire or Yorkshire, or some more 
 northerly county, and seems to imply that this, excluding- as it 
 does Northamptonshire, makes against the identity of Sir Isaac 
 Heard s John Washington with the Virginian emigrant. I have 
 found a little evidence on this subject which seems to have been 
 hitherto unnoticed, and which tends to show that the Virginia 
 emigrants were not from the northerly counties. The well-known 
 account of the Baconian troubles, written by Mrs. Ann Cotton in 
 
32 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 everything, according to our narrow ideas, is upside 
 down, it is customary, when an individual arrives 
 at distinction, to confer nobility upon his ancestors 
 instead of his children. The Washingtons offer 
 an interesting example of the application of this 
 Chinese system in the Western world, for, if they 
 have not been actually ennobled in recognition of 
 the deeds of their great descendant, they have at 
 least become the subjects of intense and general in 
 terest. Every one of the name who could be dis 
 covered anywhere has been dragged forth into the 
 light, and has had all that was known about him 
 duly recorded and set down. By scanning family 
 trees and pedigrees, and picking up stray bits of 
 information here and there, we can learn in a rude 
 and general fashion what manner of men those 
 were who claimed descent from William of Hert- 
 burn, and who bore the name of Washington in 
 the mother-country. As Mr. Galton passes a hun 
 dred faces before the same highly sensitized plate, 
 and gets a photograph which is a likeness of no one 
 
 1676 (Force s Hist. Tracts, i.), is addressed "to Mr. C. H., at 
 Yardly, in Northamptonshire," probably Yardly-Hastings, about 
 eigh miles from Northampton, and consequently very near Sul- 
 grave Manor. At the beginning (p. 1) the writer refers to the com 
 mander of the Virginians in the first campaign against the Indians 
 as one Colonel Washington (him whom you have sometimes seen 
 at your house)." This suggests very strongly that John Washing 
 ton, the first Virginian of the name, was of Northamptonshire, 
 and that he came from, or lived in the neighborhood of, Sulgrave 
 Manor, and therefore belonged to that family. Had he lived all 
 his life in Yorkshire it is not probable that Mr. C. H. would have 
 seen him much at his house in Yardly. 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 33 
 
 of his subjects, and yet resembles them all, so we 
 may turn the camera of history upon these Wash- 
 ingtons, as they flash up for a moment from the 
 dim past, and hope to get what Professor Huxley 
 calls a " generic " picture of the race, even if the 
 outlines be somewhat blurred and indistinct. 
 
 In the North of England, in the region conquered 
 first by Saxons and then by Danes, lies the little 
 village of Washington. It came into the possession 
 of Sir William de Hertburn, and belonged to him 
 at the time of the Bolden Book in 1183. Soon 
 after, he or his descendants took the name of De 
 Wessyngton, and there they remained for two 
 centuries, knights of the palatinate, holding their 
 lands by a military tenure, fighting in all the wars, 
 and taking part in tournaments with becoming 
 splendor. By the beginning of the fifteenth cen 
 tury the line of feudal knights of the palatinate 
 was extinct, and the manor passed from the family 
 by the marriage of Dionisia de Wessyngton. But 
 the main stock had in the mean time thrown out 
 many offshoots, which had taken firm root in other 
 parts of England. We hear of several who came 
 in various ways to eminence. There was the learned 
 and vigorous prior of Durham, John De Wessyng 
 ton, probably one of the original family, and the 
 name appears in various places after his time in 
 records and on monuments, indicating a flourishing 
 
 O O 
 
 and increasing race. Lawrence Washington, in the 
 sixteenth century, was the mayor of Northampton, 
 and received from King Henry VIII. the manor of 
 
34 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Sulgrave in 1538. In the next century we find 
 traces of Robert Washington of the Adwick family, 
 a rich merchant of Leeds, and of his son Joseph 
 Washington, a learned lawyer and author, of Gray s 
 Inn. About the same time we hear of Richard 
 Washington and Philip Washington holding high 
 places at University College, Oxford. The Sulgrave 
 branch, however, was the most numerous and pros 
 perous. From the mayor of Northampton were 
 descended Sir William Washington, who married 
 the half-sister of George Villiers, Duke of Bucking 
 ham ; Sir Henry Washington, who made a desper 
 ate defence of Worcester against the forces of the 
 Parliament in 1646; Lieutenant -Colonel James 
 Washington, who fell at the siege of Pontefract, 
 fighting for King Charles; another James, of a 
 later time, who was implicated in Monmouth s re 
 bellion, fled to Holland and became the progenitor 
 of a flourishing and successful family, which has 
 spread to Germany and there been ennobled ; Sir 
 Lawrence Washington, of Garsdon, whose grand 
 daughter married Robert Shirley, Baron Ferrers ; 
 and others of less note, but all men of property and 
 standing. They seem to have been a successful, 
 thrifty race, owning lands and estates, wise magis 
 trates and good soldiers, marrying well, and in 
 creasing their wealth and strength from generation 
 to genemtion. They were of Norman stock, knights 
 and gentlemen in the full sense of the word before 
 the French Revolution, and we can detect in them 
 here and there a marked strain of the old Norse 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 35 
 
 blood, carrying with, it across the centuries the wild 
 Berserker spirit which made the adventurous North 
 men for centuries the terror of Europe. They were 
 a strong race evidently, these Washington s, whom 
 we see now only by glimpses through the mists of 
 time, not brilliant apparently, never winning the 
 very highest fortune, having their failures and re 
 verses no doubt, but on the whole prudent, bold 
 men, always important in their several stations, 
 ready to fight and ready to work, and as a rule 
 successful in that which they set themselves to do. 
 
 In 1658 the two brothers, John and Lawrence, i 
 appeared in Virginia. They seem to have been 
 men of substance, for they purchased lands and 
 established themselves at Bridges Creek, in West 
 moreland County. With this brief statement, Law 
 rence disappears, leaving us nothing further than 
 the knowledge that he had numerous descendants. 
 John, with whom we are more concerned, figures 
 at once in the colonial records of Maryland. He 
 made complaint to the Maryland authorities, soon 
 after his arrival, against Edward Prescott, mer 
 chant, and captain of the ship in which he had come 
 over, for hanging a woman during the voyage for 
 witchcraft. We have a letter of his, explaining that 
 he could not appear at the first trial because he was 
 about to baptize his son, and had bidden the neigh 
 bors and gossips to the feast. A little incident 
 this, dug out of the musty records, but it shows us 
 an active, generous man, intolerant of oppression, 
 public-spirited and hospitable, social, and friendly 
 
36 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 in his new relations. He soon after was called to 
 mourn the death of his English wife and of two 
 children, but he speedily consoled himself by taking 
 a second wife, Anne Pope, by whom he had three 
 children, Lawrence, John, and Anne. According 
 to the Virginian tradition, John Washington the 
 elder was a surveyor, and made a location of lands 
 which was set aside because they had been assigned 
 to the Indians. It is quite apparent that he was 
 a forehanded person who acquired property and 
 impressed himself upon his neighbors. In 1667, 
 when he had been but ten years in the colony, he 
 was chosen to the House of Burgesses ; and eight 
 years later he was made a colonel and sent with 
 a thousand men to join the Marylanders in destroy 
 ing the " Susquehannocks," at the " Piscataway " 
 fort, on account of some murdering begun by an 
 other tribe. As a feat of arms, the expedition 
 was not a very brilliant affair. The Virginians 
 and Marylanders killed half a dozen Indian chiefs 
 during a parley, and then invested the fort. After 
 repulsing several sorties, they stupidly allowed the 
 Indians to escape in the night and carry murder 
 and pillage through the outlying settlements, light 
 ing up first the flames of savage war and then 
 the fiercer fire of domestic insurrection. In the 
 next year we hear again of John Washington in 
 the House of Burgesses, when Sir William Berke 
 ley assailed his troops for the murder of the Indians 
 during the parley. Popular feeling, however, was 
 clearly with the colonel, for nothing was done and 
 
TEE WASH1NGTONS. 37 
 
 the matter dropped. At that point, too, in 1676, 
 John Washington disappears from sight, and we 
 know only that as his will was proved in 1677, he 
 must have died soon after the scene with Berkeley. 
 He was buried in the family vault at Bridges 
 Creek, and left a good estate to be divided among 
 his children. The colonel was evidently both a 
 prudent and popular man, and quite disposed to 
 bustle about in the world in which he found him 
 self. He acquired lands, came to the front at once 
 as a leader although a new-comer in the country, 
 was evidently a fighting man as is shown by his 
 selection to command the Virginian forces, and was 
 honored by his neighbors, who gave his name to 
 the parish in which he dwelt. Then he died and 
 his son Lawrence reigned in his stead, and became 
 by his wife, Mildred Warner, the father of John, 
 Augustine and Mildred Washington. 
 
 This second son, Augustine, farmer and planter 
 like his forefathers, married first Jane Butler, by 
 whom he had three sons and a daughter, and sec 
 ond, Mary Ball, by whom he had four sons and two 
 daughters. The eldest child of these second nup 
 tials was named George, and was born on Feb 
 ruary 11 (O. S.), 1732, at Bridges Creek. The 
 house in which this event occurred was a plain, 
 wooden farmhouse of the primitive Virginian pat 
 tern, with four rooms on the ground floor, an attic 
 story with a long, sloping roof, and a massive brick 
 chimney. Three years after George Washington s 
 birth it was burned, and the family removed to 
 
38 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 another estate in Stafford County. This second 
 house was like the first, and stood on rising ground 
 looking across a meadow to the Rappahannock, 
 and beyond the river to the village of Fredericks- 
 burg, which was nearly opposite. Here, in 1743, 
 Augustine Washington died somewhat suddenly, at 
 the age of forty-nine, from an attack of gout 
 brought on by exposure in the rain, and was bur 
 ied with his fathers in the old vault at Bridges 
 Creek. Here, too, the boyhood of Washington 
 was passed, and therefore it becomes necessary to 
 look about us and see what we can learn of this 
 important period of his life. 
 
 We know nothing about his father, except that 
 he was kindly .and affectionate, attached to his wife 
 and children, and apparently absorbed in the care 
 of his estates. On his death the children came 
 wholly under the maternal influence and direction. 
 Much has been written about the " mother of Wash 
 ington," but as a matter of fact, although she lived 
 to an advanced age, we know scarcely more about 
 her than we do about her husband. She was of gen 
 tle birth, and possessed a vigorous character and a 
 good deal of business capacity. The advantages of 
 education were given in but slight measure to the 
 Virginian ladies of her time, and Mrs. Washing 
 ton offered no exception to the general rule. Her 
 reading was confined to a small number of volumes, 
 chiefly of a devotional character, her favorite appar 
 ently being Hale s " Moral and Divine Contempla 
 tions." She evidently knew no language but her 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 39 
 
 own, and her spelling was extremely bad even in 
 that age of uncertain orthography. Certain quali 
 ties, however, are clear to us even now through all 
 the dimness. We can see that Mary Washington 
 was gifted with strong sense, and had the power 
 of conducting business matters providently and ex 
 actly. She was an imperious woman, of strong will, 
 ruling her kingdom alone. Above all she was very 
 dignified, very silent, and very sober-minded. That 
 she was affectionate and loving cannot be doubted, 
 for she retained to the last a profound hold upon 
 the reverential devotion of her son, and yet as he 
 rose steadily to the pinnacle of human greatness, 
 she could only say that " George had been a good 
 boy, and she was sure he would do his duty." Not 
 a brilliant woman evidently, not one suited to shine 
 in courts, conduct intrigues, or adorn literature, yet 
 able- to-transmit- moral qualities to her oldest son, 
 which, mingled with those of the Washington^ were 
 of infinite value in the foundation of a great Re 
 public. She found herself a widow at an early age, 
 with a family of young children to educate and 
 support. Her means were narrow, for although 
 Augustine Washington was able to leave what was 
 called a landed estate to each son, it was little more 
 than idle capital, and the income in ready money 
 was by no means so evident as the acres. 
 
 Many are the myths, and deplorably few the 
 facts, that have come down to us in regard to 
 Washington s boyhood. For the former we are 
 indebted to the illustrious Weems, and to that per- 
 
40 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 sonage a few more words must be devoted. Weems 
 has been held up to the present age in various ways, 
 usually, it must be confessed, of an unflattering 
 nature, and " mendacious " is the adjective most 
 commonly applied to him. There has been in 
 reality a good deal of needless confusion about 
 Weems and his book, for he was not a complex 
 character, and neither he nor his writings are diffi 
 cult to value or understand. By profession a clergy 
 man or preacher, by nature an adventurer, Weems 
 loved notoriety, money, and a wandering life. So 
 he wrote books which he correctly believed would 
 be popular, and sold them not only through the 
 regular channels, but by peddling them himself as 
 he travelled about the country. In this way he 
 gratified all his propensities, and no doubt derived 
 from life a good deal of simple pleasure. Chance 
 brought him near Washington in the closing days, 
 and his commercial instinct told him that here was 
 the subject of all others for his pen and his mar 
 ket. He accordingly produced the biography which 
 had so much success. Judged solely as literature, 
 the book is beneath contempt. The style is turgid, 
 overloaded, and at times silly. The statements are 
 loose, the mode of narration confused and incohe 
 rent, and the moralizing is flat and commonplace 
 to the last degree. Yet there was a certain sin 
 cerity of feeling underneath all the bombast and 
 platitudes, and this saved the book. The biography 
 did not go, and was not intended to go, into the 
 hands of the polite society of the great eastern 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 41 
 
 towns. It was meant for the farmers, the pioneers, 
 and the backwoodsmen of the country. It went 
 into their homes, and passed with them beyond the 
 Alleghanies and out to the plains and valleys of 
 the great West. The very defects of the book 
 helped it to success among the simple, hard-work 
 ing, hard-fighting race engaged in the conquest of 
 the American continent. To them its heavy and 
 tawdry style, its staring morals, and its real patri 
 otism all seemed eminently befitting the national 
 hero, and thus Weems created the Washington of 
 the popular fancy. The idea grew up with the 
 country, and became so ingrained in the popular 
 thought that finally everybody was affected by 
 it, and even the most stately and solemn of the 
 Washington biographers adopted the unsupported 
 tales of the itinerant parson and book- peddler. 
 
 In regard to the public life of Washington, 
 Weems took the facts known to every one, and 
 drawn for the most part from the gazettes. He 
 then dressed them up in his own peculiar fashion 
 and gave them to the world. All this, forming of 
 course nine tenths of his book, has passed, despite 
 its success, into oblivion. The remaining tenth 
 described Washington s boyhood until his four 
 teenth or fifteenth year, and this, which is the work 
 of the author s imagination, has lived. Weems, 
 having set himself up as absolutely the only author 
 ity as to this period, has been implicitly followed, 
 and has thus come to demand serious consideration, 
 Until Weems is weighed and disposed of, we can- 
 
42 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 not even begin an attempt to get at the real Wash- 
 ington. 
 
 Weems was not a cold-blooded liar, a mere forger 
 of anecdotes. He was simply a man destitute of 
 historical sense, training, or morals, ready to take 
 the slenderest fact and work it np for the purposes 
 of the market until it became almost as impossible 
 to reduce it to its original dimensions as it was for 
 the fisherman to get the Afrit back into his jar. 
 In a word, Weems was an approved mythmaker. 
 No better example can be given than the way in 
 which he described himself. It is believed that he 
 preached once, and possibly of tener, to a congrega 
 tion which numbered Washington among its mem 
 bers. Thereupon he published himself in his book 
 as the rector of Mount Vernon parish. There was, 
 to begin with, no such parish. There was Truro 
 parish, in which was a church called indifferently 
 Pohick or Mount Vernon church. Of this church 
 Washington was a vestryman until 1785, when he 
 joined the church at Alexandria. The Eev. Lee 
 Massey was the clergyman of the Mount Vernon 
 church, and the church at Alexandria had nothing 
 to do with Moun% Vernon. There never was, more 
 over, such a person as the rector of Mount Vernon 
 parish, but it was the Weems way of treating his 
 appearance before the great man, and of deceiving 
 the world with the notion of an intimacy which the 
 title implied. 
 
 Weems, of course, had no difficulty with the 
 public life, but in describing the boyhood he was 
 
THE WASHINGTON8. 43 
 
 thrown on his own resources, and out of them he 
 evolved the cherry-tree, the refusal to fight or per 
 mit fighting among the boys at school, and the 
 initials in the garden. This last story is to the 
 effect that Augustine Washington planted seeds in 
 such a manner that when thoy sprouted they formed 
 on the earth the initials of his son s name, and the 
 boy being much delighted thereby, the father ex 
 plained to him that it was the work of the Creator, 
 and thus inculcated a profound belief in God. 
 This tale is taken bodily from Dr. Beattie s bio 
 graphical sketch of his son, published in England 
 in 1799, and may be dismissed at once. As to the 
 other two more familiar anecdotes there is not a 
 scintilla of evidence that they had any foundation, 
 and with them may be included the colt story, told 
 by Mr. Custis, a simple variation of the cherry-tree 
 theme, which is Washington s early love of truth. 
 Weems says that his stories were told him by a 
 lady, and " a good old gentleman," who remem 
 bered the incidents, while Mr. Custis gives no au 
 thority for his minute account of a trivial event 
 over a century old when he wrote. To a writer 
 who invented the rector of Mou^.t Vernon, the fur 
 ther invention of a couple of Boswells would be a 
 trifle. I say Boswells advisedly, for these stories 
 are told with the utmost minuteness, and the con 
 versations between Washington and his father are 
 given as if from a stenographic report. How Mr. 
 Custis, usually so accurate, came to be so far in 
 fected with the Weems myth as to tell the colt story 
 
44 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 after the Weems manner, cannot now be deter 
 mined. There can be no doubt that Washington, 
 like most healthy boys, got into a good deal of mis 
 chief, and it is not at all impossible that he injured 
 fruit-trees and confessed that he had done so. It 
 may be accepted as certain that he rode and mas 
 tered many unbroken thoroughbred colts, and it 
 is possible that one of them burst a blood-vessel in 
 the process and died, and that the boy promptly 
 told his mother of the accident. But this is the 
 utmost credit which these two anecdotes can claim. 
 Even so much as this cannot be said of certain other 
 improving tales of like nature. That Washington 
 lectured his playmates on the wickedness of fight 
 ing, and in the year 1754 allowed himself to be 
 knocked down in the presence of his soldiers, and 
 thei eupon begged his assailant s pardon for having 
 spoken roughly to him, are stories so silly and so 
 foolishly impossible that they do not deserve an 
 instant s consideration. 
 
 There is nothing intrinsically impossible in either 
 the cherry-tree or the colt incident, nor would there 
 be in a hundred others which might be readily 
 invented. The real point is that these stories, as 
 told by Weems and Mr. Custis, are on their face 
 hopelessly and ridiculously false. They are so, not 
 merely because they have no vestige of evidence to 
 support them, but because they are in every word 
 and line the offspring of a period more than fifty 
 years later. No English-speaking people, certainly 
 no. Virginians, ever thought or behaved or talked in 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 45 
 
 1740 like the personages in Weems s stories, what 
 ever they may have done in 1790, or at the begin 
 ning of the next century. These precious anecdotes 
 belong to the age of Miss Edgeworth and Hannah 
 More and Jane Taylor. They are engaging speci 
 mens of the " Harry and Lucy " and " Purple Jar " 
 morality, and accurately reflect the pale didacticism 
 which became fashionable in England at the close 
 of the last century. They are as untrue to nature 
 and to fact at the period to which they are assigned 
 as would be efforts to depict Augustine Washington 
 and his wife in the dress of the French revolution 
 discussing the propriety of worshipping the God 
 dess of Reason. 
 
 To enter into any serious historical criticism of 
 these stories would be to break a butterfly. So 
 much as this even has been said only because these 
 wretched fables have gone throughout the world, 
 and it is time that they were swept away into the 
 dust-heaps of history. They represent Mr. and 
 Mrs. Washington as affected and priggish people, 
 given to cheap moralizing, and, what is far worse, 
 they have served to place Washington himself in 
 a ridiculous light to an age which has outgrown 
 the educational foibles of seventy-five years ago. 
 Augustine Washington and his wife were a gentle 
 man and lady of the eighteenth century, living in 
 Virginia. So far as we know without guessing or 
 conjecture, they were simple, honest, and straight 
 forward, devoted to the care of their family and 
 estate, and doing their duty sensibly and after the 
 
46 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 fashion of their time. Their son, to whom the 
 greatest wrong has been done, not only never did 
 anything common or mean, but from the begin 
 ning to the end of his life he was never for an in 
 stant ridiculous or affected, and he was as utterly 
 removed from canting or priggishness as any hu 
 man being, could well be. Let us therefore consign 
 the Weems stories and their offspring to the limbo 
 of historical rubbish, and try to learn what the 
 plain facts tell us of the boy Washington. 
 
 Unfortunately these same facts are at first very 
 few, so few that they tell us hardly anything. We 
 know when and where Washington was born ; and 
 how, when he was little more than three years old, 
 he was ta^en from Bridges Creek to the banks of 
 the Rappahannock. There he was placed under the 
 charge of one Hobby, the sexton of the parish, to 
 learn his alphabet and his pothooks ; and when 
 that worthy man s store of learning was exhausted 
 he was sent back to Bridges Creek, soon after his 
 father s death, to live with his half-brother Augus 
 tine, and obtain the benefits of a school kept by a 
 Mr. Williams. There he received what would now 
 be called a fair common-school education, wholly 
 destitute of any instruction in languages, ancient 
 or modern, but apparently with some mathematical 
 training. 
 
 That he studied faithfully cannot be doubted, 
 and we know, too, that he matured early, and was 
 a tall, active, and muscular boy. He could outwalk 
 and outrun and outride any of his companions. 
 
THE WASHINGTONS. 47 
 
 As he could no doubt have thrashed any of them 
 too, he was, in virtue of these qualities, which are 
 respected everywhere by all wholesome minds, and 
 especially by boys, a leader among his school-fel 
 lows. We know further that he was honest and 
 true, and a lad of unusual promise, not because of 
 the goody-goody anecdotes of the myth-makers, but 
 because he was liked and trusted by such men as 
 his brother Lawrence and Lord Fairfax. 
 
 There he was, at all events, in his fourteenth 
 year, a big, strong, hearty boy, offering a serious 
 problem to his mother, who was struggling along 
 with many acres, little money, and five children. 
 Mrs. Washington s chief desire naturally was to 
 put George in the way of getting a living, which 
 no doubt seemed far more important than getting 
 an education, and, as he was a sober-minded boy, 
 the same idea was probably profoundly impressed 
 on his own mind also. This condition of domestic 
 affairs led to the first attempt to give Washington 
 a start in life, which has been given to us until 
 very lately in a somewhat decorated form. The 
 fact is, that in casting about for something to do, it 
 occurred to some one, very likely to the boy him 
 self, that it would be a fine idea to go to sea. His 
 masculine friends and relatives urged the scheme 
 upon Mrs. Washington, who consented very reluc 
 tantly, if at all, not liking the notion of parting 
 with her oldest son, even in her anxiety to have 
 him earn his bread. When it came to the point, 
 however, she finally decided against his going, de- 
 
48 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 termined probably by a very sensible letter from 
 her brother, Joseph Ball, an English lawyer. In 
 all the ornamented versions we are informed that 
 the boy was to enter the royal navy, and that a mid 
 shipman s warrant was procured for him. There 
 does not appear to be any valid authority for the 
 royal navy, the warrant, or the midshipman. The 
 contemporary Virginian letters speak simply of 
 "going to sea," while Mr. Ball says distinctly that 
 the plan was to enter the boy on a tobacco ship, 
 with an excellent chance of being pressed on a man- 
 of-war, and a very faint prospect of either getting 
 into the navy, or even rising to be the captain of 
 one of the petty trading-vessels familiar to Vir 
 ginian planters. Some recent writers have put Mr. 
 Ball aside as not knowing what was intended in 
 regard to his nephew, but in view of the difficulty 
 at that time of obtaining commissions in the navy 
 without great political influence, it seems probable 
 that Mrs. Washington s brother knew very well 
 what he was talking about, and he certainly wrote 
 a very sensible letter. A bold, adventurous boy, 
 eager to earn his living and make his way in the 
 world, would, like many others before him, look 
 longingly to the sea as the highway to fortune and 
 success. To Washington the romance of the sea 
 
 O 
 
 was represented by the tobacco ship creeping up 
 the river and bringing all the luxuries and many of 
 the necessaries of life from vaguely distant coun 
 tries. No doubt he wished to go on one of these 
 vessels and try his luck, and very possibly the royal 
 
THE WASH1NGTONS. 49 
 
 navy was hoped for as the ultimate result. The 
 effort was certainly made to send him to sea, but it 
 failed, and he went back to school to study more 
 mathematics. 
 
 Apart from the fact that the exact sciences in 
 moderate degree were about all that Mr. Williams 
 could teach, this branch of learning had an imme 
 diate practical value, inasmuch as surveying was 
 almost the only immediately gainful pursuit open 
 to a young Virginia gentleman, who sorely needed 
 a little ready money that he might buy slaves and 
 work a plantation. So Washington studied on for 
 two years more, and fitted himself to be a surveyor. 
 There are still extant some early papers belonging 
 to this period, chiefly fragments of school exercises, 
 which show that he already wrote the bold, hand 
 some hand with which the world was to become 
 familiar, and that he made geometrical figures and 
 notes of surveys with the neatness and accuracy 
 which clung to him in all the work of his life, 
 whether great or small. Among those papers too 
 were found many copies of legal forms, and a set of 
 rules, over a hundred in number, as to etiquette and 
 behavior, carefully written out. It has always been 
 supposed that these rules were copied, but it was 
 reserved apparently for the storms of a mighty 
 civil war to lay bare the original source. At that 
 time a little volume was found in Virginia bearing 
 the name of George Washington in a boyish hand 
 on the flyleaf, and the date 1742. The book was 
 entitled, " The Young Man s Companion." It was 
 
50 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 an English work, and had passed through thirteen 
 editions, which was little enough in view of its 
 varied and extensive information. It was written 
 by W. Mather, in a plain and easy style, and 
 treated of arithmetic, surveying, forms for legal 
 documents, the measuring of land and lumber, gar 
 dening, and many other useful topics, and at the 
 end it contained the rules for behavior found in 
 manuscript among Washington s papers. 1 These 
 rules were in the main wise and sensible, and it 
 is evident they made a deep impression on the 
 boy s mind. 2 There is something strangely pro 
 phetic about these little aphorisms, for all the seri 
 ous rules are very characteristic of Washington 
 throughout his life. What, for example, could be 
 more apt than the last one, given by Mr. Sparks : 
 "Labor to keep alive in your breast that little 
 spark of celestial fire called conscience." To sup 
 pose that Washington s character was formed by 
 these sententious bits of not very profound wisdom 
 would be absurd ; but that a series of rules which 
 most lads would have regarded as simply dull 
 should have been pondered by this boy indicates 
 a soberness and strength of mind which certainly 
 are not usual at that age. The one thought that 
 runs through all the sayings is to practise self- 
 
 1 An account of this volume was given in the New York 
 Tribune in 1866, and also in the Historical Magazine (x. 47). It 
 is stated that the book was presented to General Grant, and, if 
 so, it has now passed into the keeping of the government. 
 
 2 The most important are given in Sparks Writings of 
 Washington, ii. 412. 
 
THE 
 
 _ 
 
 control, and no man ever displayed that most 
 difficult of virtues to such a degree as George 
 Washington. It was no ordinary boy who took 
 such a lesson as this to heart before he was fif 
 teen, and carried it into his daily life, never to be 
 forgotten. It may also be said that very few boys 
 ever needed it more ; but those persons who know 
 what they chiefly need, and pursue it, are by no 
 means common. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON THE FRONTIER. 
 
 WHILE Washington was working his way 
 through the learning purveyed by Mr. Williams, 
 he was also receiving another education, of a 
 much broader and better sort, from the men and 
 women among whom he found himself, and with 
 whom he made friends. Chief among them was his 
 eldest brother, Lawrence, fourteen years his senior, 
 who had been educated in England, had fought 
 with Vernon at Carthagena, and had then re 
 turned to Virginia, to be to him u generous father 
 and a loving friend. As the head of the family, 
 Lawrence Washington had received the lion s 
 share of the property, including the estate at 
 Hunting Creek, on the Potomac, which he chris 
 tened Mount Vernon, after his admiral, and where 
 he settled down and built him a goodly house. 
 To this pleasant spot George Washington jour 
 neyed often in vacation time, and there he came to 
 live and further pursue his studies, after leaving 
 school in the autumn of 1747. 
 
 Lawrence Washington had married the daugh 
 ter of William Fairfax, the proprietor of Belvoir, a 
 neighboring plantation, and the agent for the vast 
 
ON TEE FRONTIER. 53 
 
 estates held by his family in Virginia. George 
 Fairfax, Mrs. Washington s brother, had married 
 a Miss Carey, and thus two large and agreeable 
 family connections were thrown open to the young 
 surveyor when he emerged from school. The chief 
 figure, however, in that pleasant winter of 1747-48, 
 so far as an influence upon the character of Wash 
 ington is concerned, was the head of the family 
 into which Lawrence Washington had married. 
 Thomas, Lord Fairfax, then sixty years of age, had 
 come to Virginia to live upon and look after the 
 kingdom which he had inherited in the wilderness. 
 He came of a noble and distinguished race. Grad 
 uating at Oxford with credit, he served in the army, 
 dabbled in literature, had his fling in the London 
 world, and was jilted by a beauty who preferred a 
 duke, and gave her faithful but less titled lover an 
 apparently incurable wound. His life having been 
 thus early twisted and set awry, Lord Fairfax, 
 when well past his prime, had determined finally 
 to come to Virginia, bury himself in the forests, 
 and look after the almost limitless possessions 
 beyond the Blue Ridge, which he had inherited 
 from his maternal grandfather, Lord Culpeper, of 
 unsavory Restoration memory. It was a piece of 
 great good-fortune which threw in Washington s 
 path this accomplished gentleman, familiar with 
 courts and camps, disappointed, but not morose, 
 disillusioned, but still kindly and generous. From 
 him the boy could gain that knowledge of men and 
 manners which no school can give, and which is 
 
54 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 as important in its way as any that a teacher can 
 impart. 
 
 Lord Fairfax and Washington became fast 
 friends. They hunted the fox together, and 
 hunted him hard. They engaged in all the rough 
 sports and perilous excitements that Virginia win 
 ter life could afford, and the boy s bold and skilful 
 riding, his love of sports and his fine temper, 
 commended him to the warm and affectionate in 
 terest of the old nobleman. Other qualities, too, 
 the experienced man of the world saw in his young 
 companion : a high and persistent courage, robust 
 and calm sense, and, above all, unusual force of 
 will and character. Washington impressed pro 
 foundly everybody with whom he was brought into 
 personal contact, a fact which is one of the most 
 marked features of his character and career, and 
 one which deserves study more than almost any 
 other. Lord Fairfax was no exception to the rule. 
 He saw in Washington not simply a promising, 
 brave, open-hearted boy, diligent in practising his 
 profession, and whom he was anxious to help, but 
 something more ; something which so impressed 
 him that he confided to this lad a task which, ac 
 cording to its performance, would affect both his 
 fortune and his peace. In a word, he trusted 
 Washington, and told him, as the spring of 1748 
 was opening, to go forth and survey the vast Fair 
 fax estates beyond the Ridge, define their boun 
 daries, and save them from future litigation. 
 With this commission from Lord Fairfax, Wash- 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 55 
 
 ington entered on the first period of his career. 
 He passed it on .the frontier, fighting nature, the 
 Indians, and the French. He went in a schoolboy ; 
 he came out the first soldier in the colonies, and 
 one of the leading men of Virginia. Let us pause 
 a moment and look at him as he stands on the 
 threshold of this momentous period, rightly called 
 momentous because it was the formative period in 
 the life of such a man. 
 
 Pie had just passed his sixteenth birthday. He 
 was tall and muscular, approaching the stature of 
 more than six feet which he afterwards attained. 
 He was not yet filled out to manly proportions, but 
 was rather spare, after the fashion of youth. He 
 had a well-shaped, active figure, symmetrical ex 
 cept for the unusual length of the arms, indicating 
 uncommon strength. His light brown hair was 
 drawn back from a broad forehead, and grayish- 
 blue eyes looked happily, and perhaps a trifle so 
 berly, on the pleasant Virginia world about him. 
 The face was open and manly, with a square, mas 
 sive jaw, and a general expression of calmness and 
 strength. " Fair and florid," big and strong, he 
 was, take him for all in all, as fine a specimen of 
 his race as could be found in the English colonies. 
 
 Let us look a little closer through the keen eyes 
 of one who studied many faces to good purpose. 
 The great painter of portraits, Gilbert Stuart, tells 
 us of Washington that he never saw in any man 
 such large eye-sockets, or such a breadth of nose 
 and forehead between the eyes, and that he read 
 
56 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 there the evidences of the strongest passions pos 
 sible to human nature. John Bernard the actor, a 
 good observer, too, saw in Washington s face, in 
 1797, the signs of an habitual conflict and mastery 
 of passions, witnessed by the compressed mouth 
 and deeply indented brow. The problem had been 
 solved then ; but in 1748, passion and will alike 
 slumbered, and no man could tell which would pre 
 vail, or whether they would work together to great 
 purpose or go jarring on to nothingness. He rises 
 up to us out of the past in that early springtime a 
 fine, handsome, athletic boy, beloved by those about 
 him, who found him a charming companion and 
 did not guess that he might be a terribly dangerous 
 foe. He rises up instinct with life and strength, a 
 being capable, as we know, of great things whether 
 for good or evil, with hot blood pulsing in his veins 
 and beating in his heart, with violent passions and 
 relentless will still undeveloped, and 110 one in all 
 that jolly, generous Virginian society even dimly 
 dreamed what that development would be, or what 
 it would mean to the world. 
 
 It was in March, 1748, that George Fairfax and 
 Washington set forth on their adventures, and 
 passing through Ashley s Gap in the Blue Ridge, 
 entered the valley of Virginia. Thence they worked 
 their way up the valley of the Shenandoah, survey 
 ing as they went, returned and swam the swollen 
 Potomac, surveyed the lands about its south branch 
 and in the mountainous region of Frederick County, 
 and finally reached Mount Vernon again on April 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 57 
 
 12th. It was a rough experience for a beginner, 
 but a wholesome one, and furnished the usual vicis 
 situdes of frontier life. They were wet and cold 
 and hungry, or warm and dry and well fed, by 
 turns. They slept in a tent, or the huts of the scat 
 tered settlers, and oftener still beneath the stars. 
 They met a war party of Indians, and having plied 
 them with liquor, watched one of their mad dances 
 round the camp-fire. In another place they came 
 on a straggling settlement of Germans, dull, pa 
 tient, and illiterate, strangely unfit for the life of 
 the wilderness. All these things, as well as the 
 progress of their work and their various resting- 
 places, Washington noted down briefly but method 
 ically in a diary, showing in these rough notes the 
 first evidences of that keen observation of nature 
 and men and daily incidents which he developed to 
 such good purpose in after-life. There are no 
 rhapsodies and no reflections in these hasty jottings, 
 but the employments and the discomforts are all 
 set down in a simple and matter-of-fact way, which 
 omitted no essential thing and excluded all that 
 was worthless. His work, too, was well done, and 
 Lord Fairfax was so much pleased by the report 
 that he moved across the Blue Ridge, built a hunt 
 ing lodge preparatory to something more splendid 
 which never came to pass, and laid out a noble 
 manor, to which he gave the name of Green way 
 Court. He also procured for Washington an ap 
 pointment as a public surveyor, which conferred 
 authority on his surveys and provided him with 
 
58 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 regular work. Thus started, Washington toiled at 
 his profession for three years, living and working as 
 he did on his first expedition. It was a rough life, 
 but a manly and robust one, and the men who live 
 it, although often rude and coarse, are -never weak 
 or effeminate. To Washington it was an admirable 
 school. It strengthened his muscles and hardened 
 him to exposure and fatigue. It accustomed him 
 to risks and perils of various kinds, and made him 
 fertile in expedients and confident of himself, while 
 the nature of his work rendered him careful and 
 industrious. That his work was well done is shown 
 by the fact that his surveys were considered of the 
 first authority, and stand unquestioned to this day, 
 like certain other work which he was subsequently 
 called to do. It was part of his character, when he 
 did anything, to do it in a lasting fashion, and it is 
 worth while to remember that the surveys he made 
 as a boy were the best that could be made. 
 
 He wrote to a friend at this time : " Since you 
 received my letter of October last, I have not slept 
 above three or four nights in a bed, but, after 
 walking a good deal all the day, I have lain down 
 before the fire upon a little hay, straw, fodder, or a 
 bearskin, whichever was to be had, with man, wife, 
 and children, like dogs and cats ; and happy is he 
 who gets the berth nearest the fire. Nothing would 
 make it pass off tolerably but a good reward. A 
 doubloon is my constant gain every day that the 
 weather will permit of my going out, and sometimes 
 six pistoles." He was evidently a thrifty lad, and 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 59 
 
 honestly pleased with honest earnings. He was no 
 mere adventurous wanderer, but a man working 
 for results in money, reputation, or some solid 
 value, and while he worked and earned he kept an 
 observant eye upon the wilderness, and bought up 
 when he could the best land for himself and his 
 family, laying the foundations of the great landed 
 estate of which he died possessed. 
 
 There was also a lighter and pleasanter side to 
 this hard-working existence, which was quite as 
 useful, and more attractive, than toiling in the 
 woods and mountains. The young surveyor passed 
 much of his time at Greenway Court, hunting the 
 fox and rejoicing in all field sports which held high 
 place in that kingdom, while at the same time he 
 profited much in graver fashion by his friendship 
 with such a man as Lord Fairfax. There, too, he 
 had a chance at a library, and his diaries show that 
 he read carefully the history of England and the 
 essays of the "Spectator." Neither in early days 
 nor at any other time was he a student, for he had 
 few opportunities, and his life from the beginning 
 was out of doors and among men. But the idea 
 sometimes put forward that Washington cared 
 nothing for reading or for books is an idle one. 
 He read at Greenway Court and everywhere else 
 when he had a chance, and he read well and to 
 some purpose, studying men and events in books as 
 he did in the world, and though he never talked of 
 his reading, preserving silence on that as on other 
 things concerning himself, no one ever was able 
 
60 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 to record an instance in which he showed himself 
 ignorant of history or of literature. He was never 
 a learned man, but so far as his own language 
 could carry him he was an educated one. Thus 
 while he developed the sterner qualities by hard 
 work and a rough life, he did not bring back the 
 coarse habits of the backwoods and the camp-fire, 
 but was able to refine his manners and improve his 
 mind in the excellent society and under the hospi 
 table roof of Lord Fairfax. 
 
 Three years slipped by, and then a domestic 
 change came which much affected Washington s 
 whole life. The Carthagena campaign had under 
 mined the strength of Lawrence Washington and 
 sown the seeds of consumption, which showed itself 
 in 1749, and became steadily more alarming. A 
 voyage to England and a summer at the warm 
 springs were tried without success, and finally, as a 
 last resort, the invalid sailed for the West Indies, 
 in September, 1751. Thither his brother George 
 accompanied him, and we have the fragments of a 
 diary kept during this first and last wandering out 
 side his native country. He copied the log, noted 
 the weather, and evidently strove to get some idea 
 of nautical matters while he was at sea and leading 
 a life strangely unfamiliar to a woodsman and 
 pioneer. When they arrived they were imme 
 diately asked to breakfast and dine with Major 
 Clarke, the military magnate of the place, and our 
 young Virginian remarked, with characteristic 
 prudence and a certain touch of grim humor, " We 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 61 
 
 went, myself with some reluctance, as the small 
 pox was in the family." He fell a victim to his 
 good manners, for two weeks later he was " strongly 
 attacked with the smallpox," and was then housed 
 for a month, getting safely and successfully through 
 this dangerous and then almost universal ordeal. 
 Before the disease declared itself, however, he went 
 about everywhere, innocently scattering infection, 
 and greatly enjoying the pleasures of the island. 
 It is to be regretted that any part of this diary 
 should have been lost, for it is pleasant reading, and 
 exhibits the writer in an agreeable and characteris 
 tic fashion. He commented on the country and 
 the scenery, inveighed against the extravagance of 
 the charges for board and lodging, told of his din 
 ner-parties and his friends, and noted the marvel 
 ous abundance and variety of the tropical fruits, 
 which contrasted strangely with the British dishes 
 of beefsteak and tripe. He also mentioned being 
 treated to a ticket to see the play of " George Barn- 
 well," on which he offered this cautious criticism : 
 "The character of Barn well and several others 
 were said to be well performed. There was music 
 adapted and regularly conducted." 
 
 Soon after his recovery Washington returned to 
 Virginia, arriving there in February, 1752. The 
 diary concluded with a brief but perfectly effective 
 description of Barbadoes, touching on its resources 
 and scenery, its government and condition, and the 
 manners and customs of its inhabitants. All 
 through these notes we find the keenly observant 
 
62 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 spirit, and the evidence of a mind constantly alert 
 to learn. We see also a pleasant, happy tempera 
 ment, enjoying with hearty zest all the pleasures 
 that youth and life could furnish. He who wrote 
 these lines was evidently a vigorous, good-hu- 
 uiored young fellow, with a quick eye for the world 
 opening before him, and for the delights as well as 
 the instruction which it offered. 
 
 From the sunshine and ease of this tropical win 
 ter Washington passed to a long season of trial 
 and responsibility at home and abroad. In July, 
 1752, his much-loved brother Lawrence died, leav 
 ing George guardian of his daughter, and heir to 
 his estates in the event of that daughter s death. 
 Thus the current of his home life changed, and re 
 sponsibility came into it, while outside the mighty 
 stream of public events changed too, and swept 
 him along in the swelling torrent of a world-wide 
 war. 
 
 In all the vast wilderness beyond the mountains 
 there was not room for both French and English. 
 The rival nations had been for years slowly ap 
 proaching each other, until in 1749 each people 
 proceeded at last to take possession of the Ohio 
 country after its own fashion. The French sent a 
 military expedition which sank and nailed up 
 leaden plates ; the English formed a great land 
 company to speculate and make money, and both 
 set diligently to work to make Indian alliances. A 
 man of far less perception than Lawrence Wash 
 ington, who had become the chief manager of the 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 63 
 
 Ohio Company, would have seen that the conditions 
 on the frontier rendered war inevitable, and he ac 
 cordingly made ready for the future by preparing 
 his brother for the career of a soldier, so far as it 
 could be done. He brought to Mount Vernon two 
 old companions-in-arms of the Carthagena time, 
 Adjutant Muse, a Virginian, and Jacob Van 
 Braam, a Dutch soldier of fortune. The former 
 instructed Washington in the art of war, tactics, 
 and the manual of arms, the latter in fencing and 
 the sword exercise. At the same time Lawrence 
 Washington procured for his brother, then only 
 nineteen years of age, an appointment as one of 
 the adjutants-general of Virginia, with the rank of 
 major. To all this the young surveyor took kindly 
 enough so far as we can tell, but his military avo 
 cations were interrupted by his voyage to Barba- 
 does, by the illness and death of his brother, and 
 by the cares and responsibilities thereby thrust 
 upon him. 
 
 Meantime the French aggressions had continued, 
 and French soldiers and traders were working their 
 way up from the South and down from the North, 
 bullying and cajoling the Indians by turns, taking 
 possession of the Ohio country, and selecting 
 places as they went for that chain of forts which 
 was to hem in and slowly strangle the English set 
 tlements. Governor Dinwiddie had sent a com 
 missioner to remonstrate against these encroach 
 ments, but his envoy had stopped a hundred and 
 fifty miles short of the French posts, alarmed by 
 
64 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the troublous condition of things, and by the de 
 feat and slaughter which the Frenchmen had al 
 ready inflicted upon the Indians. Some more vig 
 orous person was evidently needed to go through 
 the form of warning France not to trespass on 
 the English wilderness and thereupon Governor 
 Dinwiddie selected for the task George Washing 
 ton, recently reappointed adjutant-general of the 
 northern division, and major in the Virginian 
 forces. He was a young man for such an under 
 taking, not yet twenty-two, but clearly of good 
 reputation. It is plain enough that Lord Fairfax 
 and others had said to the governor, " Here is the 
 very man for you ; young, daring, and adventur 
 ous, but yet sober-minded and responsible, who 
 only lacks opportunity to show the stuff that is in 
 him." 
 
 Thus, then, in October, 1753, Washington set 
 forth with Van Braam, and various servants and 
 horses, accompanied by the boldest of Virginian 
 frontiersmen, Christopher Gist. He wrote a re 
 port in the form of a journal, which was sent to 
 England and much read at the time as part of 
 the news of the day, and which has an equal 
 although different interest now. It is a succinct, 
 clear, and sober narrative. The little party was 
 formed at Will s Creek, and thence through woods 
 and over swollen rivers made its way to Logs- 
 town. Here they spent some days among the In 
 dians, whose leaders Washington got within his 
 grasp after much speech-making ; and here, too, 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 65 
 
 he met some French deserters from the South, and 
 drew from them all the knowledge they possessed 
 of New Orleans and the military expeditions from 
 that region. From Logstown he pushed on, ac 
 companied by his Indian chiefs, to Yenango, on 
 the Ohio, the first French outpost. The French 
 officers asked him to sup with them. The wine 
 flowed freely, the tongues of the hosts were loos 
 ened, and the young Virginian, temperate and 
 hard-headed, listened to all the conversation, and 
 noted down mentally much that was interesting 
 and valuable. The next morning the Indian chiefs, 
 prudently kept in the background, appeared, and 
 a struggle ensued between the talkative, clever 
 Frenchmen and the quiet, persistent Virginian, 
 over the possession of these important savages. 
 Finally Washington got off, carrying his chiefs 
 with him, and made his way seventy miles fur 
 ther to the fort on French Creek. Here he deliv 
 ered the governor s letter, and while M. de St. 
 Pierre wrote a vague and polite answer, he sketched 
 the fort and informed himself in regard to the mil- 
 
 o 
 
 itary condition of the post. Then came another 
 struggle over the Indians, and finally Washington 
 got off with them once more, and worked his way 
 back to Venango. Another struggle for the sav 
 ages followed, rum being always the principal fac 
 tor in the negotiation, and at last the chiefs deter 
 mined to stay behind. Nevertheless, the work had 
 been well done, and the important Half-King re 
 mained true to the English cause. 
 
66 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Leaving his horses, Washington and Gist then 
 took to the woods on foot. The French Indians 
 lay in wait for them and tried to murder them, and 
 Gist, like a true frontiersman, was for shooting the 
 scoundrel whom they captured. But Washington 
 stayed his hand, and they gave the savage the slip 
 and pressed on. It was the middle of December 
 and cold and stormy* In crossing a river, Wash 
 ington fell from the raft into deep water, amid the 
 floating ice, but fought his way out, and he and his 
 companion passed the night on an island, with 
 their clothes frozen upon them. So through peril 
 and privation, and various dangers, stopping in the 
 midst of it all to win another savage potentate, 
 they reached the edge of the settlements and thence 
 went on to Williamsburg, where great praise and 
 glory were awarded to the youthful envoy, the hero 
 of the hour in the little Virginia capital. 
 
 It is worth while to pause over this expedition a 
 moment and to consider attentively this journal 
 which recounts it, for there are very few incidents 
 or documents which tell us more of Washington. 
 He was not yet twenty-two when he faced this first 
 grave responsibility, and he did his work absolutely 
 well. Cool courage, of course, he showed, but also 
 patience and wisdom in handling the Indians, a 
 clear sense that the crafty and well-trained French 
 men could not blind, and a strong faculty for deal 
 ing with men, always a rare and precious gift. As 
 in the little Barbadoes diary, so also in this journal, 
 we see, and far more strongly, the penetration and 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 67 
 
 perception that nothing could escape, and which set 
 down all things essential and let the " huddling 
 silver, little worth," go by. The clearness, terse 
 ness, and entire sufficiency of the narrative are 
 obvious and lie on the surface ; but we find also 
 another quality of the man which is one of the most 
 marked features in his character, and one which 
 we must dwell upon again and again, as we follow 
 the story of his life. Here it is that we learn di 
 rectly for the first time that Washington was a 
 profoundly silent man. The gospel of silence has 
 been preached in these latter days by Carlyle, with 
 the fervor of a seer and prophet, and the world 
 owes him a debt for the historical discredit which 
 he has brought upon the man of words as com 
 pared with the man of deeds. Carlyle brushed 
 Washington aside as " a bloodless Cromwell," a 
 phrase to which we must revert later on other 
 grounds, and, as has already been said, failed ut 
 terly to see that he was the most supremely silent 
 of the great men of action that the world can 
 show. Like Cromwell and Frederic, Washington 
 wrote countless letters, made many speeches, and 
 was agreeable in conversation. But this was all 
 in the way of business, and a man may be pro 
 foundly silent and yet talk a great deal. Silence 
 in the fine and true sense is neither mere holding 
 of the tongue nor an incapacity of expression. The 
 greatly silent man is he who is not given to words 
 for their own s^Jre, and who never talks about him 
 self. Both Cromwell, greatest of Englishmen, and 
 
68 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the great Frederic, Carlyle s especial heroes, were 
 fond of talking* of themselves. So in still larger 
 measure was Napoleon, and many others of less im 
 portance. But Washington differs from them all. 
 He had abundant power of words, and could use 
 them with much force and point when he was so 
 minded, but he never used them needlessly or to 
 hide his meaning, and he never talked about him 
 self. Hence the inestimable difficulty of knowing 
 him. A brief sentence here and there, a rare 
 gleam of light across the page of a letter, is all 
 that we can find. The rest is silence. He did as 
 great work as has fallen to the lot of man, he wrote 
 volumes of correspondence, he talked with innumer 
 able men and women, and of himself he said noth 
 ing. Here in this youthful journal we have a 
 narrative of wild adventure, wily diplomacy, and 
 personal peril, impossible of condensation, and yet 
 not a word of the writer s thoughts or feelings. 
 All that was done or said important to the business 
 in hand was set down, and nothing was overlooked, 
 but that is all. The work was done, and we know 
 how it was done, but the man is silent as to all 
 else. Here, indeed, is the man of action and of real 
 silence, a character to be much admired and won 
 dered at in these or any other days. 
 
 Washington s report looked like war. and its au 
 thor was shortly afterwards appointed lieutenant- 
 colonel of a Virginian regiment, Colonel Fry com 
 manding. Now began that long experience of 
 human stupidity and inefficiency with which Wash- 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. t>9 
 
 ington was destined to struggle through all the 
 years of his military career, suffering from them, 
 and triumphing in spite of them to a degree un 
 equalled by any other great commander. Din- 
 widdie, the Scotch governor, was eager enough to 
 fight, and full of energy and good intentions, but 
 he was hasty and not overwise, and was filled with 
 an excessive idea of his prerogatives. The as 
 sembly, on its side, was sufficiently patriotic, but its 
 members came from a community which for more 
 than half a century had had no fighting, and they 
 knew nothing of war or its necessities. Unaccus 
 tomed to the large affairs into which they were 
 suddenly plunged, they displayed a narrow and 
 provincial spirit. Keenly alive to their own rights 
 and privileges, they were more occupied in quar 
 relling with Dinwiddie than in prosecuting the war. 
 In the weak proprietary governments of Maryland 
 and Pennsylvania there was the same condition of 
 affairs, with every evil exaggerated tenfold. The 
 fighting spirit was dominant in Virginia, but in 
 Quaker-ridden Pennsylvania it seems to have been 
 almost extinct. These three were not very prom 
 ising communities to look to for support in a diffi 
 cult and costly war. 
 
 With all this inertia and stupidity Washington 
 was called to cope, and he rebelled against it in 
 vigorous fashion. Leaving Colonel Fry to follow 
 with the main body of troops, Washington set out 
 on April 2, 1754, with two companies from Alex 
 andria, where he had been recruiting amidst most 
 
70 GEORGE WASHINGTON, 
 
 irritating difficulties. He reached Will s Creek 
 three weeks later ; and then his real troubles began. 
 Captain Trent, the timid and halting envoy, who 
 had failed to reach the French, had been sent out 
 by the wise authorities to build a fort at the junc 
 tion of the Alleghany and Monongahela, on the 
 admirable site selected by the keen eye of Wash 
 ington. There Trent left his men and returned to 
 
 O 
 
 Will s Creek, where Washington found him, but 
 without the pack-horses that he had promised to 
 provide. Presently news came that the French 
 in overwhelming numbers had swept down upon 
 Trent s little party, captured their fort, and sent 
 them packing back to Virginia. Washington took 
 this to be war, and determined at once to march 
 against the enemy. Having impressed from the 
 inhabitants, who were not bubbling over with pa 
 triotism, some horses and wagons, he set out on his 
 toilsome march across the mountains. 
 
 It was a wild and desolate region, and progress 
 was extremely slow. By May 9th he was at the 
 Little Meadows, twenty miles from his starting- 
 place ; by the 18th at the Youghiogany River, which 
 he explored and found unnavigable. He was there 
 fore forced to take up his weary march again for the 
 Monongahela, and by the 27th he was at the Great 
 Meadows, a few miles further on. The extreme 
 danger of his position does not seem to have oc 
 curred to him, but he was harassed and angered by 
 the conduct of the assembly. He wrote to Governor 
 Dinwiddie that he had no idea of giving up his 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 71 
 
 commission. " But," he continued, " let me serve 
 voluntarily ; then I will, with the greatest pleasure 
 in life, devote my services to the expedition, with 
 out any other reward than the satisfaction of serv 
 ing my country ; but to be slaving dangerously for 
 the shadow of pay, through woods, rocks,, moun 
 tains, I would rather prefer the great toil of a 
 daily laborer, and dig for a maintenance, provided 
 I were reduced to the necessity, than serve upon 
 such ignoble terms ; for I really do not see why 
 the lives of his Majesty s subjects in Virginia should 
 be of less value than those in other parts of his 
 American dominions, especially when it is well 
 known that we must undergo double their hard 
 ship." Here we have a high-spirited, high-tem 
 pered young gentleman, with a contempt for shams 
 that it is pleasant to see, and evidently endowed 
 also with a fine taste for fighting and not too much 
 patience. 
 
 Indignant letters written in vigorous language 
 were, however, of little avail, and Washington 
 prepared to shift for himself as best he might. His 
 Indian allies brought him news that the French 
 were on the march and had thrown out scouting 
 parties. Picking out a place in the Great Meadows 
 for a fort, " a charming field for an encounter," he 
 in his turn sent out a scouting party, and then on 
 fresh intelligence from the Indians set forth him 
 self with forty men to find the enemy. After a 
 toilsome march they discovered their foes in camp. 
 The French, surprised and surrounded, sprang to 
 
72 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 arms, the Virginians fired, there was a sharp ex 
 change of shots, and all was over. Ten of the 
 French were killed and twenty-one were taken pris 
 oners, only one of the party escaping to carry back 
 the news. 
 
 This little skirmish made a prodigious noise in 
 its day, and was much heralded in France. The 
 French declared that Jumonville, the leader, who 
 fell at the first fire, was foully assassinated, and 
 that he and his party were ambassadors and sacred 
 characters. Paris rang with this fresh instance of 
 British perfidy, and a M. Thomas celebrated the 
 luckless Jumonville in a solemn epic poem in four 
 books. French historians, relying on the account 
 of the Canadian who escaped, adopted the same 
 tone, and at a later day mourned over this black 
 spot on Washington s character. The French view 
 was simple nonsense. Jumonville and his party, 
 as the papers found on Jumonville showed, were 
 out on a spying and scouting expedition. They 
 were seeking to surprise the English when the Eng 
 lish surprised them, with the usual backwoods re 
 sult. The affair has a dramatic interest because 
 it was the first blood shed in a great struggle, and 
 was the beginning of a series of world-wide wars 
 and social and political convulsions, which termi 
 nated more than half a century later on the plains 
 of Waterloo. It gave immortality to an obscure 
 French officer by linking his name with that of his 
 opponent, and brought Washington for the moment 
 before the eyes of the world, which little dreamed 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 73 
 
 that this Virginian colonel was destined to be one 
 of the principal figures in the great revolutionary 
 drama to which the war then beginning was but 
 the prologue. 
 
 Washington, well satisfied with his exploit, re 
 traced his steps, and having sent his prisoners back 
 to Virginia, proceeded to consider his situation. 
 It was not a very cheerful prospect. Contrecceur, 
 with the main body of the French and Indians, was 
 moving down from the Monongahela a thousand 
 strong. This of course was to have been anticipated, 
 and it does not seem to have in the least damped 
 Washington s spirits. His blood was up, his fight 
 ing temper thoroughly roused, and he prepared to 
 push on. Colonel Fry had died meanwhile, leav 
 ing Washington in command ; but his troops came 
 forward, and also not long after a useless " inde 
 pendent " company from South Carolina. Thus re 
 inforced Washington advanced painfully some thir 
 teen miles, and then receiving sure intelligence of 
 the approach of the French in great force fell back 
 with difficulty to the Great Meadows, where he was 
 obliged by the exhausted condition of his men to 
 stop. He at once resumed work on Fort Necessity, 
 and made ready for a desperate defence, for the 
 French were 011 his heels, and on July 3d appeared 
 at the Meadows. Washington offered battle out 
 side the fort, and this being declined withdrew to 
 his trenches, and skirmishing went on all day. 
 When night fell it was apparent that the end had 
 come. The men were starved and worn-out. Their 
 
74 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 muskets in many cases were rendered useless by 
 the rain, and their ammunition was spent. The 
 Indians had deserted, and the foe outnumbered 
 them four to one. When the French therefore of 
 fered a parley, Washington was forced reluctantly 
 to accept. The French had 110 stomach for the 
 fight, apparently, and allowed the English to go 
 with their arms," exacting nothing but a pledge that 
 for a year they would not come to the Ohio. 
 
 So ended Washington s first campaign. His 
 friend the Half-King, the celebrated Seneca chief, 
 Thanacarishon, who prudently departed on the ar 
 rival of the French, has left us a candid opinion 
 of Washington and his opponents. " The colonel," 
 he said, " was a good-natured man, but had no 
 experience ; he took upon him to command the 
 Indians as his slaves, and would have them every 
 day upon the scout and to attack the enemy by 
 themselves, but would by no means take advice 
 from the Indians. He lay in one place from one 
 full moon to the other, without making any forti 
 fications, except that little thing on the meadow ; 
 whereas, had he taken advice, and built such forti 
 fications as I advised him, he might easity have 
 beat off the French. But the French in the en 
 gagement acted like cowards, and the English like 
 fools." i 
 
 There is a deal of truth in thh opinion. The 
 
 1 Enquiry into the Causes and Alienations of the Delaivare and 
 Shawanee Indians, etc. London, 1759. By Charles Thomson, 
 afterwards Secretary of Congress. 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 75 
 
 whole expedition was rash in the extreme. When 
 Washington left Will s Creek he was aware that 
 he was going to meet a force of a thousand men 
 with only a hundred and fifty raw recruits at his 
 back. In the same spirit he pushed on ; and after 
 the Jumonville affair, although he knew that the 
 wilderness about him was swarming with enemies, 
 he still struggled forward. When forced to retreat 
 he made a stand at the Meadows and offered bat 
 tle in the open 1 to his more numerous and more 
 prudent foes, for he was one of those men who by 
 nature regard courage as a substitute for everything, 
 and who have a contempt for hostile odds. He was 
 ready to meet any number of French and Indians 
 with cheerful confidence and with real pleasure. 
 He wrote, in a letter which soon became famous, 
 that he loved to hear bullets whistle, a sage obser 
 vation which he set down in later years as a folly 
 of youth. Yet this boyish outburst, foolish as it 
 was, has a meaning to us, for it was essentially 
 true. Washington had the fierce fighting temper 
 of the Northmen. He loved battle and danger, and 
 he never ceased to love them and to give way to 
 their excitement, although he did not again set 
 down such sentiments in boastful phrase that made 
 the world laugh. Men of such temper, moreover, 
 are naturally imperious and have a fine disregard 
 of consequences, with the result that their allies, 
 Indian or otherwise, often become impatient and 
 finally useless. The campaign was perfectly wild 
 from the outset, and if it had not been for the utter 
 
76 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 indifference to danger displayed by Washington, 
 and the consequent timidity of the French, that 
 particular body of Virginians would have been per 
 manently lost to the British Empire. 
 
 But we learn from all this many things. It ap 
 pears that Washington was not merely a brave man, 
 but one who loved fighting for its own sake. The 
 whole expedition shows an arbitrary temper and 
 the most reckless courage, valuable qualities, but 
 here unrestrained, and mixed with very little pru 
 dence. Some important lessons were learned by 
 Washington from the rough teachings of inexora 
 ble and unconquerable facts. He received in this 
 campaign the first taste of that severe experience 
 which by its training developed the self-control and 
 mastery of temper for which he became so remark 
 able. He did not spring into life a perfect and 
 impossible man, as is so often represented. On the 
 contrary, he was educated by circumstances ; but the 
 metal came out of the furnace of experience finely 
 tempered, because it was by nature of the best and 
 with but little dross to be purged away. In addi 
 tion to all this he acquired for the moment what 
 would now be called a European reputation. He 
 was known in Paris as an assassin, and in Eng 
 land, thanks to the bullet letter, as a "fanfaron " 
 and brave braggart. With these results he wended 
 his way home much depressed in spirits, but not in 
 the least discouraged, and fonder of fighting than 
 ever. 
 
 Virginia, however, took a kinder view of the 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 77 
 
 campaign than did her defeated soldier. She ap 
 preciated the gallantry of the offer to fight in the 
 open and the general conduct of the troops, and 
 her House of Burgesses passed a vote of thanks to 
 Washington and his officers, and gave money to 
 his men. In August he rejoined his regiment, and 
 renewed the vain struggle against incompetence and 
 extravagance, and as if this were not enough, his 
 sense of honor was wounded and his temper much 
 irritated by the governor s playing false to the 
 prisoners taken in the Jumonville fight. While 
 thus engaged, news came that the French were off 
 their guard at Fort Duquesne, and Dinwiddie was 
 for having the regiment of undisciplined troops 
 march again into the wilderness. Washington, 
 however, had learned something, if not a great deal, 
 and he demonstrated the folly of such an attempt 
 in a manner too clear to be confuted. 
 
 Meantime the Burgesses came together, and more 
 money being voted, Dinwiddie hit on a notable plan 
 for quieting dissensions between regulars and pro 
 vincials by dividing all the troops into independent 
 companies, with no officer higher than a captain. 
 Washington, the only officer who had seen fighting 
 and led the regiment, resented this senseless policy, 
 and resigning his commission withdrew to Mount 
 Vernon to manage the estate and attend to his own 
 affairs. He was driven to this course still more 
 strongly by the original cause of Dinwiddie s ar 
 rangement. The English government had issued 
 an order that officers holding the king s commis- 
 
78 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 sion should rank provincial officers, and that pro 
 vincial generals and field officers should have no 
 rank when a general or field officer holding a royal 
 commission was present. The degradation of being 
 ranked by every whipper-snapper who might hold 
 a royal commission by virtue, perhaps, of being the 
 bastard son of some nobleman s cast-off mistress 
 was more than the temper of George Washington 
 could bear, and when Governor Sharpe, general by 
 the king s commission, and eager to secure the ser 
 vices of the best fighter in Virginia, offered him a 
 company and urged his acceptance, he replied in 
 language that must have somewhat astonished his 
 excellency. " You make mention in your letter," 
 he wrote to Colonel Fitzhugh, Governor Sharpe s 
 second in command, " of my continuing in the ser 
 vice, and retaining my colonel s commission. This 
 idea has filled rne with surprise ; for, if you think 
 me capable of holding a commission that has nei 
 ther rank nor emolument annexed to it, you must 
 entertain a very contemptible opinion of my weak 
 ness, and believe me to be more empty than the 
 commission itself. ... In short every captain, 
 bearing the king s commission, every half-pay offi 
 cer, or others appearing with such a commission, 
 would rank before me. . . . Yet my inclinations 
 are strongly bent to arms." 
 
 It was a bitter disappointment to withdraw from 
 military life, but Washington had an intense sense 
 of personal dignity ; not the small vanity of a petty 
 mind, but the quality of a proud man conscious of 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 79 
 
 his own strength and purpose. It was of immense 
 value to the American people at a later day, and 
 there is something very instructive in this early re 
 volt against the stupid arrogance which England 
 has always thought it wise to display toward this 
 country. She has paid dearly for indulging it, but 
 it has seldom cost her -more than when it drove 
 Washington from her service, and left in his mind 
 a sense of indignity and injustice. 
 
 Meantime this Virginian campaigning had started 
 a great movement. England was aroused, and it 
 was determined to assail France in Nova Scotia, 
 from New York and on the Ohio. In accordance 
 with this plan General Braddock arrived in Virginia 
 February 20, 1755, with two picked regiments, and 
 encamped at Alexandria. Thither Washington used 
 to ride and look longingly at the pomp and glitter, 
 and wish that he were engaged in the service. 
 Presently this became known, and Braddock, hear 
 ing of the young Virginian s past experience, offered 
 him a place on his staff with the rank of colonel 
 where he would be subject only to the orders of the 
 general, and could serve as a volunteer. He there 
 fore accepted at once, and threw himself into his 
 new duties with hearty good-will. Every step was 
 full of instruction. At Annapolis he met the gov 
 ernors of the other colonies, and was interested and 
 attracted by this association with distinguished pub 
 lic men. In the army to which he. was attached 
 he studied with the deepest attention the best dis 
 cipline of Europe, observing everything and forget- 
 
80 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ting nothing, thus preparing himself unconsciously 
 to use against his teachers the knowledge he ac 
 quired. 
 
 He also made warm friends with the English 
 officers, and was treated with consideration by his 
 commander. The universal practice of all English 
 men was to behave contemptuously to the colonists, 
 but there was something about Washington which 
 made this impossible. They all treated him with 
 the utmost courtesy, vaguely conscious that beneath 
 the pleasant, quiet manner there was a strength of 
 character and ability such as is rarely found, and 
 that this was a man whom it was unsafe to affront. 
 There is 110 stronger instance of Washington s 
 power of impressing himself upon others than that 
 he commanded now the respect and affection of his 
 general, who was the last man to be easily or favor 
 ably affected by a young provincial officer. 
 
 Edward Braddock was a veteran soldier, a skilled 
 disciplinarian, and a rigid martinet. He was nar 
 row-minded, brutal, and brave. He had led a fast 
 life in society, indulging in coarse and violent dis 
 sipations, and was proud with the intense pride of 
 a limited intelligence and a nature incapable of 
 physical fear. It would be difficult to conceive of 
 a man more unfit to be entrusted with the task of 
 marching through the wilderness and sweeping the 
 French from the Ohio. All the conditions which 
 confronted him were unfamiliar and beyond his ex 
 perience. He cordially despised the provincials who 
 were essential to his success, and lost no opportunity 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 81 
 
 of showing his contempt for them. The colonists 
 on their side, especially in Pennsylvania, gave him, 
 unfortunately, only too much ground for irritation 
 and disgust. They were delighted to see this bril 
 liant force come from England to fight their battles, 
 but they kept on wrangling and holding back, refus 
 ing money and supplies, and doing nothing. Brad- 
 dock chafed and delayed, swore angrily, and lingered 
 still. Washington strove to help him, but de 
 fended his country fearlessly against wholesale and 
 furious attacks. 
 
 Finally the army began to move, but so slowly 
 and after so much delay that they did not reach 
 Will s Creek until the middle of May. Here came 
 another exasperating pause, relieved only by Frank 
 lin, who by giving his own time, ability, and money, 
 supplied the necessary wagons. Then they pushed 
 on again, but with the utmost slowness. With su 
 preme difficulty they made an elaborate road over 
 the mountains as they marched, and did not reach 
 the Little Meadows until June 16th. Then at last 
 Braddock turned to his young aide for the counsel 
 which had already been proffered and rejected many 
 times. Washington advised the division of the 
 army, so that the main body could hurry forward in 
 light marching order while a detachment remained 
 behind and brought up the heavy baggage. This 
 plan was adopted, and the army started forward, 
 still too heavily burdened, as Washington thought, 
 but in somewhat better trim for the wilderness 
 than before. Their progress, quickened as it was, 
 
82 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 still seemed slow to Washington, but he was taken 
 ill with a fever, and finally was compelled by Brad- 
 dock to stop for rest at the ford of Youghiogaiiy. 
 He made Braddock promise that he should be 
 brought up before the army reached Fort Duquesne, 
 and wrote to his friend Orme that he would not 
 miss the impending battle for five hundred pounds. 
 
 As soon as his fever abated a little he left Col 
 onel Dunbar, and, being unable to sit on a horse, 
 was conveyed to the front in a wagon, coming up 
 with the army on July 8th. He was just in time, 
 for the next day the troops forded the Monongahela 
 and marched to attack the fort. The splendid ap 
 pearance of the soldiers as they crossed the river 
 roused Washington s enthusiasm ; but he was not 
 without misgivings. Franklin had already warned 
 Braddock against the danger of surprise, and had 
 been told with a sneer that while these savages 
 might be a formidable enemy to raw American 
 militia, they could make no impression on disciplined 
 troops. Now at the last moment Washington 
 warned the general again and was angrily rebuked. 
 
 The troops marched on in ordered ranks, glitter 
 ing and beautiful. Suddenly firing was heard in 
 the front, and presently the van was flung back on 
 the main body. Yells and war-whoops resounded 
 on every side, and an unseen enemy poured in a 
 deadly fire. Washington begged Braddock to 
 throw his men into the woods, but all in vain. 
 Fight in platoons they must, or not at all. The 
 result was that they did not fight at all. They 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 83 
 
 became panic-stricken, and huddled together, over 
 come with fear, until at last when Braddock was 
 mortally wounded they broke in wild rout and fled. 
 -Of the regular troops, seven hundred, and of the 
 officers, who showed the utmost bravery, sixty-two 
 out of eighty-six, were killed or wounded. Two 
 hundred Frenchmen and six hundred Indians 
 achieved this signal victory. The only thing that 
 could be called fighting on the English side was 
 done by the Virginians, " the raw American mili 
 tia," who, spread out as skirmishers, met their foes 
 on their own ground, and were cut off almost to a 
 man. 
 
 Washington at the outset flung himself head 
 long into the fight. He rode up and down the field, 
 carrying orders and striving to rally " the das 
 tards," as he afterwards called the regular troops. 
 Pie endeavored to bring up the artillery, but the 
 men would not serve the guns, although he aimed 
 and discharged one himself. All through that 
 dreadful carnage he rode fiercely about, raging 
 with the excitement of battle, and utterly exposed 
 from beginning to end. Even now it makes the 
 heart beat quicker to think of him amid the smoke 
 and slaughter as he dashed hither and thither, 
 his face glowing and his eyes shining with the 
 fierce light of battle, leading on his own Virgin 
 ians, and trying to stay the tide of disaster. He 
 had two horses shot under him and four bullets 
 through his coat. The Indians thought he bore a 
 charmed life, while his death was reported in the 
 
84 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 colonies, together with his dying speech, which, he 
 dryly wrote to his brother, he had not yet com 
 posed. 
 
 When the troops broke it was Washington who 
 gathered the fugitives and brought off the dying 
 general. It was he who rode on to meet Dunbar, 
 and rallying the fugitives enabled the wretched 
 remnants to take up their march for the settle 
 ments. He it was who laid Braddock in the grave 
 four days after the defeat, and read over the dead 
 the solemn words of the English service. Wise, 
 sensible, and active in the advance, splendidly 
 reckless on the day of battle, cool and collected 
 on the retreat, Washington alone emerged from 
 that history of disaster with added glory. Again 
 he comes before us as, above all things, the fighting 
 man, hot-blooded and fierce in action, and utterly 
 indifferent to the danger which excited and de 
 lighted him. But the earlier lesson had not been 
 useless. He showed a prudence and wisdom in 
 counsel which were not apparent in the first of his 
 campaigns, and he no longer thought that courage 
 was all-sufficient, or that any enemy could be de 
 spised. He was plainly one of those who could 
 learn. His first experience had borne good fruit, 
 and now he had been taught a series of fresh and 
 valuable lessons. Before his eyes had been dis 
 played the most brilliant European discipline, both 
 in camp and on the march. He had studied and 
 absorbed it all, talking with veterans and hearing 
 from them many things that he could have ac- 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 85 
 
 quired nowhere else. Once more had he been 
 taught, in a way not to be forgotten, that it is never 
 well to underrate one s opponent. Pie had looked 
 deeper, too, and had seen what the whole continent 
 soon understood, that English troops were not in 
 vincible, that they could be beaten by Indians, and 
 that they were after all much like other men. 
 This was the knowledge, fatal to British suprem 
 acy, which Braddock s defeat brought to Washing 
 ton and to the colonists, and which was never for 
 gotten. Could he have looked into the future, he 
 would have seen also in this ill-fated expedition an 
 epitome of much future history. The expedition 
 began with stupid contempt toward America and 
 all things American, and ended in ruin and defeat. 
 It was a bitter experience, much heeded by the 
 colonists, but disregarded by England, whose indif 
 ference was paid for at a heavy cost. 
 
 After the hasty retreat, Colonel Dunbar, stricken 
 with panic, fled onward to Philadelphia, abandon 
 ing everything, and Virginia was left naturally in 
 a state of great alarm. The assembly came to 
 gether, and at last, thoroughly frightened, voted 
 abundant money, and ordered a regiment of a thou 
 sand men to be raised. Washington, who had re 
 turned to Mount Vernon ill and worn-out, was 
 urged to solicit the command, but it was not his 
 way to solicit, and he declined to do so now. Au 
 gust 14th, he wrote to his mother : " If it is in my 
 power to avoid going to the Ohio again, I shall ; 
 but if the command is pressed upon me by the 
 
86 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 general voice of the country, and offered upon such 
 terms as cannot be objected against, it would re 
 flect dishonor on me to refuse it." The same day 
 he was offered the command of all the Virginian 
 forces on his own terms, and accepted. Virginia 
 believed in Washington, and he was ready to obey 
 her call. 
 
 He at once assumed command and betook him 
 self to Winchester, a general without an army, 
 but still able to check by his presence the existing 
 panic, and ready to enter upon the trying, dreary, 
 and fruitless work that lay before him. In April, 
 1757, he wrote : " I have been posted then, for 
 more than twenty months past, upon our cold and 
 barren frontiers, to perform, I think I may say, 
 impossibilities ; that is, to protect from the cruel 
 incursions of a crafty, savage enemy a line of in 
 habitants, of more than three hundred and fifty 
 miles in extent, with a force inadequate to the 
 task." This terse statement covers all that can 
 be said of the next three years. It was a long 
 struggle against a savage foe in front, and narrow 
 ness, jealousy, and stupidity behind ; apparently 
 without any chance of effecting anything, or gain 
 ing any glory or reward. Troops were voted, but 
 were raised with difficulty, and when raised were 
 neglected and ill-treated by the wrangling gov 
 ernor and assembly, which caused much ill-sup 
 pressed wrath in the breast of the commander-in- 
 chief who labored day and night to bring about 
 better discipline in camp, and who wrote long let- 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 87 
 
 ters to Williamsburg recounting existing evils and 
 praying for a new .militia law. 
 
 The troops, in fact, were got out with vast diffi 
 culty even under the most stinging necessity, and 
 were almost worthless when they came. Of one 
 " noble captain " who refused to come, Washington 
 wrote : " With coolness and moderation this great 
 captain answered that his wife, family, and corn 
 were all at stake ; so were those of his soldiers ; 
 therefore it was impossible for him to come. Such 
 is the example of the officers ; such the behavior of 
 the men ; and upon such circumstances depends 
 the safety of our country ! " But while the soldiers 
 were neglected, and the assembly faltered, and the 
 militia disobeyed, the French and Indians kept at 
 work on the long, exposed frontier. There panic 
 reigned, and farmhouses and villages went up in 
 smoke, and the fields were reddened with slaughter 
 at each fresh incursion. Gentlemen in Williams- 
 burg bore these misfortunes with reasonable for 
 titude, but Washington raged against the abuses 
 and the inaction, and vowed that nothing but the 
 imminent danger prevented his resignation. " The 
 supplicating tears of the women," he wrote, " and 
 moving petitions of the men melt me into such 
 deadly sorrow that I solemnly declare, if I know 
 my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacri 
 fice to the butchering enemy, provided that would 
 contribute to the people s ease." This is one of 
 the rare flashes of personal feeling which disclose 
 the real man, warm of heart and temper, full of 
 
88 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 human sympathy, and giving vent to hot indig 
 nation in words which still ring clear and strong 
 across the century that has come and gone. 
 
 Serious troubles, moreover, were complicated by 
 petty annoyances. A Maryland captain, at the 
 head of thirty men, undertook to claim rank over 
 the Virginian commander-in-chief because he had 
 held a king s commission ; and Washington was 
 obliged to travel to Boston in order to have the 
 miserable thing set right by Governor Shirley. 
 This affair settled, he returned to take up again 
 the old disheartening struggle, and his outspoken 
 condemnation of Dinwiddie s foolish schemes and 
 of the shortcomings of the government began to 
 raise up backbiters and malcontents at Williams- 
 burg. " My orders," he said, " are dark, doubt 
 ful, and uncertain ; to-day approved, to-morrow 
 condemned. Left to act and proceed at hazard, 
 accountable for the consequences, and blamed with 
 out the benefit of defence." He determined never 
 theless to bear with his trials until the arrival of 
 Lord Loudon, the new commander-in-chief, from 
 whom he expected vigor and improvement. Un 
 fortunately he was destined to have only fresh 
 disappointment from the new general, for Lord 
 Loudon was merely one more incompetent man 
 added to the existing confusion. He paid no heed 
 to the South, matters continued to go badly in the 
 North, and Virginia was left helpless. So Washing 
 ton toiled on with much discouragement, and the 
 disagreeable attacks upon him increased. That it 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 89 
 
 should have been so is not surprising, for he wrote 
 to the governor, who now held him in much dis 
 favor, to the speaker, and indeed to every one, with 
 a most galling plainness. He was only twenty-five, 
 be it remembered, and his high temper was by no 
 means under perfect control. He was anything but 
 diplomatic at that period of his life, and was far 
 from patient, using language with much sincerity 
 and force, and indulging in a blunt irony of rather 
 a ferocious kind. When he was accused finally of 
 getting up reports of imaginary dangers, his tem 
 per gave way entirely. He wrote wrathfully to 
 the governor for justice, and added in a letter to 
 his friend, Captain Peachey : " As to Colonel C. s 
 gross and infamous reflections on my conduct last 
 spring, it will be needless, I dare say, to observe 
 further at this time than that the liberty which 
 he has been pleased to allow himself in sporting 
 with my character is little else than a comic en 
 tertainment, discovering at one view his passionate 
 fondness for your friend, his inviolable love of 
 truth, his unfathomable knowledge, and the mas 
 terly strokes of his wisdom in displaying it. You 
 are heartily welcome to make use of any letter or 
 letters which I may at any time have written to 
 you ; for although I keep no copies of epistles to 
 my friends, nor can remember the contents of all 
 of them, yet I am sensible that the narrations are 
 just, and that truth and honesty will appear in 
 my writings; of which, therefore, I shall not be 
 ashamed, though criticism may censure my style." 
 
90 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Perhaps a little more patience would have pro 
 duced better results, but it is pleasant to find one 
 man, in that period of stupidity and incompetency, 
 who was ready to free his mind in this refreshing 
 way. The only wonder is that he was not driven 
 from his command. That they insisted on keep 
 ing him there shows beyond everything that he had 
 already impressed himself so strongly on Virginia 
 that the authorities, although they smarted under 
 his attacks, did not dare to meddle with him. Din- 
 widdie and the rest could foil him in obtaining a 
 commission in the king s army, but they could not 
 shake his hold upon the people. 
 
 In the winter of 1758 his health broke down 
 completely. He was so ill that he thought that his 
 constitution was seriously injured ; and therefore 
 withdrew to Mount Yernon, where he slowly re 
 covered. Meantime a great man came at last to 
 the head of affairs in England, and, inspired by 
 William Pitt, fleets and armies went forth to con 
 quer. Reviving at the prospect, Washington of 
 fered his services to General Forbes, who had come 
 to undertake the task which Braddock had failed 
 to accomplish. Once more English troops ap 
 peared, and a large army was gathered. Then the 
 old story began again, and Washington, whose prof 
 fered aid had been gladly received, chafed and 
 worried all summer at the fresh spectacle of delay 
 and stupidity which was presented to him. His 
 advice was disregarded, and all the weary business 
 of building new roads through the wilderness was 
 
ON THE FRONTIER. 91 
 
 once more undertaken. A detachment, sent for 
 ward contrary to .his views, met with the fate of 
 Braddock, and as the summer passed, and autumn 
 changed to winter, it looked as if nothing would be 
 gained in return for so much toil and preparation. 
 But Pitt had conquered the Ohio in Canada, news 
 arrived of the withdrawal of the French, the army 
 pressed on, and, with Washington in the van, 
 marched into the smoking ruins of Fort Duquesne, 
 henceforth to be known to the world as Fort Pitt. 
 
 So closed the first period in Washington s pub 
 lic career. We have seen him pass through it in 
 all its phases. It shows him as an adventurous 
 pioneer, as a reckless frontier fighter, and as a 
 soldier of great promise. He learned many things 
 in this time, and was taught much in the hard 
 school of adversity. In the effort to conquer 
 Frenchmen and Indians he studied the art of war, 
 and at the same time he learned to bear with and 
 to overcome the dulness and inefficiency of the gov 
 ernment he served. Thus he was forced to practise 
 self-control in order to attain his ends, and to ac 
 quire skill in the management of men. There 
 could have been no better training for the work he 
 was to do in the after years, and the future showed 
 how deeply he profited by it. Let us turn now, 
 for a moment, to the softer and pleasanter side 
 of life, and having seen what Washington was, 
 and what he did as a fighting man, let us try to 
 know him in the equally important and far more 
 attractive domain of private and domestic life. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 
 
 LEWIS WILLIS, of Fredericksburg, who was at 
 school with Washington, used to speak of him as 
 an unusually studious and industrious boy, but 
 recalled one occasion when he distinguished him 
 self and surprised his schoolmates by " romping 
 with one of the largest girls." l Half a century 
 later, when the days of romping were long over 
 and gone, a gentleman writing of a Mrs. Hartley, 
 whom Washington much admired, said that the 
 general always liked a fine woman. 2 It is certain 
 that from romping he passed rapidly to more 
 serious forms of expressing regard, for by the time 
 he was-iaurteen he had fallen deeply in love with 
 Mary Bland of Westmoreland, whom he calls his 
 " Lowland Beauty," and to whom he wrote various 
 copies of verses, preserved amid the notes of sur 
 veys, in his diary for 1747-48. The old tradi 
 tion identified the " Lowland Beauty " with Miss 
 Grimes, also of Westmoreland, and there are 
 drafts of letters addressed to " Dear Sally," which 
 
 1 Quoted from the Willis MS. by Mr. Conway, in Magazine of 
 American History, March, 1887, p. 196. 
 
 2 Magazine of American History, i. 324. 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 93 
 
 suggest that the mistake in identification might 
 have arisen from the fact that there was more than 
 one lady who answered to that description. In the 
 following sentence from the draft of a letter to a 
 masculine sympathizer, also preserved in the tell 
 tale diary of 1748, there is certainly an indication 
 that the constancy of the lover was not perfect. 
 " Dear Friend Robin," he wrote : " My place of 
 residence at present is at his Lordship s, where I 
 might, were my heart disengaged, pass my time 
 very pleasantly, as there is a very agreeable young 
 lady in the same house, Colonel George Fairfax s 
 wife s sister. But that only adds fuel to the fire, 
 as being often and unavoidably in company with 
 her revives my former passion for your Lowland 
 Beauty ; whereas were I to live more retired from 
 young women, I might in some measure alleviate 
 my sorrow by burying that chaste and troublesome 
 passion in oblivion ; I am very well assured that this 
 will be the only antidote or remedy." Our gloomy 
 young gentleman, however, did not take to solitude 
 to cure the pangs of despised love, but proceeded 
 to calm his spirits by the society of this same sis 
 ter-in-law of George Fairfax, Miss Mary Carey. 
 The " Lowland Beauty," Mary Bland, married 
 Henry Lee, and became the mother of " Legion 
 Harry," a favorite officer and friend of Washing 
 ton, and the grandmother of Robert E. Lee, the 
 great soldier of the Southern Confederacy. The 
 affair with Miss Carey went on apparently for some 
 years, fitfully pursued in the intervals of war and 
 
94 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Indian fighting, and interrupted also by matters of 
 a more tender nature. The first diversion occurred 
 aboot 1752, when we find Washington writing to 
 William Fauntleroy, at Richmond, that he pro 
 posed to come to his house to see his sister, Miss 
 Betsy, and that he hoped for a revocation of her 
 former cruel sentence. 1 Miss Betsy, however, 
 seems to have been obdurate, and we hear no more 
 of love affairs until much later, and then in con 
 nection with matters of a graver sort. 
 
 When Captain Dagworthy, commanding thirty 
 men in the Maryland service, undertook in virtue 
 of a king s commission to outrank the eommander- 
 in-chief of the Virginian forces, Washington made 
 up his mind that he would have this question at 
 least finally and properly settled. So, as has been 
 said, he went to Boston, saw Governor Shirley, and 
 had the dispute determined in his own favor. He 
 made the journey on horseback, and had with him 
 two of his aides and two servants. An old letter, 
 luckily preserved, tells us how he looked, for it con 
 tains orders to his London agents for various arti 
 cles, sent for perhaps in anticipation of this very 
 expedition. In Braddock s campaign the young 
 surveyor and frontier soldier had been thrown 
 among a party of dashing, handsomely equipped 
 officers fresh from London, and their appearance 
 had engaged his careful attention. Washington 
 was a thoroughly simple man in all ways, but he 
 
 1 Historical Magazine, 3d series, 1873. Letter communicated 
 by Fitzhugh Lee, 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 95 
 
 was- also a man of taste and a lover of military 
 discipline. He had a keen sense of appropriate 
 ness, a valuable faculty which stood him in good 
 stead in grave as well as trivial matters all through 
 his career, and which in his youth came out most 
 strongly in the matter of manners and personal ap 
 pearance. He was a handsome man, and liked to 
 be well dressed and to have everything about him 
 self or his servants of the best. Yet he was not a 
 mere imitator of fashions or devoted to fine clothes. 
 The American leggings and fringed hunting-shirt 
 had a strong hold on his affections, and he intro 
 duced them into Forbes s army, and again into the 
 army of the Revolution, as the best uniform for the 
 backwoods fighters. But he learned with Brad dock 
 that the dress of parade has as real military value 
 as that of service, and when he travelled northward 
 to settle about Captain Dagworthy, he felt justly 
 that he now was going on parade for the first time 
 as the representative of his troops and his colony. 
 Therefore with excellent sense he dressed as befitted 
 the occasion, and at the same time gratified his own 
 taste. 
 
 Thanks to these precautions, the little cavalcade 
 that left Virginia on February 4, 1756, must have 
 looked brilliant enough as they rode away through 
 the dark woods. First came the colonel, mounted 
 of course on the finest of animals, for he loved and 
 understood horses from the time when he rode 
 bareback in the pasture to those later days when he 
 acted as judge at a horse-race and saw his own pet 
 
96 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 colt " Magnolia " beaten. In this expedition he 
 wore, o course, his uniform of buff and blue, with 
 a white and scarlet cloak over his shoulders, and a 
 sword-knot of red and gold. His "horse furniture" 
 was of the best London make, trimmed with " livery 
 lace," and the Washington arms were engraved 
 upon the housings. Close by his side rode his two 
 aides, likewise in buff and blue, and behind came 
 his servants, dressed in the Washington colors of 
 white and scarlet and wearing hats laced with silver. 
 Thus accoutred, they all rode on together to the 
 North. 
 
 The colonel s fame had gone before him, for the 
 hero of Braddock s stricken field and the com 
 mander of the Virginian forces was known by repu 
 tation throughout the colonies. Every door flew 
 open to him as he passed, and every one was de 
 lighted to welcome the young soldier. He was 
 dined and wined and feted in Philadelphia, and 
 again in New York, where he fell in love at appar 
 ently short notice with the heiress Mary Philipse, 
 the sister-in-law of his friend Beverly Robinson. 
 Tearing himself away from these attractions he 
 pushed on to Boston, then the most important city 
 on the continent, and the headquarters of Shirley, 
 the commander-in-chief. The little New England 
 capital had at that time a society which, rich for 
 those days, was relieved from its Puritan sombre- 
 ness by the gayety and life brought in b}^ the royal 
 officers. Here Washington lingered ten days, talk 
 ing war and politics with the governor, visiting in 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 97 
 
 state the " great and general court," dancing every 
 night at some ball, dining with and being feted by 
 the magnates of the town. His business done, he 
 returned to New York, tarried there awhile for 
 the sake of the fair dame, but came to no conclu 
 sions, and then, like County Guy, he gave his bridle- 
 rein a shake and rode away again to the South, and 
 to the harassed and ravaged frontier of Virginia. 
 
 How much this little interlude, pushed into a 
 corner as it has been by the dignity of history, 
 how much it tells of the real man ! How the statu 
 esque myth and the priggish myth and the dull 
 and solemn myth melt away before it ! Wise and 
 strong, a bearer of heavy responsibility beyond his 
 years, daring in fight and sober in judgment, we 
 have here the other and the more human side of 
 Washington. One loves to picture that gallant, 
 generous, youthful figure, brilliant in color and 
 manly in form, riding gayly on from one little colo 
 nial town to another, feasting, dancing, courting, 
 and making merry. For him the myrtle and ivy 
 were entwined with the laurel, and fame was 
 sweetened by youth. He was righteously ready to 
 draw from life all the good things which fate and 
 fortune then smiling upon him could offer, and he 
 took his pleasure frankly and freely, with an honest 
 heart. 
 
 We know that he succeeded in his mission and 
 put the captain of thirty men in his proper place, 
 but no one now can tell how deeply he was affected 
 by the charms of Miss Philipse. The only certain 
 
98 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 fact is that he was able not long after to "console 
 himself very effectually. Riding away from Mount 
 Vernon once more, in the spring of 1758, this time 
 to Williamsburg with despatches, he stopped at 
 William s Ferry to dine with his friend Major 
 Chamberlayne, and there he met Martha Dand ridge, 
 the widow of Daniel Parke Custis. She was young, 
 pretty, intelligent, and an heiress, and her society 
 seemed to attract the young soldier. The afternoon 
 wore away, the horses came to the door at the ap 
 pointed time, and after being walked back and forth 
 for some hours were returned to the stable. The 
 sun went down, and still the colonel lingered. The 
 next morning he rode away with his despatches, 
 but on his return he paused at the White House, 
 the home of Mrs. Custis, and then and there 
 plighted his troth with the charming widow. The 
 wooing was brief and decisive, and the successful 
 lover departed for the camp, to feel more keenly 
 than ever the delays of the British officers and the 
 shortcomings of the colonial government. As soon 
 as Fort Duquesne had fallen he hurried home, re 
 signed his commission in the last week of Decem 
 ber, and was married on January 6, 1759. It 
 was a brilliant wedding party which assembled on 
 that winter day in the little church near the W^hite 
 House. There were gathered Francis Fauquier, 
 the gay, free-thinking, high-living governor, gor 
 geous in scarlet and gold ; British officers, red- 
 coated and gold-laced, and all the neighboring 
 gentry in the handsomest clothes that London 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 99 
 
 credit could furnish. The bride was attired in silk 
 and satin, laces and brocade, with pearls on her 
 neck and in her ears ; while the bridegroom appeared 
 in blue and silver trimmed with scarlet, and with 
 gold buckles at his knees and on his shoes. After 
 the ceremony the bride was taken home in a coach 
 and six, her husband riding beside her, mounted on 
 a splendid horse and followed by all the gentlemen 
 of the party. 
 
 The sunshine and glitter of the wedding-day 
 must have appeared to Washington deeply appro 
 priate, for he certainly seemed to have all that 
 heart of man could desire. Just twenty-seven, in 
 the first flush of young manhood, keen of sense and 
 yet wise in experience, life must have looked very 
 fair and smiling. He had left the army with a 
 well-earned fame, and had come home to take the 
 wife of his choice and enjoy the good-will and re 
 spect of all men. While away on his last campaign 
 he had been elected a member of the House of 
 Burgesses, and when he took his seat on removing 
 to Williamsburg, three months after his marriage, 
 Mr. Robinson, the speaker, thanked him publicly 
 in eloquent words for his services to the country. 
 Washington rose to reply, but he was so utterly 
 unable to talk about himself that he stood before 
 the House stammering and blushing, until the 
 speaker said, "Sit down, Mr. Washington ; your 
 modesty equals your valor, and that surpasses the 
 power of any language I possess." It is an old 
 story, and as graceful as it is old, but it was all very 
 
100 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 grateful to Washington, especially as the words of 
 the speaker bodied forth the feelings of Virginia. 
 Such an atmosphere, filled with deserved respect 
 and praise, was pleasant to begin with, and then he 
 had everything else too. 
 
 /He not only continued to sit in the House year 
 after year and help to rule Virginia, but he served 
 on the church vestry, and so held in his hands 
 the reins of local government. He had married 
 a charming woman, simple, straightforward, and 
 sympathetic, free from gossip or pretence, and as 
 capable in practical matters as he was himself. 
 By right of birth a member of the Virginian aris 
 tocracy, he had widened and strengthened his con 
 nections through his wife. A man of handsome 
 property by the death of Lawrence Washington s 
 daughter, he had become by his marriage one of 
 the richest men of the country. Acknowledged to 
 be the first soldier on the continent, respected and 
 trusted in public, successful and happy in private 
 life, he had attained before he was thirty to all 
 that Virginia could give of wealth, prosperity, and 
 honor, a fact of which he was well aware, for there 
 never breathed a man more wisely contented than 
 George Washington at this period. 
 
 He made his home at Mount Vernon, adding 
 many acres to the estate, and giving to it his best 
 attention. It is needless to say that he was suc 
 cessful, for that was the case with everything he 
 undertook. He loved country life, and he was 
 the best and most prosperous planter in Virginia, 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 101 
 
 which was really a more difficult achievement than 
 the mere statement implies. Genuinely profitable 
 farming in Virginia was not common, for the gen 
 eral system was a bad one. A single great staple, 
 easily produced by the reckless exhaustion of land, 
 and varying widely in the annual value of crops, 
 bred improvidence and speculation. Everything 
 was bought upon long credits, given by the London 
 merchants, and this, too, contributed largely to 
 carelessness and waste. The chronic state of a 
 planter in a business way was one of debt, and the 
 lack of capital made his conduct of affairs extrava 
 gant and loose. With all his care and method 
 Washington himself was often pinched for ready 
 money, and it was only by his thoroughness and 
 foresight that he prospered and made money while 
 so many of his neighbors struggled with debt and 
 lived on in easy luxury, not knowing what the 
 morrow might bring forth. 
 
 A far more serious trouble than bad business 
 methods was one which was little heeded at the 
 moment, but which really lay at the foundation of 
 the whole system of society and business. This 
 was the character of the labor by which the plan 
 tations were worked. Slave labor is well known 
 now to be the most expensive and the worst form 
 of labor that can be employed. In the middle of 
 the eighteenth century, however, its evils were not 
 appreciated, either from an economical or a moral 
 point of view. This is not the place to discuss the 
 subject of African slavery in America. But it is 
 
102 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 important to know Washington s opinions in regard 
 to an institution which was destined to have such a 
 powerful influence upon the country, and it seems 
 most appropriate to consider those opinions at the 
 moment when slaves became a practical factor in 
 his life as a Virginian planter. 
 
 Washington accepted the system as he found 
 it, as most men accept the social arrangements 
 to which they are born. He grew up in a world 
 where slavery had always existed, and where its 
 rightfulness had never been questioned. Being on 
 the frontier, occupied with surveying and with war, 
 he never had occasion to really consider the matter 
 at all until he found himself at the head of large 
 estates, with his own prosperity dependent on the 
 labor of slaves. The first practical question, there- 
 lore, was how to employ this labor to the best ad 
 vantage. A man of his clear perceptions soon dis 
 covered the defects of the system, and he gave great 
 attention to feeding and clothing his slaves, and to 
 their general management. Parkinson l says in a 
 general way that Washington treated his slaves 
 harshly, spoke to them sharply, and maintained a 
 military discipline, to which he attributed the Gen 
 eral s rare success as a planter. There can be no 
 doubt of the success, and the military discipline is 
 probably true, but the statement as to harshness is 
 unsupported by any other authority. Indeed, Park 
 inson even contradicts it himself, for he says else 
 where that Washington never bought or sold a slave, 
 1 Tour in America, 1798-1800. 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 103 
 
 a proof of the highest and most intelligent human 
 ity ; and he adds in his final sketch of the General s 
 character, that he " was incapable of wrong-doing, 
 but did to all men as he would they should do to 
 him. Therefore it is not to be supposed that he 
 would injure the negro." This agrees with what we 
 learn from all other sources. Humane by nature, 
 he conceived a great interest and pity for these 
 helpless beings, and treated them with kindness 
 and forethought. In a word, he was a wise and 
 good master, as well as a successful one, and the 
 condition of his slaves was as happy, and their labor 
 as profitable, as was possible to such a system. 
 
 So the years rolled by ; the war came and then 
 the making of the government, and Washington s 
 thoughts were turned more and more, as was the 
 case with all the men of his time in that era of 
 change and of new ideas, to the consideration of 
 human slavery in its moral, political, and social as 
 pects. To trace the course of his opinions in detail 
 is needless. It is sufficient to summarize them, for 
 the results of his reflection and observation are 
 more important than the processes by which they 
 were reached. Washington became convinced that 
 the whole system was thoroughly bad, as well as 
 utterly repugnant to the ideas on which the Kevo- 
 lution was fought and the government of the United 
 States founded. With a prescience wonderful for 
 those days and on that subject, he saw that slavery 
 meant the up-growth in the United States of two 
 systems so radically hostile, both socially and eco- 
 
104 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 nomically, that they could lead only to a struggle 
 for political supremacy, which in its course he 
 feared would imperil the Union. For this reason 
 he deprecated the introduction of the slavery ques 
 tion into the debates of the first Congress, because 
 he realized its character, and he did not believe 
 that the Union or the government at that early day 
 could bear the strain which in this way would be 
 produced. At the same time he felt that a right 
 solution must be found or inconceivable evils would 
 ensue. The inherent and everlasting wrong of the 
 system made its continuance, to his mind, impos 
 sible. While it existed, he believed that the laws 
 which surrounded it should be maintained, because 
 he thought that to violate these only added one 
 wrong to another. He also doubted, as will be seen 
 in a later chapter, where his conversation with John 
 Bernard is quoted, whether the negroes could be 
 immediately emancipated with safety either to them 
 selves or to the whites, in their actual condition of 
 ignorance, illiteracy, and helplessness. The plan 
 which he favored, and which, it would seem, was his 
 hope and reliance, was first the checking of importa 
 tion, followed by a gradual emancipation, with proper 
 compensation to the owners and suitable prepara 
 tion and education for the slaves. He told the 
 clergymen Asbury and Coke, when they visited him 
 for that purpose, that he was in favor of emancipa 
 tion, and was ready to write a letter to the assembly 
 to that effect. 1 He wished fervently that such a 
 
 1 Magazine of American History, 1880, p. 158. 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 105 
 
 spirit might take possession of the people of the 
 country, but he wrote to Lafayette that he de 
 spaired of seeing it. When he died he did all that 
 lay within his power to impress his views upon his 
 countrymen by directing that all his slaves should 
 be set free on the death of his wife. His precepts 
 and his example in this grave matter went unheeded 
 for many years by the generations that came after 
 him. But now that slavery is dead, to the joy of 
 all men, it is well to remember that on this terrible 
 question Washington s opinions were those of a 
 humane man, impatient of wrong, and of a noble 
 and far-seeing statesman, watchful of the evils that 
 threatened his country. 1 
 
 After this digression let us return to the Virgin 
 ian farmer, whose mind was not disturbed as yet 
 by thoughts of the destiny of the United States, or 
 considerations of the rights of man, but who was 
 much exercised by the task of making an honest 
 income out of his estates. To do this he grappled 
 with details as firmly as he did with the general 
 system under which all plantations in that day 
 were carried on. He understood every branch of 
 farming; he was on the alert for every improve 
 ment; he rose early, worked steadily, gave to every 
 thing his personal supervision, kept his own accounts 
 with wonderful exactness, and naturally enough his 
 brands of flour went unquestioned everywhere, his 
 credit was high, and he made money so far as 
 
 1 For some expressions of Washington s opinions on slavery, see 
 Sparks, via. 414, ix. 159-103, and x. 224. 
 
106 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 it was possible under existing conditions. Like 
 Shakespeare, as Bishop Blougram has it, he 
 
 " Saved money, spent it, owned the worth of thing s," 
 
 He had no fine and senseless disregard for money 
 or the good things of this world, but on the con 
 trary saw in them not the value attached to them 
 by vulgar minds, but their true worth. He was a 
 solid, square, evenly-balanced man in those days, 
 believing that whatever he did was worth doing 
 well. So he farmed, as he fought and governed, 
 better than anybody else. 
 
 While thus looking after his own estates at 
 home, he went further afield in search of invest 
 ments, keeping a shrewd eye on the western lands, 
 and buying wisely and judiciously whenever he had 
 the opportunity. He also constituted himself now, 
 as in a later time, the champion of the soldiers, for 
 whom he had the truest sympathy and affection, 
 and a large part of the correspondence of this pe 
 riod is devoted to their claims for the lands granted 
 them by the assembly. He distinguished care 
 fully among them, however, those who were unde 
 serving, and to the major of the regiment, who had 
 been excluded from the public thanks on account 
 of cowardice at the Great Meadows, he wrote as 
 follows : " Your impertinent letter was delivered 
 to me yesterday. As I am not accustomed to re 
 ceive such from any man, nor would have taken 
 the same language from you personally without 
 letting you feel some marks of my resentment, I 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 107 
 
 would advise you to be cautious in writing me a 
 second of the same tenor. But for your stupidity 
 and sottishness you might have known, by attend 
 ing to the public gazette, that you had your full 
 quantity of ten thousand acres of land allowed 
 you. But suppose you had really fallen short, do 
 you think your superlative merit entitles you to 
 greater indulgence than others? . . . All my con 
 cern is that I ever engaged in behalf of so un 
 grateful a fellow as you are." The writer of this 
 letter, be it said in passing, was the man whom 
 Mr. Weeins and others tell us was knocked down 
 before his soldiers, and then apologized to his as 
 sailant. It may be suspected that it was well for 
 the recipient of this letter that he did not have a 
 personal interview with its author, and it may be 
 doubted if he ever sought one subsequently. Just, 
 generous, and magnanimous to an extraordinary 
 degree, Washington had a dangerous temper, held 
 well under control, but blazing out now and again 
 against injustice, impertinence, or oppression. He 
 was a peaceful man, leading a peaceful life, but the 
 fighting spirit only slumbered, and it would break 
 out at wrong of any sort, in a way which was ex 
 tremely unpleasant and threatening to those who 
 aroused it. 
 
 Apart from lands and money and the manage 
 ment of affairs, public and private, there were many 
 other interests of varied nature which all had their 
 share of Washington s time and thought. He was 
 a devoted husband, and gave to his step-children 
 
108 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the most affectionate care. He watched over and 
 protected them, and when the daughter died, after 
 a long- and wasting illness, in 1773, he mourned 
 for her as if she had been his own, with all the 
 tenderness of a deep and reserved affection. The 
 boy, John Custis, he made his friend and compan 
 ion from the beginning, and his letters to the lad 
 and about him are wise and judicious in the high 
 est degree. He spent much time and thought on 
 the question of education, and after securing the 
 best instructors took the boy to New York and 
 entered him at Columbia College in 1773. Young 
 Custis however did not remain there long, for he 
 had fallen in love, and the following year was mar 
 ried to Eleanor Calvert, not without some misgiv 
 ings on the part of Washington, who had observed 
 his ward s somewhat flighty disposition, and who 
 gave a great deal of anxious thought to his future. 
 At home as abroad he was an undemonstrative 
 man, but he had abundance of that real affection 
 which labors for those to whom it goes out more 
 unselfishly and far more effectually than that 
 which bubbles and boils upon the surface like a 
 shallow, noisy brook. 
 
 From the suggestions that he made in regard to 
 young Custis, it is evident that Washington val 
 ued and respected education, and that he had that 
 regard for learning for its own sake which always 
 exists in large measure in every thoughtful man. 
 He read well, even if his active life prevented his 
 reading much, as we can see by his vigorous Eng- 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 109 
 
 lish, and by his occasional allusions to history. 
 From his London orders we see, too, that every 
 thing about his house must have denoted that its 
 possessor had refinement and taste. His intense 
 sense of propriety and unfailing instinct for what 
 was appropriate are everywhere apparent. His 
 dress, his furniture, his harnesses, the things for 
 the children, all show the same fondness for sim 
 plicity, and yet a constant insistence that every 
 thing should be the best of its kind. We can learn 
 a good deal about any man by the ornaments of 
 his house, and by the portraits which hang on his 
 walls ; for these dumb things tell us whom among 
 the great men of earth the owner admires, and in 
 dicate the tastes he best loves to gratify. When 
 Washington first settled with his wife at Mount 
 Vernon, he ordered from Europe the busts of 
 Alexander the Great, Charles XII. of Sweden, 
 Julius Caesar, Frederick of Prussia, Marlborough, 
 and Prince Eugene, and in addition he asked for 
 statuettes of " two wild beasts." The combina 
 tion of soldier and statesman is the predominant 
 admiration, then comes the reckless and splendid 
 military adventurer, and lastly wild life and the 
 chase. There is no mistaking the ideas and fan 
 cies of the man who penned this order which has 
 drifted down to us from the past. 
 
 But as Washington s active life was largely out 
 of doors, so too were his pleasures. He loved the 
 fresh open-air existence of the woods and fields, 
 and there he found his one great amusement. He 
 
110 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 shot and fished, but did not care much for these 
 pursuits, for his hobby was hunting, which gratified 
 at once his passion for horses and dogs and his 
 love for the strong excitement of the chase, when 
 dashed with just enough danger to make it really 
 fascinating. He showed in his sport the same 
 thoroughness and love of perfection that he dis 
 played in everything else. His stables were filled 
 with the best animals that Virginia could furnish. 
 There were the " blooded coach-horses " for Mrs. 
 Washington s carriage, " Magnolia," a full-blooded 
 Arabian, used by his owner for the road, the 
 ponies for the children, and finally, the high-bred 
 hunters Chinkling and Valiant, Ajax and Bliie- 
 skiii, and the rest, all duly set down in the register 
 in the handwriting of the master himself. His first 
 visit in the morning was to the stables. The next 
 to the kennels to inspect and criticise the hounds, 
 also methodically registered and described, so that 
 we can read the names of Vulcan and Ringwood, 
 Singer and Truelove, Music and Sweetlips, to 
 which the Virginian woods once echoed nearly a 
 century and a half ago. His hounds were the sub 
 ject of much thought, and were so constantly and 
 critically drafted as to speed, keenness, and bot 
 tom, that when in full cry they ran so closely 
 bunched that tradition says, in classic phrase, they 
 could have been covered with a blanket. The 
 hounds met three times a week in the season, 
 usually at Mount Vernon, sometimes at Belvoir. 
 They would get off at daybreak, Washington in 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. Ill 
 
 the midst of his hounds, splendidly mounted, gen 
 erally on his favorite Blueskin, a powerful iron- 
 gray horse of great speed and endurance. He wore 
 a blue coat, scarlet waistcoat, buckskin breeches, 
 and a velvet cap. Closely followed by his hunts 
 man and the neighboring gentlemen, with the 
 ladies, headed, very likely, by Mrs. Washington 
 in a scarlet habit, he would ride to the appointed 
 covert and throw in. There was no difficulty in 
 finding, and then away they would go, usually 
 after a gray fox, sometimes after a big black fox, 
 rarely to be caught. Most of the country was wild 
 and unfenced, rough in footing, and offering hard 
 and dangerous going for the horses, but Washing 
 ton always made it a rule to stay with his hounds. 
 Cautious or timid riders, if they were so minded, 
 could gallop along the wood roads with the ladies, 
 and content themselves with glimpses of the hunt, 
 but the master rode at the front. The fields, it is 
 to be feared, were sometimes small, but Washing 
 ton hunted even if he had only his stepson or was 
 quite alone. 
 
 His diaries abound with allusions to the sport. 
 " Went a-hunting with Jacky Custis, and catched 
 a fox after three hours chase ; found it in the 
 creek." " Mr. Bryan Fairfax, Mr. Grayson, and 
 Phil. Alexander came home by sunrise. Hunted 
 and catched a fox with these, Lord Fairfax, his 
 brother, and Colonel Fairfax, all of whom, with 
 Mr. Fairfax and Mr. Wilson of England, dined 
 here." Again, November 26th and 29th, " Hunted 
 
112 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 again with the same party." " 1768, Jan. 8th. 
 Hunting again with same company. Started a fox 
 and run him 4 hours. Took the hounds off at 
 night." "Jan. 15. Shooting." " 16. At home all 
 day with cards ; it snowing." " 23. Rid to Muddy 
 Hole and directed paths to be cut for fox-hunting." 
 "Feb. 12. Catched 2 foxes." "Feb. 13. Catched 
 2 more foxes." "Mar. 2. Catched fox with bob d 
 tail and cut ears after 7 hours chase, in which most 
 of the dogs were worsted." "Dec. 5. Fox-hunting 
 with Lord Fairfax and his brother and Colonel 
 Fairfax. Started a fox and lost it. Dined at 
 Belvoir and returned in the evening." 1 
 
 So the entries run on, for he hunted almost every 
 day in the season, usually with success, but always 
 with persistence. Like all true sportsmen Wash 
 ington had a horror of illicit sport of any kind, 
 and although he shot comparatively little, he was 
 much annoyed by a vagabond who lurked in the 
 creeks and inlets on his estate, and slaughtered his 
 canvas-back ducks. Hearing the report of a gun 
 one morning, he rode through the bushes and saw 
 his poaching friend just shoving off in a canoe. 
 The rascal raised his gun and covered his pursuer, 
 whereupon Washington, the cold-blooded and pa 
 tient person so familiar in the myths, dashed his 
 horse headlong into the water, seized the gun, 
 grasped the canoe, and dragging it ashore pulled 
 the man out of the boat and beat him soundly. If 
 the man had yielded at once he would probably 
 
 1 MS. Diaries in State Department. 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 113 
 
 have got oft" easily enough, but when he put Wash 
 ington s life in imminent peril, the wild fighting 
 spirit flared up as usual. 
 
 The hunting season was of course that of the 
 most lavish hospitality. There was always a great 
 deal of dining about, but Mount Vernon was the 
 chief resort, and its doors, ever open, were flung 
 far back when people came for a meet, or gathered 
 to talk over the events of a good run. Company 
 was the rule and solitude the exception. When 
 only the family were at dinner, the fact was written 
 down in the diary with great care as an unusual 
 event, for Washington was the soul of hospitality, 
 and although he kept early hours, he loved society 
 and a houseful of people. Profoundly reserved and 
 silent as to himself, a lover of solitude so far as 
 his own thoughts and feelings were concerned, he 
 was far from being a solitary man in the ordinary 
 acceptation of the word. He liked life and gayety 
 and conversation, he liked music and dancing or a 
 game of cards when the weather was bad, and he 
 enjoyed heartily the presence of young people and 
 of his own friends. So Mount Vernon was always 
 full of guests, and the master noted in his diary 
 that although he owned more than a hundred cows 
 he was obliged, nevertheless, to buy butter, which 
 suggests an experience not unknown to gentlemen 
 farmers of any period, and also that company was 
 never lacking in that generous, open house over 
 looking the Potomac. 
 
 Beyond the bounds of his own estate he had also 
 
114 GEORGE WASHINGTON*. 
 
 many occupations and pleasures. He was a mem 
 ber of the House of Burgesses, diligent in his at 
 tention to the work of governing the colony. He 
 was diligent also in church affairs, and very active 
 in the vestry, which was the seat of local govern 
 ment in Virginia. We hear of him also as the man 
 ager of lotteries, which were a common form of rais 
 ing money for local purposes, in preference to direct 
 taxation. In a word, he was thoroughly public-spir 
 ited, and performed all the small duties which his 
 position demanded in the same spirit that he after 
 wards brought to the command of armies and to 
 the government of the nation. He had pleasure too, 
 as well as business, away from Mount Vernon. He 
 liked to go to his neighbors houses and enjoy their 
 hospitality as they enjoyed his. We hear of him 
 at the court-house on court days, where all the coun 
 tryside gathered to talk and listen to the lawyers 
 and hear the news, and when he went to Williams- 
 burg his diary tells us of a round of dinners, begin 
 ning with the governor, of visits to the club, and of 
 a regular attendance at the theatre whenever actors 
 came to the little capital. Whether at home or 
 abroad, he took part in all the serious pursuits, 
 in all the interests, and in every reasonable pleasure 
 offered by the colony. 
 
 Take it for all in all, it was a manly, wholesome, 
 many-sided life. It kept Washington young and 
 strong, both mentally and physically. When he 
 was forty he flung the iron bar, at some village 
 sports, to a point which no competitor could ap- 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 115 
 
 proach. There was no man in all Virginia who 
 could ride a horse with such a powerful and assured 
 seat. There was no one who could journey farther 
 on foot, and no man at Williamsburg who showed 
 at the governor s receptions such a commanding 
 presence, or who walked with such a graceful and 
 elastic step. As with the body so with the mind. 
 He never rusted. A practical carpenter and smith, 
 he brought the same quiet intelligence and firm 
 will to the forging of iron or the felling and sawing 
 of trees that he had displayed in fighting France. 
 The life of a country gentleman did not dull or 
 stupefy him, or lead him to gross indulgences. 
 He remained well-made and athletic, strong and 
 enduring, keen in perception and in sense, and warm 
 in his feelings and affections. Many men would 
 have become heavy and useless in these years of 
 quiet country life, but Washington simply ripened, 
 and, like all slowly maturing men, grew stronger, 
 abler, and wiser in the happy years of rest and 
 waiting which intervened between youth and middle 
 age. 
 
 Meantime, while the current of daily life flowed 
 on thus gently at Mount Vernon, the great stream 
 of public events poured by outside. It ran very 
 calmly at first, after the war, and then with a 
 quickening murmur, which increased to an ominous 
 roar when the passage of the Stamp Act became 
 known in America. WashingtolT~was~liTways a 
 constant attendant at the assembly, in which by 
 sheer force of character, and despite his lack of 
 
116 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the talking and debating faculty, he carried more 
 weight than any other member. He was present 
 on May 29, 1765, when Patrick Henry introduced 
 his famous resolutions and menaced the king s 
 government in words which rang through the con 
 tinent. The resolutions were adopted, and Wash 
 ington went home, with many anxious thoughts, 
 to discuss the political outlook with his friend and 
 neighbor George Mason, one of the keenest and 
 ablest men in Virginia. The utter folly of the 
 policy embodied in the Stamp Act struck Washing 
 ton very forcibly. With that foresight for which 
 he was so remarkable, he perceived what scarcely 
 any one else even dreamt of, that persistence in V 
 this course must surely lead to a violent separation ! 
 from the mother country, and it is interesting to note 
 in this, the first instance when he was called upon 
 to consider a political question of great magnitude, 
 his clearness of vision and grasp of mind. In what 
 he wrote there is no trace of the ambitious schemer, 
 no threatening nor blustering, no undue despond 
 ency nor excited hopes. But there is a calm under 
 standing of all the conditions, an entire freedom 
 from self-deception, and the power of seeing facts 
 exactly as they were, which were all characteristic 
 of his intellectual strength, and to which we shall 
 need to recur again and again. 
 
 The repeal of the Stamp Act was received by 
 Washington with sober but sincere pleasure. He 
 had anticipated " direful " results and " unhappy 
 consequences " from its enforcement, and he freely 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 117 
 
 said that those who were instrumental in its repeal 
 had his cordial thanks. He was no agitator, and 
 had not come forward in this affair, so he now re 
 tired again to Mount Yernon, to his farming and 
 hunting, where he remained, watching very closely 
 the progress of events. He had marked the dan 
 gerous reservation of the principle in the very act 
 of repeal ; he observed at Boston the gathering 
 strength of what the wise ministers of .George III. 
 called sedition ; he noted the arrival of British 
 troops in the rebellious Puritan town ; and he saw 
 plainly enough, looming in the background, the 
 final appeal to arms. He wrote to Mason (April 
 5, 1769), that " at a time when our lordly masters 
 in Great Britain will be satisfied with nothing less 
 than the deprivation of American freedom, some 
 thing should be done to avert the stroke and main 
 tain the liberty which we have derived from our 
 ancestors. But the manner of doing it, to answer 
 the purpose effectually, is the point in question. 
 That no man should scruple or hesitate a moment 
 to use arms in defence of so valuable a blessing is 
 clearly my opinion. Yet arms, I would beg leave 
 to add, should be the last resource, the dernier res- 
 sort." He then urged the adoption of the only 
 middle course, non-importation, but he had not 
 much hope in this expedient, although an honest 
 desire is evident that it may prove effectual. 
 
 When the assembly met in May. they received 
 the new governor, Lord Botetourt, with much 
 cordiality, and then fell to passing spirited and 
 
118 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 sharp-spoken resolutions declaring their own rights 
 and defending Massachusetts. The result was a 
 dissolution. Thereupon the burgesses repaired to 
 the Raleigh tavern, where they adopted a set of 
 non-importation resolutions and formed an associa 
 tion. The resolutions were offered by Washing 
 ton, and were the result of his quiet country talks 
 with Mason. When the moment for action ar 
 rived, Washington carne naturally to the front, 
 and then returned quietly to Mount Vernon, once 
 more to go about his business and watch the threat 
 ening political horizon. Virginia did not live 
 up to this first non-importation agreement, and 
 formed another a year later. But Washington 
 was not in the habit of presenting resolutions 
 merely for effect, and there was nothing of the 
 actor in his composition. His resolutions meant 
 business, and he lived up to them rigidly himself. 
 Neither tea nor any of the proscribed articles were 
 allowed in his house. Most of the leaders did not 
 realize the seriousness of the situation, but Wash 
 ington, looking forward with clear and sober gaze, 
 was in grim earnest, and was fully conscious that 
 when he offered his resolutions the colony was try 
 ing the last peaceful remedy, and that the next step 
 would be war. 
 
 Still he went calmly about his many affairs as 
 usual, and gratified the old passion for the frontier 
 by a journey to Pittsburgh for the sake of lands 
 and soldiers claims, and thence down the Ohio and 
 into the wilderness with his old friends the trap- 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 11.9 
 
 pers and pioneers. He visited the Indian villages 
 as in the days of the French mission, and noted in 
 the savages an ominous restlessness, which seemed, 
 like the flight of birds, to express the dumb instinct 
 of an approaching storm. The clouds broke away 
 somewhat under the kindly management of Lord 
 Botetourt, and then gathered again more thickly 
 on the accession of his successor, Lord Dunmore. 
 With both these gentlemen Washington was on 
 the most friendly terms. He visited them often, 
 and was consulted by them, as it behooved them to 
 consult the strongest man within the limits of their 
 
 o 
 
 government. Still he waited and watched, and 
 scanned carefully the news from the North. Be 
 fore long he heard that tea-chests were floating in 
 Boston harbor, and then from across the water 
 came intelligence of the passage of the Port Bill 
 and other measures destined to crush to earth the 
 little rebel town. 
 
 When the Virginia assembly met again, they 
 proceeded to congratulate the governor on the ar 
 rival of Lady Dunmore, and then suddenly, as all 
 was flowing smoothly along, there carne a letter 
 through the corresponding committee which Wash 
 ington had helped to establish, telling of the meas 
 ures against Boston. Everything else was thrown 
 aside at once, a vigorous protest was entered on 
 the journal of the House, and June 1st, when the 
 Port Bill was to go into operation, was appointed 
 a day of fasting, humiliation, and prayer. The 
 first result was prompt dissolution of the assem- 
 
120 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 bly. The next was another meeting in the long 
 room of the Raleigh tavern, where the Boston bill 
 was denounced, non-importation renewed, and the 
 committee of correspondence instructed to take 
 steps for calling a general congress. Events were 
 beginning to move at last with perilous rapidity. 
 Washington dined with Lord Dunmore on the 
 evening of that day, rode with him, and appeared 
 at her ladyship s ball the next night. It was not 
 his way to bite his thumb at men from whom he 
 differed politically, nor to call the motives of his 
 opponents in question. But when the 1st of June 
 arrived, he noted in his diary that he fasted all day 
 and attended the appointed services. He always 
 meant what he said, being of a simple nature, and 
 when he fasted and prayed there was something 
 ominously earnest about it, something that his 
 excellency the governor, who liked the society of 
 this agreeable man and wise counsellor, would have 
 done well to consider and draw conclusions from, 
 and which he probably did not heed at all. He 
 might well have reflected, as he undoubtedly failed 
 to do, that when men of the George Washington 
 type fast and pray on account of political mis 
 doings, it is well for their opponents to look to it 
 carefully. 
 
 Meantime Boston had sent forth appeals to form 
 a league among the colonies, and thereupon an 
 other meeting was held in the Raleigh tavern, and 
 a letter was dispatched advising the burgesses to 
 consider this matter of a general league and take 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 121 
 
 the sense of their respective counties. Virginia and 
 Massachusetts had joined hands now, and they 
 were sweeping the rest of the continent irresisti 
 bly forward with them. As for Washington, he 
 returned to Mount Vernon and at once set about 
 taking the sense of his county, as he had agreed. 
 Before doing so he had some correspondence with 
 his old friend Bryan Fairfax. The Fairfaxes nat 
 urally sided with the mother-country, and Bryan 
 was much distressed by the course of Virginia, 
 and remonstrated strongly, and at length by letter, 
 against violent measures. Washington replied to 
 him : " Does it not appear as clear as the sun in its 
 meridian brightness that there is a regular, system 
 atic plan formed to fix the right arid practice of 
 taxation on us ? Does not the uniform conduct of 
 Parliament for some years past confirm this ? Do 
 not all the debates, especially those just brought to 
 us in the House of Commons, on the side of gov 
 ernment expressly declare that America must be 
 taxed in aid of the British funds, and that she has 
 no longer resources within herself? Is there any 
 thing to be expected from petitioning after this ? Is 
 not the attack upon the liberty and property of the 
 people of Boston, before restitution of the loss to 
 the India Company was demanded, a plain and self- 
 evident proof of what they are aiming at? Do 
 not the subsequent bills (now I dare say acts) for 
 depriving the Massachusetts Bay of its charter, 
 and for transporting offenders into other colonies, 
 or to Great Britain for trial, where it is impossible 
 
122 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 from the nature of the thing that justice can be 
 obtained, convince us that the administration is 
 determined to stick at nothing to carry its point ? 
 Ought we not, then, to put our virtue and fortitude 
 to the severest test ? " He was prepared, he con 
 tinued, for anything except confiscating British 
 debts, which struck him as dishonorable. These 
 were plain but pregnant questions, but what we 
 mark in them, and in all his letters of this time, 
 is the absence of constitutional discussion, of which 
 America was then full. They are confined to a 
 direct presentation of the broad political question, 
 which underlay everything. Washington always 
 went straight to the mark, and he now saw, through 
 all the dust of legal and constitutional strife, that 
 the only real issue was whether America was to be 
 allowed to govern herself in her own way or not. 
 
 O i/ 
 
 In the acts of the ministry he perceived a policy 
 which aimed at substantial power, and he believed 
 that such a policy, if insisted on, could have but 
 one result. 
 
 The meeting of Fairfax County was held in due 
 course, and Washington presided. The usual reso 
 lutions for self-government and against the vindic 
 tive Massachusetts measures were adopted. Union 
 and non-importation were urged ; and then the 
 congress, which they advocated, was recommended 
 to address a petition and remonstrance to the king, 
 and ask him to reflect that " from our sovereign 
 there can be but one appeal." Everything was to 
 be tried, everything was to be done, but the ulti- 
 
LOVE AND MARRIAGE. 123 
 
 mate appeal was never lost sight of where Wash 
 ington appeared, and the final sentence of these 
 Fairfax County resolves is very characteristic of the 
 leader in the meeting. Two days later he wrote 
 to the worthy and still remonstrating Bryan Fair 
 fax, repeating and enlarging his former questions, 
 and adding : " Has not General Gage s conduct 
 since his arrival, in stopping the address of his 
 council, and publishing a proclamation more be 
 coming a Turkish bashaw than an English gover 
 nor, declaring it treason to associate in any man 
 ner by which the commerce of Great Britain is to 
 be affected, has not this exhibited an unexampled 
 testimony of the most despotic system of tyranny 
 that ever was practised in a free government ? . . . 
 Shall we after this whine and cry for relief, when 
 we have already tried it in vain? Or shall we 
 supinely sit and see one province after another fall 
 a sacrifice to despotism?" The fighting spirit of 
 the man was rising. There was no rash rushing 
 forward, no ignorant shouting for war, no blinking 
 of the real issue, but a foresight that nothing could 
 dim, and a perception of facts which nothing could 
 confuse. 
 
 On August 1st Washington was at Williams- 
 burg, to represent his county in the meeting of 
 representatives from all Virginia. The conven 
 tion passed resolutions like the Fairfax resolves, 
 and chose delegates to a general congress. The 
 silent man was now warming into action. He 
 " made the most eloquent speech that ever was 
 
124 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 made," and said, " I will raise a thousand men, sub 
 sist them at my own expense, and march them to 
 the relief of Boston." He was capable, it would 
 seem, of talking* to the purpose with some fire and 
 force, for all he was so quiet and so retiring. When 
 there was anything to say, he could say it so that 
 it stirred all who listened, because they felt that 
 there was a mastering strength behind the words. 
 He faced the terrible issue solemnly and firmly, but 
 his blood was up, the fighting spirit in him was 
 aroused, and the convention chose him as one of 
 Virginia s six delegates to the Continental Con 
 gress. He lingered long enough to make a few 
 preparations at Mount Vernon. He wrote another 
 letter to Fairfax, interesting to us as showing the 
 keenness with which he read in the meagre news- 
 reports the character of Gage and of the opposing 
 people of Massachusetts. Then he started for the 
 North to take the first step on the long and diffi 
 cult path that lay before him. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 TAKING COMMAND. 
 
 IN the warm days of closing August, a party of 
 three gentlemen rode away from Mount Vernon one 
 morning, and set out upon their long journey to 
 Philadelphia. One cannot help wondering whether 
 a tender and somewhat sad remembrance did not 
 rise in Washington s mind, as he thought of the 
 last time he had gone northward, nearly twenty 
 years before. Then, he was a light-hearted young- 
 soldier, and he and his aides, albeit they went on 
 business, rode gayly through the forests, lighting 
 the road with the bright colors they wore and with 
 the glitter of lace and arms, while they anticipated 
 all the pleasures of youth in the new lands they 
 were to visit. Now, he was in the prime of man 
 hood, looking into the future with prophetic eyes, 
 and sober as was his wont when the shadow of com 
 ing responsibility lay dark upon his path. With 
 him went Patrick Henry, four years his junior, and 
 Edmund Pendleton, now past threescore. They 
 were all quiet and grave enough, no doubt; but 
 Washington, we may believe, was gravest of all, 
 because, being the most truthful of men to him 
 self as to others, he saw more plainly what was 
 coming. So they made their journey to the North, 
 
126 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 and on the memorable 5th of September they met 
 with their brethren from the other colonies in Car 
 penters Hall in Philadelphia. 
 
 The Congress sat fifty-one days, occupied with 
 debates and discussion. Few abler, more honest, 
 or more memorable bodies of men have ever as 
 sembled to settle the fate of nations. Much de 
 bate, great and earnest in all directions, resulted 
 in a declaration of colonial rights, in an address to 
 the king, in another to the people of Canada, and 
 a third to the people of Great Britain ; masterly 
 state papers, seldom surpassed, and extorting even 
 then the admiration of England. In these debates 
 and state papers Washington took no part that is 
 now apparent on the face of the record. He was 
 silent in the Congress, and if he w r as consulted, as 
 lie unquestionably was by the committees, there is 
 no record of it now. The simple fact was that his 
 time had not come. He saw men of the most 
 acute minds, liberal in education, patriotic in heart, 
 trained in law and in history, doing the work of 
 the moment in the best possible way. If anything 
 had been done wrongly, or had been left undone, 
 Washington would have found his voice quickly 
 enough, and uttered another of the " most eloquent 
 speeches ever made," as he did shortly before in 
 the Virginia convention. He could speak in public 
 when need was, but now there was no need and 
 nothing to arouse him. The work of Congress 
 followed the line of policy adopted by the Virginia 
 convention, and that had proceeded along the path 
 
TAKING COMM 
 
 marked out in the Fairfax resolves, so that Wash 
 ington could not foe other than content. He occu 
 pied his own time, as we see by notes in his diary, 
 in visiting the delegates from the other colonies, 
 and in informing himself as to their ideas and pur 
 poses, and those of the people whom they repre 
 sented. He was quietly working for the future, 
 the present being well taken care of. Yet this si 
 lent man, going hither and thither, and chatting 
 pleasantly with this member or that, was in some 
 way or other impressing himself deeply on all the 
 delegates, for Patrick Henry said : " If you speak 
 of solid information and sound judgment, Colonel 
 Washington is unquestionably the greatest man on 
 the floor." 
 
 We have a letter, written at just this time, which 
 shows us how Washington felt, and we see again 
 how his spirit rose as he saw more and more clearly 
 that the ultimate issue was inevitable. The letter 
 is addressed to Captain Mackenzie, a British officer 
 at Boston, and an old friend. " Permit me," he 
 began, " with the freedom of a friend (for you 
 know I always esteemed you"), to express my sor 
 row that fortune should place you in a service that 
 must fix curses to the latest posterity upon the 
 contrivers, and, if success (which, by the by, is im 
 possible) accompanies it, execrations upon all those 
 who have been instrumental in the execution." 
 This was rather uncompromising talk and not over 
 peaceable, it must be confessed. He continued : 
 "Give me leave to add, and I think I can an- 
 
128 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 nounce it as a fact, that it is not the wish or intent 
 of that government [Massachusetts], or any other 
 upon this continent, separately or collectively, to 
 set up for independence ; but this you may at the 
 same time rely on, that none of them will ever sub 
 mit to the loss of those valuable rights and privi 
 leges which are essential to the happiness of every 
 free state, and without which life, liberty, and 
 property are rendered totally insecure. . . . Again 
 give me leave to add as my opinion that more 
 blood will be spilled on this occasion, if the minis 
 try are determined to push matters to extremity, 
 than history has ever yet furnished instances of 
 in the annals of North America, and such a vital 
 wound will be given to the peace of this great coun 
 try, as time itself cannot cure or eradicate the re 
 membrance of." Washington was not a political 
 agitator like Sam Adams, planning with unerring 
 intelligence to bring about independence. On the 
 contrary, he rightly declared that independence was 
 not desired. But although he believed in exhaust 
 ing every argument and every peaceful remedy, it 
 is evident that he felt that there now could be but 
 one result, and that violent separation from the 
 mother country was inevitable. Here is where he 
 differed from his associates and from the great 
 mass of the people, and it is to this entire veracity 
 of mind that his wisdom and foresight were so 
 largely due, as well as his success when the time 
 came for him to put his hand to the plough. 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 129 
 
 When Congress adjourned, Washington returned 
 to Mount Vernori, to the pursuits and pleasures that 
 he loved, to his family and farm, and to his horses 
 and hounds, with whom he had many a good run, 
 the last that he was to enjoy for years to come. 
 He returned also to wait and watch as before, and 
 to see war rapidly gather in the east. When the 
 Virginia convention again assembled, resolutions 
 were introduced to arm and discipline men, and 
 Henry declared in their support that an " appeal 
 to arms and to the God of Hosts " was all that 
 was left. Washington said nothing, but he served 
 on the committee to draft a plan of defence, and 
 then fell to reviewing the independent companies 
 which were springing up everywhere. At the same 
 time he wrote to his brother John, who had raised 
 a troop, that he would accept the command of it if 
 desired, as it was his " full intention to devote his 
 life and fortune in the cause we are engaged in, if 
 needful." At Mount Vernon his old comrades of 
 the French war began to appear, in search of cour 
 age and sympathy. Thither, too, came Charles 
 Lee, a typical military adventurer of that period, 
 a man of English birth and of varied service, 
 brilliant, whimsical, and unbalanced. There also 
 came Horatio Gates, likewise British, and disap 
 pointed with his prospects at home ; less adventur 
 ous than Lee, but also less brilliant, and not much 
 more valuable. 
 
 Thus the winter wore away ; spring opened, 
 and toward the end of April Washington started 
 
130 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 again for the North, much occupied with certain tid 
 ings from Lexington and Concord which just then 
 spread over the land. He saw all that it meant 
 plainly enough, and after noting the fact that the 
 colonists fought and fought well, he wrote to 
 George Fairfax in England : " Unhappy it is to 
 reflect that a brother s sword has been sheathed 
 in a brother s breast, and that the once happy 
 and peaceful plains of America are either to be 
 drenched in blood or inhabited by slaves. Sad al 
 ternative. But can a virtuous man hesitate in his 
 choice ? " Congress, it would seem, thought there 
 was a good deal of room for hesitation, both for 
 virtuous men and others, and after the fashion of 
 their race determined to do a little more debat 
 ing and arguing, before taking any decisive step. 
 After much resistance and discussion, a second 
 " humble and dutiful petition " to the king was 
 adopted, and with strange contradiction a confeder 
 ation was formed at the same time, and Congress 
 proceeded to exercise the sovereign powers thus 
 vested in them. The most pressing and trouble 
 some question before them was what to do with the 
 army surrounding Boston, and with the actual hos 
 tilities there existing. 
 
 Washington, for his part, went quietly about as 
 before, saying nothing and observing much, work 
 ing hard as chairman of the military committees, 
 planning for defence, and arranging for raising an 
 army. One act of his alone stands out for us with 
 significance at this critical time. In this second 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 131 
 
 Congress he appeared habitually on the floor in his 
 blue and buff uniform of a Virginia colonel. It 
 was his way of saying that the hour for action had 
 come, and that he at least was ready for the fight 
 whenever called upon. 
 
 Presently he was summoned. Weary of waiting, 
 John Adams at last declared that Congress must 
 adopt the army and make Washington, who at this 
 mention of his name stepped out of the room, 
 comrnander-iii-chief. On June 15th, formal mo 
 tions were made to this effect and unanimously 
 adopted, and the next day Washington appeared 
 before Congress and accepted the trust. His words 
 were few and simple. He expressed his sense of 
 his own insufficiency for the task before him, and 
 said that as no pecuniary consideration could have 
 induced him to undertake the work, he must decline 
 all pay or emoluments, only looking to Congress to 
 defray his expenses. In the same spirit he wrote 
 to his soldiers in Virginia, to his brother, and 
 finally, in terms at once simple and pathetic, to his 
 wife. There was no pretence about this, but the 
 sternest reality of self-distrust, for Washington 
 saw and measured as did no one else the magni 
 tude of the work before him. He knew that he 
 was about to face the best troops of Europe, and 
 he had learned by experience that after the first ex 
 citement was over he would be obliged to rely upon 
 a people brave and patriotic, it is true, but undis 
 ciplined, untrained, and unprepared for war, with 
 out money, without arms, without allies or credit, 
 
132 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 and torn by selfish local interests. Nobody else 
 perceived all this as he was able to with his mastery 
 of facts, but he faced the duty unflinchingly. He 
 did not put it aside because he distrusted himself, 
 for in his truthfulness he could not but confess 
 that no other American could show one tithe of his 
 capacity, experience, or military service. He knew 
 what was coming, knew it, no doubt, when he first 
 put on his uniform, and he accepted instantly. 
 
 John Adams in his autobiography speaks of the 
 necessity of choosing a Southern general, and also 
 says there were objectors to the selection of Wash 
 ington even among the Virginia delegates. That 
 there were political reasons for taking a Virginian 
 cannot be doubted. But the dissent, even if it ex 
 isted, never appeared on the surface, excepting in 
 the case of John Hancock, who, with curious van 
 ity, thought that he ought to have this great place. 
 When Washington s name was proposed there was 
 no murmur of opposition, for there was no man 
 who could for one moment be compared with him 
 in fitness. The choice was inevitable, and he him 
 self felt it to be so. He saw it coming ; he would 
 fain have avoided the great task, but no thought of 
 shrinking crossed his mind. He saw with his en 
 tire freedom from constitutional subtleties that an 
 absolute parliament sought to extend its power to 
 the colonies. To this he would not submit, and he 
 knew that this was a question which could be set 
 tled only by one side giving way, or by the dread 
 appeal to arms. It was a question of fact, hard, 
 
TAKING COMMAND, 133 
 
 unrelenting fact, now to be determined by battle, 
 and on him had fallen the burden of sustaining the 
 cause of his country. In this spirit he accepted his 
 commission, and rode forth to review the troops. 
 He was greeted with loud acclaim wherever he ap 
 peared. Mankind is impressed by externals, and 
 those who gazed upon Washington in the streets of 
 Philadelphia felt their courage rise and their hearts 
 grow strong at the sight of his virile, muscular 
 figure as he passed before them on horseback, 
 stately, dignified, and self-contained. The people 
 looked upon him, and were confident that this was 
 a man worthy and able to dare and do all things. 
 
 On June 21st he set forth accompanied by Lee 
 and Schuyler, and with a brilliant escort. He had 
 ridden but twenty miles when he was met by the 
 news of Bunker Hill. "Did the militia fight?" 
 was the immediate and characteristic question; and 
 being told that they did fight, he exclaimed, " Then 
 the liberties of the country are safe." Given the 
 fighting spirit, Washington felt he could do any 
 thing. Full of this important intelligence he 
 pressed forward to Newark, where he was received 
 by a committee of the provincial congress, sent to 
 conduct the Commander-in-chief to New York. 
 There he tarried long enough to appoint Schuyler 
 to the charge of the military affairs in that colony, 
 having mastered on the journey its complicated so 
 cial and political conditions. Pushing on through 
 Connecticut he reached Watertown, where he was 
 received by the provincial congress of Massachu- 
 
134 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 setts, on July 2d, with every expression of attach 
 ment and confidence. Lingering less than an hour 
 for this ceremony, he rode on to the headquarters at 
 Cambridge, and when he came within the lines the 
 shouts of the soldiers and the booming of cannon 
 announced his arrival to the English in Boston. 
 
 The next day he rode forth in the presence of a 
 great multitude, and the troops having been drawn 
 up before him, he drew his sword beneath the his 
 torical elm-tree, and took command of the first 
 American army. " His excellency," wrote Dr. 
 Thatcher in his journal, " was on horseback in 
 company with several military gentlemen. It was 
 not difficult to distinguish him from all others. 
 He is tall and well proportioned, and his personal 
 appearance truly noble and majestic." " He is tall 
 and of easy and agreeable address," the loyalist 
 Curwen had remarked a few weeks before ; while 
 Mrs. John Adams, warm-hearted and clever, wrote 
 to her husband after the general s arrival : " Dig 
 nity, ease, and complacency, the gentleman and the 
 soldier, look agreeably blended in him. Modesty 
 marks every line and feature of his face. Those 
 lines of Dryden instantly occurred to me, 
 
 Mark his majestic fabric ! He s a temple 
 Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine ; 
 His soul s the deity that lodges there ; 
 Nor is the pile unworthy of the God. 
 
 Lady, lawyer, and surgeon, patriot and tory, all 
 speak alike, and as they wrote so New England 
 felt. A slave-owner, an aristocrat, and a church- 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 135 
 
 man, Washington came to Cambridge to pass over 
 the heads of native generals to the command of a 
 New England army, among a democratic people, 
 hard-working and simple in their lives, and dissent 
 ers to the backbone, who regarded episcopacy as 
 something little short of papistry and quite equiva 
 lent to toryism. Yet the shout that went up from 
 soldiers and people on Cambridge common on that 
 pleasant July morning came from the heart and 
 had.no jarring note. A few of the political chiefs 
 growled a little in later days at Washington, but 
 the soldiers and the people, high and low, rich and 
 poor, gave him an unstinted loyalty. On the fields 
 of battle and throughout eight years of political 
 strife the men of New England stood by the great 
 Virginian with a devotion and truth in which was 
 no shadow of turning. Here again we see exhibited 
 most conspicuously the powerful personality of the 
 man who was able thus to command immediately 
 the allegiance of this naturally cold and reserved 
 people. What was it that they saw that inspired 
 them at once with so much confidence ? They looked 
 upon a tall, handsome man, dressed in plain uni 
 form, wearing across his breast a broad blue band 
 of silk, which some may have noticed as the badge 
 and symbol of a certain solemn league and cove 
 nant once very momentous in the English-speaking 
 world. They saw his calm, high bearing, and in 
 every line of face and figure they beheld the signs 
 of force and courage. Yet there must have been 
 something more to call forth the confidence then 
 
136 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 so quickly given, and which no one ever long with 
 held. All felt dimly, but none the less surely, that 
 here was a strong, able man, capable of rising to 
 the emergency, whatever it might be, capable of 
 continued growth and development, clear of head 
 and warm of heart ; and so the New England peo 
 ple gave to him instinctively their sympathy and 
 their faith, and never took either back. 
 
 The shouts and cheers died away, and then 
 Washington returned to his pleasant quarterp in 
 the Craigie house, to master the task before him. 
 The first great test of his courage and ability had 
 come, and he faced .it quietly as the excitement 
 caused by his arrival passed by. He saw before 
 him, to use his own words, " a mixed multitude of 
 people, under very little discipline, order, or govern 
 ment." In the language of one of his aides: 1 "The 
 entire army, if it deserved the name, was but an 
 assemblage of brave, enthusiastic, undisciplined, 
 country lads ; the officers in general quite as igno 
 rant of military life as the troops, excepting a few 
 elderly men, who had seen some irregular service 
 among the provincials under Lord Amherst." With 
 this force, ill-posted and very insecurely fortified, 
 Washington was to drive the British from Boston. 
 His first step was to count his men, and it took eight 
 days to get the necessary returns, which in an ordi 
 nary army would have been furnished in an hour. 
 When he had them, he found that instead of twenty 
 thousand, as had been represented, but fourteen 
 
 1 John Trurabull, Reminiscences, p. 18. 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 137 
 
 thousand soldiers were actually present for duty. In 
 a short time, however, Mr. Emerson, the chaplain, 
 noted in his diary that it was surprising how much 
 had been done, and that the lines had been so ex 
 tended, and the works so shrewdly built, that it was 
 morally impossible for the enemy to get out except 
 in one place purposely left open. A little later the 
 same observer remarked : " There is a great over 
 turning in the camp as to order and regularity ; 
 new lords, new laws. The Generals Washington 
 and Lee are upon the lines every day. The strict 
 est government is taking place, and great distinc 
 tion is made between officers and soldiers." Bodies 
 of troops scattered here and there by chance were 
 replaced by well-distributed forces, posted wisely 
 and effectively in strong intrenchments. It is little 
 wonder that the worthy chaplain was impressed, 
 and now, seeing it all from every side, we too can 
 watch order come out of chaos and mark the growth 
 of an army under the guidance of a master-mind 
 and the steady pressure of an unbending will. 
 
 Then too there was no discipline, for the army 
 was composed of raw militia, who elected their 
 officers and carried on war as they pleased. In 
 a passage suppressed by Mr. Sparks, Washington 
 said : " There is no such thing as getting officers of 
 this stamp to carry orders into execution to curry 
 favor with the men (by whom they were chosen, 
 and on whose smile they may possibly think that 
 they may again rely) seems to be one of the -prin 
 cipal objects of their attention. I have made a 
 
138 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 pretty good slam amongst such kind of officers as 
 the Massachusetts government abounds in, since I 
 came into this camp, having broke one colonel and 
 two captains for cowardly behavior in the action 
 on Bunker Hill, two captains for drawing more pay 
 and provisions than they had men in their company, 
 and one for being absent from his post when the 
 enemy appeared there and burnt a house just by it. 
 Besides these I have at this time one colonel, one 
 major, one captain, and two subalterns under arrest 
 for trial. In short, I spare none, and yet fear it 
 will not all do, as these people seem to be too 
 attentive to everything but their own interests." 
 This may be plain and homely in phrase, but it is 
 not stilted, and the quick energy of the words 
 shows how the New England farmers and fisher 
 men were being rapidly brought to discipline. 
 Bringing the army into order, however, was but a 
 small part of his duties. It is necessary to run 
 over all his difficulties, great and small, at this time, 
 and count them up, in order to gain a just idea of 
 the force and capacity of the man who overcame 
 them. 
 
 Washington, moreover, was obliged to deal not 
 only with his army, but with the general congress 
 and the congress of the province. He had to teach 
 them, utterly ignorant as they were of the needs 
 and details of war, how to organize and supply their 
 armies. There was no commissary department, 
 there were no uniforms, no arrangements for am 
 munition, no small arms, no cannon, no resources 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 139 
 
 to draw upon for all these necessaries of war. Lit 
 tle by little he taught Congress to provide after a 
 fashion for these things, little by little he developed 
 what he needed, and by his own ingenuity, and by 
 seizing alertly every suggestion from others, he 
 supplied for better or worse one deficiency after 
 another. He had to deal with various governors 
 and various colonies, each with its prejudices, jeal 
 ousies, and shortcomings. He had to arrange for 
 new levies from a people unused to war, and to 
 settle with infinite anxiety and much wear and tear 
 of mind and body, the conflict as to rank among 
 officers to whom he could apply no test but his 
 own insight. He had to organize and stimulate 
 the arming of privateers, which, by preying on 
 British commerce, were destined to exercise such a 
 powerful influence on the fate of the war. It was 
 neither showy nor attractive, such work as this, but 
 it was very vital, and it was done. 
 
 By the end of July the army was in a better 
 posture of defence, and then at the beginning of 
 the next month, as the prospect was brightening, 
 it was suddenly discovered that there was no gun 
 powder. An undrilled army, imperfectly organized, 
 was facing a disciplined force and had only some 
 nine rounds in the cartridge-boxes. Yet there is no 
 quivering in the letters from headquarters. Anx 
 iety and strain of nerve are apparent ; but a resolute 
 determination rises over all, supported by a ready 
 fertility of resource. Couriers flew over the coun 
 try asking for powder in every town and in every 
 
140 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 village. A vessel was even dispatched to the Ber 
 mudas to seize there a supply of powder, of which 
 the general, always listening, had heard. Thus 
 the immediate and grinding pressure was presently 
 relieved, but the staple of war still remained piti 
 fully and perilously meagre all through the winter. 
 Meantime, while thus overwhelmed with the cares 
 immediately about him, Washington was watch 
 ing the rest of the country. He had a keen eye 
 upon Johnson and his Indians in the valley of the 
 Mohawk ; he followed sharply every movement of 
 Tryon and the Tories in New York ; he refused 
 with stern good sense to detach troops to Con 
 necticut and Long Island, knowing well when to 
 give and when to say No, a difficult monosyllable 
 for the new general of freshly revolted colonies. 
 But if he would not detach in one place, he was 
 ready enough to do so in another. He sent one 
 expedition by Lake Champlain, under Montgom 
 ery, to Montreal, and gave Arnold picked troops 
 to march through the wilds of Maine and strike 
 Quebec. The scheme was bold and brilliant, both 
 in conception and in execution, and came very 
 near severing Canada forever from the British 
 crown. A chapter of little accidents, each one of 
 which proved as fatal as it was unavoidable, a mo 
 ment s delay on the Plains of Abraham, and the 
 whole campaign failed ; but there was a grasp of 
 conditions, a clearness of perception, and a com 
 prehensiveness about the plan, which stamp it as 
 the work of a great soldier, who saw besides the 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 141 
 
 military importance, the enormous political value 
 held out by the chance of such a victory. 
 
 The daring, far-reaching quality of this Cana 
 dian expedition was much more congenial to Wash 
 ington s temper and character than the wearing 
 work of the siege. All that man could do before 
 Boston was done, and still Congress expected the 
 impossible, and grumbled because without ships 
 he did not secure the harbor. He himself, while 
 he inwardly resented such criticism, chafed under 
 the monotonous drudgery of the intrenchments. 
 He was longing, according to his nature, to fight, 
 and was, it must be confessed, quite ready to at 
 tempt the impossible in his own way. Early in 
 September he proposed to attack the town in boats 
 and by the neck of land at Roxbury, but the coun 
 cil of officers unanimously voted against him. A 
 little more than a month later he planned another 
 attack, and was again voted down by his officers. 
 Councils of war never fight, it is said, and perhaps 
 in this case it was well that such was their habit, 
 for the schemes look rather desperate now. To us 
 they serve to show the temper of the man, and also 
 his self-control, for Washington was ready enough 
 to override councils when wholly free from doubt 
 himself. 
 
 Thus the planning of campaigns, both distant 
 and near, went on, and at the same time the cur 
 rent of details, difficult, vital, absolute in demand 
 ing prompt and vigorous solution, went on too. 
 The existence of war made it necessary to settle 
 
142 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 our relations with our enemies, and that these rela 
 tions should be rightly settled was of vast moment 
 to our cause, struggling for recognition. The first 
 question was the matter of prisoners, and on Au 
 gust llth Washington wrote to Gage : 
 
 " 1 understand that the officers engaged in the 
 cause of liberty and their country, who by the for 
 tune of war have fallen into your hands, have been 
 thrown indiscriminately into a common gaol ap 
 propriated for felons ; that no consideration has 
 been had for those of the most respectable^ rank, 
 when languishing with wounds and sickness ; and 
 that some have been even amputated in this un 
 worthy situation. 
 
 " Let your opinion, sir, of the principle which 
 actuates them be what it may, they suppose that 
 they act from the noblest of all principles, a love 
 of freedom and their country. But political prin 
 ciples, I conceive, are foreign to this point. The 
 obligations arising from the rights of humanity 
 and claims of rank are universally binding and 
 extensive, except in case of retaliation. These, I 
 should have hoped, would have dictated a more 
 tender treatment of those individuals whom chance 
 or war had put in your power. Nor can I forbear 
 suggesting its fatal tendency to widen that un 
 happy breach which you, and those ministers un 
 der whom you act, have repeatedly declared your 
 wish is to see forever closed. 
 
 " My duty now makes it necessary to apprise 
 you, that for the future I shall regulate all my 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 143 
 
 conduct towards those gentlemen who are or may 
 be in our possession, exactly by the rule you shall 
 observe towards those of ours now in your custody. 
 
 " If severity and hardship mark the line of your 
 conduct, painful as it may be to me, your prisoners 
 will feel its effects. But if kindness and humanity 
 are shown to ours, I shall with pleasure consider 
 those in our hands only as unfortunate, and they 
 shall receive from me that treatment to which the 
 unfortunate are ever entitled." 
 
 This is a letter worthy of a little study. The 
 affair does not look very important now, but it 
 went then to the roots of things ; for this letter 
 would go out to the world, and America and the 
 American cause would be judged by their leader. 
 A little bluster or ferocity, any fine writing, or any 
 absurdity, and the world would have sneered, con 
 demned, or laughed. But no man could read this 
 letter and fail to perceive that here was dignity 
 and force, justice and sense, with just a touch of 
 pathos and eloquence to recommend it to the heart. 
 Men might differ with the writer, but they could 
 neither laugh at him nor set him aside. 
 
 Gage replied after his kind. He was an incon 
 siderable person, dull and well meaning, intended 
 for the command of a garrison town, and terribly 
 twisted and torn by the great events in which he 
 was momentarily caught. His masters were stupid 
 and arrogant, and he imitated them with perfect 
 success, except that arrogance with him dwindled 
 to impertinence. He answered Washington s letter 
 
144 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 with denials and recriminations, lectured the Amer 
 ican general on the political situation, and talked 
 about " usurped authority," " rebels," " criminals," 
 and persons destined to the " cord." Washington, 
 being a man of his word, proceeded to put some 
 English prisoners into jail, and then wrote a sec 
 ond note, giving Gage a little lesson in manners, 
 with the vain hope of making him see that gentle 
 men did not scold and vituperate because they 
 fought. He restated his case calmly and coolly, 
 as before, informed Gage that he had investigated 
 the counter-charge of cruelty and found it without 
 any foundation, and then continued : " You advise 
 me to give free operation to truth, and to punish 
 misrepresentation and falsehood. If experience 
 stamps value upon counsel, yours must have a 
 weight which few can claim. You best can tell 
 how far the convulsion, which has brought such ruin 
 on both countries, and shaken the mighty empire 
 of Britain to its foundation, may be traced to these 
 malignant causes. 
 
 " You affect, sir, to despise all rank not derived 
 from the same source with your own. I cannot 
 conceive one more honorable than that which flows 
 from the uncorrupted choice of a brave and free 
 people, the purest source and original fountain of 
 all power. Far from making it a plea for cruelty, 
 a mind of true magnanimity and enlarged ideas 
 would comprehend and respect it." 
 
 Washington had grasped instinctively the gen 
 eral truth that Englishmen are prone to mistake 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 145 
 
 civility for servility, and become offensive, whereas 
 if they are treated with indifference, rebuke, or even 
 rudeness, they are apt to be respectful and polite. 
 He was obliged to go over the same ground with 
 Sir William Howe, a little later, and still more 
 sharply ; and this matter of prisoners recurred, al 
 though at longer and longer intervals, throughout 
 the war. But as the British generals saw their 
 officers go to jail, and found that their impudence 
 and assumption were met by keen reproofs, they 
 gradually comprehended that Washington was not 
 a man to be trifled with, and that iri him was a 
 pride and dignity out-topping theirs and far strong 
 er, because grounded on responsibility borne and 
 work done, and on the deep sense of a great and 
 righteous cause. 
 
 It was probably a pleasure and a relief to give 
 to Gage and Sir William Howe a little instruction 
 in military behavior and general good manners, but 
 there was nothing save infinite vexation in dealing 
 with the difficulties arising on the American side 
 of the line. As the days shortened and the leaves 
 fell, Washington saw before him a New England 
 winter, with no clothing and no money for his 
 troops. Through long letters to Congress, and 
 strenuous personal efforts, these wants were some 
 how supplied. Then the men began to get restless 
 and homesick, and both privates and officers would 
 disappear to their farms, which Washington, al 
 ways impatient of wrongdoing, styled " base and 
 pernicious conduct," and punished accordingly. 
 
146 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 By and by the terms of enlistment ran out and 
 the regiments began to melt away even before the 
 proper date. Recruiting was carried on slowly 
 and with difficulty, new levies were tardy in com 
 ing in, and Congress could not be persuaded to 
 stop limited enlistments. Still the task was done. 
 The old army departed and a new one arose in its 
 place, the posts were strengthened and ammunition 
 secured. 
 
 Among these reinforcements came some Virginia 
 riflemen, and it must have warmed Washington s 
 heart to see once more these brave and hardy fight 
 ers in the familiar hunting shirt and leggings. 
 They certainly made him warm in a very differ 
 ent sense by getting into a rough-and-tumble fight 
 one winter s day with some Marblehead fishermen. 
 The quarrel was at its height, when suddenly into 
 the brawl rode the commander-in-chief. He quickly 
 dismounted, seized two of the combatants, shook 
 them, berated them, if tradition may be trusted, 
 for their local jealousies, and so with strong arm 
 quelled the disturbance. He must have longed to 
 take more than one colonial governor or magnate 
 by the throat and shake him soundly, as he did his 
 soldiers from the woods of Virginia and the rocks 
 of Marblehead, for to his temper there was noth 
 ing so satisfying as rapid and decisive action. But 
 he could not quell, governors and assemblies in this 
 way, and yet he managed them and got what he 
 wanted with a patience and tact which it must have 
 been in the last degree trying to him to practise, 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 147 
 
 gifted as he was with a nature at once masterful 
 and passionate. 
 
 Another trial was brought about by his securing 
 and sending out privateers which did good service. 
 They brought in many valuable prizes which caused 
 infinite trouble, and forced Washington not only to 
 be a naval secretary, but also made him a species 
 of admiralty judge. He implored the slow-moving 
 Congress to relieve him from this burden, and sug 
 gested a plan which led to the formation of spe 
 cial committees and was the origin of the Federal 
 judiciary of the United States. Besides the local 
 jealousies and the personal jealousies, and the pri 
 vateers and their prizes, he had to meet also the 
 greed and selfishness as well of the money-making, 
 stock-jobbing spirit which springs up rankly under 
 the influence of army contracts and large expendi 
 tures among a people accustomed to trade and 
 unused to war. Washington wrote savagely of 
 these practices, but still, despite all hindrances and 
 annoyances, he kept moving straight on to his ob 
 ject. 
 
 In the midst of his labors, harassed and tried 
 in all ways, he was assailed as usual by complaint 
 and criticism. Some of it came to him through 
 his friend and aide, Joseph Reed, to whom he wrote 
 in reply one of the noblest letters ever penned by 
 a great man struggling with adverse circumstances 
 and wringing victory from grudging fortune. He 
 said that he was always ready to welcome criticism, 
 hear advice, and learn the opinion of the world. 
 
148 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 " For as I have but one capital object in view, 
 I could wish to make my conduct coincide with the 
 wishes of mankind, as far as I can consistently ; 
 I mean, without departing from that great line of 
 duty which, though hid under a cloud for some 
 time, from a peculiarity of circumstances, may, 
 nevertheless, bear a scrutiny." Thus he held fast 
 to " the great line of duty," though bitterly tried 
 the while by the news from Canada, where brilliant 
 beginnings were coming to dismal endings, and 
 cheered only by the arrival of his wife, who drove 
 up one day in her coach and four, with the horses 
 ridden by black postilions in scarlet and white 
 liveries, much to the amazement, no doubt, of the 
 sober-minded New England folk. 
 
 Light, however, finally began to break on the 
 work about him. Henry Knox, sent out for that 
 purpose, returned safely with the guns captured at 
 Ticonderoga, and thus heavy ordnance and gun 
 powder were obtained. By the middle of February 
 the harbor was frozen over, and Washington ar 
 ranged to cross the ice and carry Boston by storm. 
 Again he was held back by his council, but this 
 time he could not be stopped. If he could not cross 
 the ice he would go by land. He had been slowly 
 but surely advancing his works all winter, and now 
 he determined on a decisive stroke. On the evening 
 of Monday, March 4th, under cover of a heavy bom 
 bardment which distracted the enemy s attention, 
 he marched a large body of troops to Dorchester 
 Heights and began to throw up redoubts. The 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 149 
 
 work went forward rapidly, and Washington rode 
 about all night encouraging the men. The New 
 England soldiers had sorely tried his temper, and 
 there were many severe attacks and bitter criti 
 cisms upon them in his letters, which were sup 
 pressed or smoothed over for the most part by Mr. 
 Sparks, but which have come to light since, as is 
 sometimes the case with facts. Gradually, how 
 ever, the General had come to know his soldiers 
 better, and six months later he wrote to Lund 
 Washington, praising his northern troops in the 
 highest terms. Even now he understood them as 
 never before, and as he watched them on that 
 raw March night, working with the energy and 
 quick intelligence of their race, he probably felt 
 that the defects were superficial, but the virtues, 
 the tenacity, and the courage were lasting and 
 strong. 
 
 When day dawned, and the British caught sight 
 of the formidable works which had sprung up in 
 the night, there was a great excitement and running 
 hither and thither in the town. Still the men on 
 the heights worked on, and still Washington rode 
 back and forth among them. He was stirred and 
 greatly rejoiced at the coming of the fight, which 
 he now believed inevitable, and as always, when he 
 was deeply moved, the hidden springs of sentiment 
 and passion were opened, and he reminded his soldiers 
 that it was the anniversary of the Boston massacre, 
 and appealed to them by the memories of that day 
 to prepare for battle with the enemy. As with 
 the Huguenots at Ivry, 
 
150 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 " Remember St. Bartholomew was passed from man to man." 
 
 But the fighting 1 never came. The British troops 
 were made ready, then a gale arose and they could 
 not cross the bay. The next day it rained in tor 
 rents, and the next day it was too late. The Ameri 
 can intrenchments frowned threateningly above 
 the town, and began to send in certain ominous 
 messengers in the shape of shot and shell. The 
 place was now so clearly untenable that Howe de 
 termined to evacuate it. An informal request to 
 allow the troops to depart unmolested was not an 
 swered, but Washington suspended his fire and the 
 British made ready to withdraw. Still they hesi 
 tated and delayed, until Washington again ad 
 vanced his works, and on this hint they started in 
 earnest, on March 17th, amid confusion, pillage, 
 and disorder, leaving cannon and much else behind 
 them, and seeking refuge in their ships. 
 
 All was over, and the town was in the hands of 
 the Americans. In Washington s own words, " To 
 maintain a post within musket-shot of the enemy 
 for six months together, without powder, and at the 
 same time to disband one army and recruit another 
 within that distance of twenty-odd British regi 
 ments, is more, probably, than ever was attempted." 
 It was, in truth, a gallant feat of arms, carried 
 through by the resolute will and strong brain of 
 one man. The troops 011 both sides were brave, 
 but the British had advantages far more than com 
 pensating for a disparity of numbers, always slight 
 and often more imaginary than real. They had 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 151 
 
 twelve thousand men, experienced, disciplined, 
 equipped, and thoroughly supplied. They had the 
 best arms and cannon and gunpowder. They com 
 manded the sea with a strong fleet, and they were 
 concentrated on the inside line, able to strike with 
 suddenness and overwhelming force at any point of 
 widely extended posts. Washington caught them 
 with an iron grip and tightened it steadily until, 
 in disorderly haste, they took to their boats without 
 even striking a blow. Washington s great abilities, 
 and the incapacity of the generals opposed to him, 
 were the causes of this result. If Robert Clive, 
 for instance, had chanced to have been there the 
 end might possibly have been the same, but there 
 would have been some bloody fighting before that 
 end was reached. The explanation of the feeble 
 abandonment of Boston lies in the stupidity of the 
 English government, which had sown the wind and 
 then proceeded to handle the customary crop with 
 equal fatuity. 
 
 There were plenty of great men in England, but 
 they were not conducting her government or her 
 armies. Lord Sandwich had declared in the House 
 of Lords that all " Yankees were cowards," a sim 
 ple and satisfactory statement, readily accepted by 
 the governing classes, and flung in the teeth of the 
 British soldiers as they fell back twice from the 
 bloody slopes of Bunker Hill. Acting on this 
 pleasant idea, England sent out as commanders of 
 her American army a parcel of ministerial and 
 court favorites, thoroughly second-rate men, to 
 
152 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 whom was confided the task of beating one of the 
 best soldiers and hardest fighters of the century. 
 Despite the enormous material odds in favor of 
 Great Britain, the natural result of matching the 
 Howes and Gages and Clintons against George 
 Washington ensued, and the first lesson was taught 
 by the evacuation of Boston. 
 
 Washington did not linger over his victory. 
 Even while the British fleet still hung about the 
 harbor he began to send troops to New York to 
 make ready for the next attack. He entered Bos 
 ton in order to see that every precaution was taken 
 against the spread of the smallpox, and then pre 
 pared to depart himself. Two ideas, during his 
 first winter of conflict, had taken possession of his 
 mind, and undoubtedly influenced profoundly his 
 future course. One was the conviction that the 
 struggle must be fought out to the bitter end, and 
 must bring either subjugation or complete indepen 
 dence. He wrote in February : " With respect to 
 myself, I have never entertained an idea of an ac 
 commodation, since I heard of the measures which 
 were adopted in consequence of the Bunker s Hill 
 fight ; " and at an earlier date he said : " I hope 
 my countrymen (of Virginia) will rise superior to 
 any losses the whole navy of Great Britain can 
 bring on them, and that the destruction of Norfolk 
 and threatened devastation of other places will 
 have no other effect than to unite the whole coun 
 try in one indissoluble band against a nation which 
 seems to be lost to every sense of virtue and those 
 
TAKING COMMAND. 153 
 
 feelings which distinguish a civilized people from 
 the most barbarous savages." With such thoughts 
 he sought to make Congress appreciate the prob 
 able long duration of the struggle, and he bent 
 every energy to giving permanency to his army, 
 and decisiveness to each campaign. The other 
 idea which had grown in his mind during the 
 weary siege was that the Tories were thoroughly 
 dangerous and deserved scant mercy. In his second 
 letter to Gage he refers to them, with the frank 
 ness which characterized him when he felt strongly, 
 as " execrable parricides," and he made ready to 
 treat them with the utmost severity at New York 
 and elsewhere. When Washington was aroused 
 there was a stern and relentless side to his char 
 acter, in keeping with the force and strength which 
 were his chief qualities. His attitude on this point 
 seems harsh now when the old Tories no longer 
 look very dreadful. But they were dangerous 
 then, and Washington, with his honest hatred of 
 all that seemed to him to partake of meanness or 
 treason, proposed to put them down and render 
 them harmless, being well convinced, after his 
 clear-sighted fashion, that war was not peace, and 
 that mildness to domestic foes was sadly misplaced. 
 His errand to New England was now done and 
 well done. His victory was won, everything was 
 settled at Boston ; and so, having sent his army 
 forward, he started for New York, to meet the 
 harder trials that still awaited him. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 
 
 AFTER leaving Boston, Washington proceeded 
 through Rhode Island and Connecticut, pushing 
 troops forward as he advanced, and reached New 
 York on April 13th. There he found himself 
 plunged at once into the same sea of difficulties 
 with which he had been struggling at Boston, the 
 only difference being that these were fresh and 
 entirely untouched. The army was inadequate, 
 and the town, which was the central point of the 
 colonies, as well as the great river at its side, was 
 wholly unprotected. The troops were in large 
 measure raw and undrilled, the committee of safety 
 was hesitating, the Tories were virulent and ac 
 tive, corresponding constantly with Tryon who 
 was lurking in a British man-of-war, while from 
 the north came tidings of retreat and disaster. 
 All these harassing difficulties crowded upon the 
 commander-in-chief as soon as he arrived. To ap 
 preciate him it is necessary to understand these con 
 ditions and realize their weight and consequence, 
 albeit the details seem petty. When we compre 
 hend the difficulties, then we can see plainly the 
 greatness of the man who quietly and silently took 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 155 
 
 them up and disposed of them. Some he scotched 
 and some he killed, but he dealt with them all after 
 a fashion sufficient to enable him to move steadily 
 forward. In his presence the provincial committee 
 suddenly stiffened and grew strong. All corre 
 spondence with Tryon was cut off, the Tories were 
 repressed, and on Long Island steps were taken to 
 root out " these abominable pests of society," as 
 the commander-in-chief called them in his plain- 
 spoken way. Then forts were built, soldiers ener 
 getically recruited and drilled, arrangements made 
 for prisoners, and despite all the present cares anx 
 ious thought was given to the Canada campaign, 
 and ideas and expeditions, orders, suggestions and 
 encouragement were freely furnished to the dispir 
 ited generals and broken forces of the north. 
 
 One matter, however, overshadowed all others. 
 Nearly a year before, Washington had seen that 
 there was no prospect or possibility of accommoda 
 tion with Great Britain. It was plain to his mind 
 that the struggle was final in its character and 
 would be decisive. Separation from the mother 
 country, therefore, ought to come at once, so that 
 public opinion might be concentrated, and above all, 
 permanency ought to be given to the army. These 
 ideas he had been striving to impress upon Con 
 gress, for the most partless clear-sighted than he 
 was as to facts, and as the months slipped by his 
 letters had grown constantly more earnest and 
 more vehement. Still Congress hesitated, and at 
 last Washington went himself to Philadelphia and 
 
156 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 held conferences with the principal men. What he 
 said is lost, but the tone of Congress certainly rose 
 after his visit. The aggressive leaders found their 
 hands so much strengthened that little more than 
 a mdhth later they carried through a declaration 
 of independence, which was solemnly and grate 
 fully proclaimed to the army by the general, much 
 relieved to have got through the necessary boat- 
 burning, and to have brought affairs, military and 
 political, on to the hard ground of actual fact. 
 
 Soon after his return from Philadelphia, he re 
 ceived convincing proof that his views in regard 
 to the Tories were extremely sound. A conspiracy 
 devised by Tryon, which aimed apparently at the 
 assassination of the commander-in-chief, and which 
 had corrupted his life-guards for that purpose, 
 was discovered and scattered before it had fairly 
 hardened into definite form. The mayor of the 
 city and various other persons were seized and 
 thrown into prison, and one of the life-guards, 
 Thomas Hickey by name, who was the principal 
 tool in the plot, was hanged in the presence of a 
 large concourse of people. Washington wrote a 
 brief and business-like account of the affair to 
 Congress, from which one would hardly suppose 
 that his own life had been aimed at. It is a 
 curious instance of his cool indifference to personal 
 danger. The conspiracy had failed, that was suffi 
 cient for him, and he had other things besides him 
 self to consider. " We expect a bloody summer 
 in New York and Canada," he wrote to his brother, 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 157 
 
 and even while the Canadian expedition was com 
 ing to a disastrous close, and was bringing hostile 
 invasion instead of the hoped-for conquest, British 
 men-of-war were arriving daily in the harbor^nd 
 a large army was collecting on Staten Island.* The 
 rejoicings over the Declaration of Independence had 
 hardly died away, when the vessels of the enemy 
 made their way up the Hudson without check from 
 the embryo forts, or the obstacles placed in the 
 stream. 
 
 July 12th Lord Howe arrived with more troops, 
 and also with ample powers to pardon and nego 
 tiate. Almost immediately he tried to open a cor 
 respondence with Washington, but Colonel Reed, in 
 behalf of the General, refused to receive the let 
 ter addressed to " Mr. Washington." Then Lord 
 Howe sent an officer to the American camp with 
 a second letter, addressed to " George Washington, 
 Esq., etc., etc." The bearer was courteously re 
 ceived, but the letter was declined. " The etc., etc. 
 may mean anything," said the Englishman. " It 
 may also mean nothing," Washington replied, and 
 added that touching the pardoning power of Lord 
 Howe there could be no pardon where there was no 
 guilt, and where no forgiveness was asked. As a 
 result of these interviews, Lord Howe wrote to 
 England that it would be well to give Mr. Wash 
 ington his proper title. A small question, appar 
 ently, this of the form of address, especially to a 
 lover of facts, and yet it was in reality of genuine 
 importance. To the world Washington represented 
 
158 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the young republic, and he was determined to ex 
 tort from England the first acknowledgment of 
 independence by compelling her to recognize the 
 Americans as belligerents and not rebels. Wash 
 ington cared as little for vain shows as any man 
 who ever lived, but he had the highest sense of per 
 sonal dignity, and of the dignity of his cause and 
 country. Neither should be allowed to suffer in his 
 hands. He appreciated the effect on mankind of 
 forms and titles, and with unerring judgment he 
 insisted on what he knew to be of real value. It 
 is one of the earliest examples of the dignity and 
 good taste which were of such inestimable value to 
 his country. 
 
 He had abundant occasion also for the employ 
 ment of these same qualities, coupled with un 
 wearied patience and tact, in dealing with his own 
 men. The present army was drawn from a wider 
 range than that which had taken Boston, and sec 
 tional jealousies and disputes, growing every day 
 more hateful to the commancler-in-chief, sprang up 
 rankly. The men of Maryland thought those of 
 Connecticut ploughboys ; the latter held the former 
 to be fops and dandies. These and a hundred 
 other disputes buzzed and whirled about Wash 
 ington, stirring his strong temper, and exercising 
 his sternest self-control in the untiring effort to 
 suppress them and put them to death. "It re 
 quires," John Adams truly said, " more serenity 
 of temper, a deeper understanding, and more cour 
 age than fell to the lot of Marlborough, to ride in 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 159 
 
 this whirlwind." Fortunately these qualities were 
 all there, and with them an honesty of purpose and 
 an unbending directness of character to which 
 Anne s great general was a stranger. 
 
 Meantime, while the internal difficulties were 
 slowly diminished, the forces of the enemy rapidly 
 increased. First it became evident that attacks 
 were not feasible. Then the question changed to 
 a mere choice of defences. Even as to this there 
 was great and harassing doubt, for the enemy, 
 having command of the water, could concentrate 
 and attack at any point they pleased. Moreover, 
 the British had thirty thousand of the best disci 
 plined and best equipped troops that Europe could 
 furnish, while Washington had some twenty thou 
 sand men, one fourth of whom were unfit for duty, 
 and with the remaining three fourths, raw recruits 
 for the most part, he was obliged to defend an ex 
 tended line of posts, without cavalry, and with no 
 means for rapid concentration. Had he been gov 
 erned solely by military considerations he would 
 have removed the inhabitants, burned New York, 
 and drawing his forces together would have taken 
 up a secure post of observation. To have de 
 stroyed the town, however, not only would have 
 frightened the tirnid and the doubters, and driven 
 them over to the Tories, but would have dispir 
 ited the patriots not yet alive to the exigencies 
 of war, and deeply injured the American cause. 
 That Washington well understood the need of such 
 action is clear, both from the current rumors that 
 
160 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the town was to be burned, and from his expressed 
 desire to remove the women and children from 
 New York. But political considerations overruled 
 the military necessity, and he spared the town. It 
 was bad enough to be thus hampered, but he was 
 even more fettered in other ways, for he could not 
 even concentrate his forces and withdraw to the 
 Highlands without a battle, for he was obliged to 
 fight in order to sustain public feeling, and thus 
 he was driven on to almost sure defeat. 
 
 Everything, too, as the day of battle drew near, 
 seemed to make against him. On August 22d the 
 enemy began to land on Long Island, where Greene 
 had drawn a strong line of redoubts behind the vil 
 lage of Brooklyn, to defend the heights which com 
 manded New York, and had made every arrange 
 ment to protect the three roads through the wooded 
 hills, about a mile from the retrenchments. Most 
 unfortunately, and just at the critical moment, 
 Greene was taken down with a raging fever, so 
 that when Washington came over on the 24th he 
 found much confusion in the camps, which he re 
 pressed as best he could, and then prepared for the 
 attack. Greene s illness, however, had caused some 
 oversights which were unknown to the commander- 
 in-chief, and which, as it turned out, proved fatal. 
 
 After indecisive skirmishing for two or three 
 days, the British started early on the morning of the 
 26th. They had nine thousand men and were well 
 informed as to the country. Advancing through 
 woodpaths and lanes, they came round to the 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 161 
 
 left flank of the Americans. One of the roads 
 through the hills .was unguarded, the others feebly 
 protected. The result is soon told. The Ameri 
 cans, out-generalled and out-flanked, were taken by 
 surprise and surrounded, Sullivan and his divi 
 sion were cut off, and then Lord Stirling. There 
 was some desperate fighting, and the Americans 
 showed plenty of courage, but only a few forced 
 their way out. Most of them were killed or taken 
 prisoners, the total loss out of some five thousand 
 men reaching as high as two thousand./ 
 
 From the redoubts, whither he had come at 
 the sound of the firing, Washington watched the 
 slaughter and disaster in grim silence. He saw 
 the British troops, flushed with victory, press on to 
 the very edge of his works and then withdraw in 
 obedience to command. The British generals had 
 their prey so surely, as they believed, that they 
 mercifully decided not to waste life unnecessarily 
 by storming the works in the first glow of success. 
 So they waited during that night and the two fol 
 lowing days, while Washington strengthened his 
 intrenchments, brought over reinforcements, and 
 prepared for the worst. On the 29th it became ap 
 parent that there was a movement in the fleet, and 
 that arrangements were being made to take the 
 Americans in the rear and wholly cut them off. Ife 
 was a pretty plan, but the British overlooked the 
 fact that while they were lingering, summing up 
 their victory, and counting the future as assured, 
 there was a silent watchful man on the other side 
 
162 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 of the redoubts who for forty-eight hours never left 
 the lines, and who with a great capacity for stub 
 born fighting could move, when the stress came, 
 with the celerity and stealth of a panther. 
 
 Washington swiftly determined to retreat. It 
 was a desperate undertaking, and a lesser man 
 would have hesitated and been lost. He had to 
 transport nine thousand men across a strait of 
 strong tides and currents, and three quarters of a 
 mile in width. It was necessary to collect the 
 boats from a distance, and do it all within sight 
 and hearing of the enemy. The boats were ob 
 tained, a thick mist settled down on sea and land, 
 the water was calm, and as the night wore away, 
 the entire army with all its arms and baggage was 
 carried over, Washington leaving in the last boat. 
 At daybreak the British awoke, but it was too late. 
 They had fought a successful battle, they had had 
 the American army in their grasp, and now all was 
 over. The victory had melted away, and, as a 
 grand result, they had a few hundred prisoners, a 
 stray boat with three camp-followers, and the de 
 serted works in which they stood. To make such 
 a retreat as this was a feat of arms as great as 
 most victories, and in it we see, perhaps as plainly 
 as anywhere, the nerve and quickness of the man 
 who conducted it. It is true it was the only 
 chance of salvation, but the great man is he who j 
 is entirely master of his opportunity, even if he 
 have but one. 
 
 The outlook, nevertheless, was, as Washington 
 
SAVING THE HE VOLUTION". 163 
 
 wrote, " truly distressing." The troops were dispir 
 ited, and the militia began to disappear, as they 
 always did after a defeat. Congress would not 
 permit the destruction of the city, different inter 
 ests pulled in different directions, conflicting opin 
 ions distracted the councils of war, and, with utter 
 inability to predict the enemy s movements, every 
 thing led to halfway measures and to intense anx 
 iety, while Lord Howe tried to negotiate with Con 
 gress, and the Americans waited for events. Wash 
 ington, looking beyond the confusion of the mo 
 ment, saw that he had gained much by delay, and 
 had his own plan well defined. He wrote : " We 
 have not only delayed the operations of the cam 
 paign till it is too late to effect any capital incur 
 sion into the country, but have drawn the enemy s 
 forces to one point. ... It would be presumption 
 to draw out our young troops into open ground 
 against their superiors both in number and disci 
 pline, and I have never spared the spade and pick 
 axe." Every one else, however, saw only past de 
 feat and present peril. 
 
 The British ships gradually made their way up 
 the river, until it became apparent that they in 
 tended to surround and cut off the American army. 
 Washington made preparations to withdraw, but 
 uncertainty of information came near rendering his 
 precautions futile. September 15th the men-of-war 
 opened fire, and troops were landed near Kip s 
 Bay. The militia in the breastworks at that point 
 had been at Brooklyn and gave way at once, com- 
 
164 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 municating their panic to two Connecticut regi 
 ments. Washington, galloping down to the scene 
 of battle, came upon the disordered and flying 
 troops. He dashed in among them, conjuring them 
 to stop, but even while lie was trying to rally them 
 they broke again on the appearance of some sixty 
 or seventy of the enemy, and ran in all directions. 
 In a tempest of anger Washington drew his pis 
 tols, struck the fugitives with his sword, and was 
 only forced from the field by one of his officers 
 seizing the bridle of his horse and dragging him 
 away from the British, now within a hundred yards 
 of the spot. 
 
 Through all his trials and anxieties Washington 
 always showed the broadest and most generous 
 sympathy. When the militia had begun to leave 
 him a few days before, although he despised their 
 action and protested bitterly to Congress against 
 their employment, yet in his letters he displayed 
 a keen appreciation of their feeli-ngs, and saw 
 plainly every palliation and excuse. But there was 
 one thing which he could never appreciate nor real 
 ize. It was from first to last impossible for him to 
 understand how any man could refuse to fight, or 
 could think of running away. When he beheld 
 rout and cowardly panic before his very eyes, his 
 temper broke loose and ran uncontrolled. His one 
 thought then was to fight to the last, and he would 
 have thrown himself single-handed on the enemy, 
 with all his wisdom and prudence flung to the 
 winds. The day when the commander held his 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 165 
 
 place by virtue of personal prowess lay far back 
 in the centuries,, and no one knew it better than 
 Washington. But the old fighting spirit awoke 
 within him when the clash of arms sounded in his 
 ears, and though we may know the general in the 
 tent and in the council, we can only know the man 
 when he breaks out from all rules and customs, 
 and shows the rage of battle, and the indomitable 
 eagerness for the fray, which lie at the bottom of 
 the tenacity and courage that carried the war for 
 independence to a triumphant close. 
 
 The rout and panic over, Washington quickly 
 turned to deal with the pressing danger. With 
 coolness and quickness he issued his orders, and 
 succeeded in getting his army off, Putnam s divi 
 sion escaping most narrowly. He then took post 
 at King s Bridge, and began to strengthen and 
 fortify his lines. While thus engaged, the enemy 
 advanced, and on the 16th a sharp skirmish was 
 fought, in which the British were repulsed, and 
 great bravery was shown by the Connecticut and 
 Virginia troops, the two commanding officers being 
 killed. This affair, which was the first gleam of 
 success, encouraged the troops, and was turned to 
 the best account by the general. Still a successful 
 skirmish did not touch the essential difficulties of 
 the situation, which then as always came from 
 within, rather than without. To face and check 
 twenty-five thousand well equipped and highly dis 
 ciplined soldiers Washington had now some twelve 
 thousand men, lacking in everything which goes to 
 
166 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 make an army, except mere individual courage and 
 a high average of intelligence. Even this meagre 
 force was an inconstant and diminishing quantity, 
 shifting, uncertain, and always threatening disso 
 lution. 
 
 The task of facing and fighting the enemy was 
 enough for the ablest of men ; but Washington was 
 obliged also to combat and overcome the inertness 
 and dulness born of ignorance, and to teach Con 
 gress how to govern a nation at war. In the hours 
 "allotted to sleep," he sat in his headquarters, 
 writing a letter, with " blots and scratches," which 
 told Congress with the utmost precision and vigor 
 just what was needed. It was but one of a long 
 series of similar letters, written with unconquerable 
 patience and with unwearied iteration, lighted here 
 and there by flashes of deep and angry feeling, 
 which would finally strike home under the pressure 
 of defeat, and bring the patriots of the legislature 
 to sudden action, always incomplete, but still ac 
 tion of some sort. It must have been inexpressibly 
 dreary work, but quite as much was due to those 
 letters as to the battles. Thinking for other peo 
 ple, and teaching them what to do, is at best an 
 ungrateful duty, but when it is done while an en 
 emy is at your throat, it shows a grim tenacity of 
 purpose which is well worth consideration. 
 
 In this instance the letter of September 24th, 
 read in the light of the battles of Long Island and 
 Kip s Bay, had a considerable effect. The first 
 steps were taken to make the army national and 
 
SAVING THE DEVOLUTION. 167 
 
 permanent, to raise the pay of officers, and to 
 lengthen enlistments. Like most of the war meas 
 ures of Congress, they were too late for the imme 
 diate necessity, but they helped the future. Con 
 gress, moreover, then felt that all had been done 
 that could be demanded, and relapsed once more 
 into confidence. " The British force," said John 
 Adams, chairman of the board of war, "is so di 
 vided, they will do no great matter this fall." But 
 Washington, facing hard facts, wrote to Congress 
 with his unsparing truth on October 4th : " Give 
 me leave to say, sir, (I say it with due deference 
 and respect, and my knowledge of the facts, added 
 to the importance of the cause and the stake I hold 
 in it, must justify the freedom,) that your affairs 
 are in a more unpromising way than you seem to 
 apprehend. Your army, as I mentioned in my 
 last, is on the eve of its political dissolution. True 
 it is, you have voted a larger one in lieu of it ; but 
 the season is late ; and there is a material differ 
 ence between voting battalions and raising men." 
 
 The campaign as seen from the board of war 
 and from the Plains of Harlem differed widely. It 
 is needless to say now which was correct ; every 
 one knows that the General was right and Con 
 gress wrong, but being in the right did not help 
 Washington, nor did he take petty pleasure in be 
 ing able to say, " I told you how it would be." 
 The hard facts remained unchanged. There was 
 the wholly patriotic but slumberous, and for fight 
 ing purposes quite inefficient Congress still to be 
 
168 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 waked up and kept awake, and to be instructed. 
 With painful and plain-spoken repetition this work 
 was grappled with and clone methodically, and like 
 all else as effectively as was possible. 
 
 Meanwhile the days slipped along, and Wash 
 ington waited on the Harlem Plains, planning de 
 scents on Long Island, and determining to make a 
 desperate stand where he was, unless the situation 
 decidedly changed. Then the situation did change, 
 as neither he nor any one else apparently had an 
 ticipated. The British war-ships came up the 
 Hudson past the forts, brushing aside our boasted 
 obstructions, destroying our little fleet, and getting 
 command of the river. Then General Howe 
 landed at Frog s Point, where he was checked for 
 the moment by the good disposition of Heath, 
 under Washington s direction. These two events 
 made it evident that the situation of the American 
 army was full of peril, and that retreat was again 
 necessary. Such certainly was the conclusion of 
 the council of war, on the 16th, acting this time 
 in agreement with their chief. Six days Howe 
 lingered on Frog s Point, bringing up stores or 
 artillery or something ; it matters little now why 
 he tarried. Suffice it that he waited, and gave six 
 days to Washington. They were of little value to 
 Howe, but they were of inestimable worth toWash- 
 ington, who employed them in getting everything 
 in readiness, in holding his council of war, and then 
 on the 17th in moving deliberately off to very strong 
 ground at White Plains. On his way. he fought 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 169 
 
 two or three slight, sharp, and successful skirmishes 
 with the British. Sir William followed closely, but 
 with much caution, having now a dull glimmer in 
 his mind that at the head of the raw troops in front 
 of him was a man with whom it was not safe to be 
 entirely careless. 
 
 On the 28th, Howe came up to Washington s 
 position, and found the Americans quite equal in 
 numbers, strongly intrenched, and awaiting his at 
 tack with confidence. He hesitated, doubted, and 
 finally feeling that he must do something, sent four 
 thousand men to storm Chatterton Hill, an outly 
 ing post, where some fourteen hundred Americans 
 were stationed. There was a short, sharp action, 
 and then the Americans retreated in good order to 
 the main army, having lost less than half as many 
 men as their opponents. With caution now much 
 enlarged, Howe sent for reinforcements, and waited 
 two days. The third day it rained, and on the 
 fourth Howe found that Washington had with 
 drawn to a higher and quite impregnable line of 
 hills, where he held all the passes in the rear and 
 awaited a second attack. Howe contemplated the 
 situation for two or three days longer, and then 
 broke camp and withdrew to Dobbs Ferry. Such 
 were the great results of the victory of Long Is 
 land, two wasted months, and the American army 
 still untouched. 
 
 Howe was resolved, however, that his campaign 
 should not be utterly fruitless, and therefore di 
 rected his attention to the defences of the Hudson, 
 
170 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Fort Lee, and Fort Washington, and here he met 
 with better success. Congress, in its military wis 
 dom, had insisted that these forts must and could 
 be held. So thought the generals, and so most es 
 pecially, and most unluckily, did Greene. Wash 
 ington, with his usual accurate and keen percep 
 tion, saw, from the time the men-of-war came up 
 the Hudson, and, now that the British army was 
 free, more clearly than ever that both forts ought 
 to be abandoned. Sure of his ground, he overruled 
 Congress, but was so far influenced by Greene that 
 he gave to that officer discretionary orders as to 
 withdrawal. This was an act of weakness, as he 
 afterwards admitted, for which he bitterly re 
 proached himself, never confusing or glossing over 
 his own errors, but loyal there, as elsewhere, to 
 facts. An attempt was made to hold both forts, 
 and both were lost, as he had foreseen. From Fort 
 Lee the garrison withdrew in safety. Fort Wash 
 ington was carried by storm, after a severe struggle. 
 Twenty-six hundred men and all the munitions of 
 war fell into the hands of the enemy. It was a seri 
 ous and most depressing loss, and was felt through 
 out the continent. 
 
 Meantime Washington had crossed into the Jer 
 seys, and, after the loss of Fort Lee, began to re 
 treat before the British, who, flushed with victory, 
 now advanced rapidly under Lord Cornwallis. The 
 crisis of his fate and of the Revolution was upon 
 him. His army was melting away. The militia 
 had almost all disappeared, and regiments whose 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 171 
 
 term of enlistment had expired were departing 
 daily. Lee, who had a division under his command, 
 was ordered to come up, but paid no attention, al 
 though the orders were repeated almost every day 
 for a month. He lingered, and loitered, and ex 
 cused himself, and at last was taken prisoner. This 
 disposed of him for a time very satisfactorily, but 
 meanwhile he had succeeded in keeping his troops 
 from Washington, which was a most serious mis 
 fortune. 
 
 On December 2d Washington was at Princeton 
 with three thousand ragged men, and the British 
 close upon his heels. They had him now surely in 
 their grip. There could be no mistake this time, 
 and there was therefore no need of a forced march. 
 But they had not yet learned that to Washington 
 even hours meant much, and when, after duly rest 
 ing, they reached the Delaware, they found the 
 Americans on the other side, and all the boats de 
 stroyed for a distance of seventy miles. 
 
 It was winter now, the short gray days had come, 
 and with them piercing cold and storms of sleet 
 and ice. It seemed as if the elements alone would 
 finally disperse the feeble body of men still gath 
 ered about the commander-in-chief. Congress had 
 sent him blank commissions and orders to recruit, 
 which were well meant, but were not practically of 
 much value. As Glendower could call spirits from 
 the vasty deep, so they, with like success, sought to 
 call soldiers from the earth in the midst of defeat, 
 and in the teeth of a North American winter. 
 
172 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Washington, baffling pursuit and flying from town 
 to town, left nothing undone. North and south 
 went letters and appeals for men, money, and sup 
 plies. Vain, very vain, it all was, for the most 
 part, but still it was done in a tenacious spirit. 
 Lee would not come, the Jersey militia would not 
 turn out, thousands began to accept Howe s am 
 nesty, and signs of wavering were apparent in some 
 of the Middle States. Philadelphia was threatened, 
 Newport was in the hands of the enemy, and for 
 ninety miles Washington had retreated, evading 
 ruin again and again only by the width of a river. 
 Congress voted not to leave Philadelphia, a fact 
 which their General declined to publish, and then 
 fled. 
 
 No one remained to face the grim realities of the 
 time but Washington, and he met them unmoved. 
 Not a moment passed that he did not seek in some 
 way to effect something. Not an hour went by 
 that he did not turn calmly from fresh and ever 
 renewed disappointment to work and action. 
 
 By the middle of December Howe felt satisfied 
 that the American army would soon dissolve, and 
 leaving strong detachments in various posts he with 
 drew to New York. His premises were sound, and 
 his conclusions logical, but he made his usual mis 
 take of overlooking and underestimating the Amer 
 ican general. No sooner was it known that he was 
 on his way to New York than Washington, at the 
 head of his dissolving army, resolved to take the 
 
 O 
 
 offensive and strike an outlying post. In a letter 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 173 
 
 of December 14th, the day after Howe began to 
 move, we catch the first glimpse of Trenton. It 
 was a bold spirit that, in the dead of winter, with 
 a broken army, no prospect of reinforcements, and 
 in the midst of a terror-stricken people, could thus 
 resolve with some four thousand men to attack an 
 army thoroughly appointed, and numbering in all 
 its divisions twenty-five thousand soldiers. 
 
 It is well to pause a moment and look at that 
 situation, and at the overwhelming difficulties which 
 hemmed it in, and then try to realize what manner 
 of man he was who rose superior to it, and con 
 quered it. Be it remembered, too, that he never 
 deceived himself, and never for one instant dis 
 guised the truth. Two years later he wrote that at 
 this supreme moment, in what were called "the 
 dark days of America," he was never despondent ; 
 and this was true enough, for despair was not in 
 his nature. But no delusions lent him courage. 
 On the 18th he wrote to his brother " that if every 
 nerve was not strained to recruit this new army 
 the game was pretty nearly up ; " and added, u You 
 can form no idea of the perplexity of my situation. 
 No man, I believe, ever had a greater choice of 
 difficulties, and less means to extricate himself 
 from them. However, under a full persuasion of 
 the justice of our cause, I cannot entertain an idea 
 that it will finally sink, though it may remain for 
 some time under a cloud." There is no complaint, 
 no boasting, no despair in this letter. We can 
 detect a bitterness in the references to Congress 
 
171 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 and to Lee, but the tone of the letter is as calm 
 as a May morning, and it concludes with sending 
 love and good wishes to the writer s sister and her 
 family. 
 
 Thus in the dreary winter Washington was plan 
 ning and devising and sending hither and thither 
 for men, and never ceased through it all to write 
 urgent and ever sharper letters and keep a wary 
 eye upon the future. He not only wrote strongly, 
 but he pledged his own estate and exceeded his 
 powers in desperate efforts to raise money and 
 men. On the 20th he wrote to Congress : " It 
 may be thought that I am going a good deal out of 
 the line of my duty to adopt these measures, or to 
 advise thus freely. A character to lose, an estate 
 to forfeit, the inestimable blessings of liberty at 
 stake, and a life devoted, must be my excuse." 
 Even now across the century these words come 
 with a grave solemnity to our ears, and we can feel 
 as he felt when he alone saw that he stood on the 
 brink of a great crisis. It is an awful thing to 
 know that the life of a nation is at stake, and this 
 thought throbs in his words, measured and quiet as 
 usual, but deeply fraught with much meaning to 
 him and to the world. 
 
 By Christinas all was ready, and when the Chris 
 tian world was rejoicing and feasting, and the Brit 
 ish officers in New York and in the New Jersey 
 towns were revelling and laughing, Washington 
 prepared to strike. His whole force, broken into 
 various detachments, was less than six thousand 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 175 
 
 men. To each division was assigned, with provi 
 dent forethought, its exact part. Nothing was 
 overlooked, nothing omitted ; and then every divi 
 sion commander failed, for good reason or bad, to 
 do his duty. Gates was to march from Bristol with 
 two thousand men, Ewing was to cross at Trenton, 
 Putnam was to come up from Philadelphia, Griffin 
 was to make a diversion against Donop. When 
 the moment came, Gates, disapproving the scheme, 
 was on his way to Congress, and Wilkinson, with 
 his message, found his way to headquarters by fol 
 lowing the bloody tracks of the barefooted soldiers. 
 Griffin abandoned New Jersey and fled before 
 Donop. Putnam would not even attempt to leave 
 Philadelphia, and Ewing made no effort to cross 
 at Trenton. Cadwalader, indeed, came down from 
 Bristol, but after looking at the river and the float 
 ing ice, gave it up as desperate. 
 
 But there was one man who did not hesitate nor 
 give up, nor halt on account of floating ice. With 
 twenty-four hundred hardy veterans, Washington 
 crossed the Delaware. The night was bitter cold 
 and the passage difficult. When they landed, and 
 began their march of nine miles to Trenton, a fierce 
 storm of sleet drove in their faces. Sullivan, 
 marching by the river, sent word that the arms of 
 his men were wet. " Then tell your general," said 
 Washington, " to use the bayonet, for the town 
 must be taken." In broad daylight they came to 
 the town. Washington, at the front and on the 
 right of the line, swept down the Pennington road, 
 
176 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 and as be drove in the pickets he heard the shouts 
 of Sullivan s men, as, with Stark leading the van, 
 they charged in from the river. A company of 
 yagers and the light dragoons slipped away, there 
 was a little confused fighting in the streets, Colonel 
 Rahl fell, mortally wounded, his Hessians threw 
 down their arms, and all was over. The battle 
 had been fought and won, and the Revolution was 
 saved. 
 
 Taking his thousand prisoners with him, Wash 
 ington recrossed the Delaware to his old position. 
 Had all done their duty, as he had planned, the 
 British hold on New Jersey would have been shat 
 tered. As it was, it was only loosened. Congress, 
 aroused at last, had invested Washington with al 
 most dictatorial powers ; but the time for action 
 was short. The army was again melting away, and 
 only by urgent appeals were some veterans retained, 
 and enough new men gathered to make a force of 
 five thousand men. With this army Washington 
 prepared to finish what he had begun. 
 
 Trenton struck alarm and dismay into the British, 
 and Cornwallis, with seven thousand of the best 
 troops, started from New York to redeem what had 
 been lost. Leaving three regiments at Princeton, 
 he pushed hotly after Washington, who fell back 
 behind the Assunpink River, skirmishing heavily 
 and successfully. When Cornwallis reached the 
 river he found the American army drawn up on 
 the other side awaiting him. An attack on the 
 bridge was repulsed, and the prospect looked unin- 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 177 
 
 viting. Some officers urged an immediate assault ; 
 but night was falling, and Cornwallis, sure of the 
 game, decided to wait till the morrow. He, too, 
 forgot that he was facing an enemy who never 
 overlooked a mistake, and never waited an hour. 
 With quick decision Washington left his camp-fires 
 burning on the river bank, and taking roundabout 
 roads, which he had already reconnoitred, inarched 
 on Princeton. By sunrise he was in the outskirts 
 of the town. Mercer, detached with some three 
 hundred men, fell in with Mawhood s regiment, 
 and a sharp action ensued. Mercer was mortally 
 wounded, and his men gave way just as the main 
 army came upon the field. The British charged, 
 and as the raw Pennsylvanian troops in the van 
 wavered, Washington rode to the front, an,d rein 
 ing his horse within thirty yards of the British, 
 ordered his men to advance. The volleys of mus 
 ketry left him unscathed, the men stood firm, the 
 other divisions came rapidly into action, and the 
 enemy gave way in all directions. The two other 
 British regiments were driven through the town 
 and routed. Had there been cavalry they would 
 have been entirely cut off. As it was, they were 
 completely broken, and in this short but bloody ac 
 tion they lost five hundred men in killed, wounded, 
 and prisoners. It was too late to strike the maga 
 zines at Brunswick, as Washington had intended, 
 and so he withdrew once more with his army to the 
 high lands to rest and recruit. 
 
 His work was done, however. The country, which 
 
178 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 had been supine, and even hostile, rose now, and 
 the British were attacked, surprised, and cut off in 
 all directions, until at last they were shut up in 
 the immediate vicinity of New York. The tide had 
 been turned, and Washington had won the precious 
 breathing-time which was all he required. 
 
 Frederick the Great is reported to have said that 
 this was the most brilliant campaign of the century. 
 It certainly showed all the characteristics of the 
 highest strategy and most consummate generalship. 
 With a force numerically insignificant as compared 
 with that opposed to him, Washington won two 
 decisive victories, striking the enemy suddenly with 
 superior numbers at each point of attack. The 
 Trenton campaign has all the quality of some of 
 the last battles fought by Napoleon in France be 
 fore his retirement to Elba. Moreover, these battles 
 show not only generalship of the first order, but 
 great statesmanship. They display that prescient 
 knowledge which recognizes the supreme moment 
 when all must be risked to save the state. By 
 Trenton and Princeton Washington inflicted deadly 
 blows upon the enemy, but he did far more by re 
 viving the patriotic spirit of the country fainting 
 under the bitter experience of defeat, and by send 
 ing fresh life and hope and courage throughout the 
 whole people. 
 
 It was the decisive moment of the war. Sooner 
 or later the American colonies were sure to part 
 from the mother-country, either peaceably or vio 
 lently. But there was nothing inevitable in the 
 
SAVING THE REVOLUTION. 179 
 
 Eevolntion of 1776, nor was its end at all certain. 
 It was in the last extremities when the British 
 overran New Jersey, and if it had not been for 
 Washington that particular revolution would have 
 most surely failed. Its fate lay in the hands of the 
 general and his army ; and to the strong brain grow 
 ing ever keener and quicker as the pressure became 
 more intense, to the iron will gathering a more 
 relentless force as defeat thickened, to the high, 
 unbending character, and to the passionate and 
 fighting temper of Washington, we owe the bril 
 liant campaign which in the darkest hour turned 
 the tide and saved the cause of the Revolution. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 "MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY." 
 
 AFTER the "two lucky strokes at Trenton and 
 Princeton," as be himself called them, Washington 
 took up a strong position at Morristown and waited. 
 His plan was to hold the enemy in check, and to 
 delay all operations until spring. It is easy enough 
 now to state his purpose, and it looks very simple, 
 but it was a griui task to carry it out through the 
 bleak winter days of 1777. The Jersey farmers, 
 spurred by the sufferings inflicted upon them by 
 the British troops, had turned out at last in defer 
 ence to Washington s appeals, after the victories of 
 Trenton and Princeton, had harassed and cut off 
 outlying parties, and had thus straitened the move 
 ments of the enemy. But the main army of the 
 colonies, on which all depended, was in a pitiable 
 state. It shifted its character almost from day to 
 day. The curse of short enlistments, so denounced 
 by Washington, made itself felt now with frightful 
 effect. With the new year most of the continental 
 troops departed, while others to replace them came 
 in very slowly, and recruiting dragged most weari 
 somely. Washington was thus obliged, with tem 
 porary reinforcements of raw militia, to keep up 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 181 
 
 appearances ; and no commander ever struggled 
 with a more tryiDg task. At times it looked as if 
 the whole army would actually disappear, and more 
 than once Washington expected that the week s or 
 the month s end would find him with not more than 
 five hundred men. At the beginning of March he 
 had about four thousand men, a few weeks later 
 only three thousand raw troops, ill-fed, ill-clad, ill- 
 shod, ill-armed, and almost unpaid. Over against 
 him was Howe, with eleven thousand men in the 
 field, and still more in the city of New York, well 
 disciplined and equipped, well-armed, well-fed, and 
 furnished with every needful supply. The contrast 
 is absolutely grotesque, and yet the force of one 
 man s genius and will was such that this excellent 
 British army was hemmed in and kept in harmless 
 quiet by their ragged opponents. 
 
 Washington s plan, from the first, was to keep 
 the field at all hazards, and literally at all hazards 
 did he do so. Right and left his letters went, day 
 after day, calling with pathetic but dignified ear 
 nestness for men and supplies. In one of these 
 epistles, to Governor Cooke of Rhode Island, written 
 in January, to remonstrate against raising troops 
 for the State only, he set forth his intentions in a 
 few words. "You must be sensible," he said, "that 
 the season is fast approaching when a new cam 
 paign will open ; nay, the former is not yet closed ; 
 nor do I intend it shall be, unless the enemy quits 
 the Jerseys." To keep fighting all the time, and 
 never let the fire of active resistance flicker or die 
 
182 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 out, was Washington s theory of the way to main 
 tain his own side and beat the enemy. If he could 
 not fight big battles, he would fight small ones ; if 
 he could not fight little battles, he would raid and 
 skirmish and surprise ; but fighting of some sort he 
 would have, while the enemy attempted to spread 
 over a State and hold possession of it. We can see 
 the obstacles now, but we can only wonder how they 
 were sufficiently overcome to allow anything to be 
 done. 
 
 Moreover, besides the purely physical difficulties 
 in the lack of men, money, and supplies, there were 
 others of a political and personal kind, which were 
 even more wearing and trying, but which, never 
 theless, had to be dealt with also, in some fashion. 
 In order to sustain the courage of the people 
 Washington was obliged to give out, and to allow it 
 to be supposed, that he had more men than was 
 really the case, and so Congress and various wise 
 and well-meaning persons grumbled because he did 
 not do more and fight more battles. He never de 
 ceived Congress, but they either could not or would 
 not understand the actual situation. In March he 
 wrote to Robert Morris : " Nor is it in my power to 
 make Congress fully sensible of the real situation 
 of our affairs, and that it is with difficulty, if I may 
 use the expression, that I can by every means in 
 my power keep the life and soul of this army to 
 gether. In a word, when they are at a distance, 
 they think it is but to say, Presto, begone, and every 
 thing is done. They seem not to have any concep- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 183 
 
 tion of the difficulty and perplexity attending 1 those 
 who are to execute." It was so easy to see what 
 they would like to have done, and so simple to pass 
 a resolve to that effect, that Congress never could 
 appreciate the reality of the difficulty and the danger 
 until the hand of the enemy was almost at their 
 throats. They were not even content with delay 
 and neglect, but interfered actively at times, as 
 in the matter of the exchange of prisoners, where 
 they made unending trouble for Washington, and 
 showed themselves unable to learn or to keep their 
 hands off after any amount of instruction. 
 
 In January Washington issued a proclamation 
 requiring those inhabitants who had subscribed to 
 Howe s declaration to come in within thirty days 
 and take the oath of allegiance to the United States. 
 If they failed to do so they were to be treated as 
 enemies. The measure was an eminently proper 
 one, and the proclamation was couched in the most 
 moderate language. It was impossible to permit 
 a large class of persons to exist on the theory that 
 they were peaceful American citizens and also sub 
 jects of King George. The results of such con 
 duct were in every way perilous and intolerable, 
 and Washington was determined that he would 
 divide the sheep from the goats, and know whom 
 he was defending and whom attacking. Yet for 
 this wise and necessary action he was called in 
 question in Congress and accused of violating civil 
 rights and the resolves of Congress. Nothing was 
 
 * O O 
 
 actually done about it, but such an incident shows 
 
184 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 from a single point the infinite tact and resolution 
 required in waging war under a government whose 
 members were unable to comprehend what was 
 meant, and who could not see that until they had 
 beaten England it was hardly worth while to worry 
 about civil rights, which in case of defeat would 
 speedily cease to exist altogether. 
 
 Another fertile source of trouble arose from 
 questions of rank. Members of Congress, in mak 
 ing promotions and appointments, were more apt to 
 consider local claims than military merit, and they 
 also allowed their own personal prejudices to affect 
 their action in this respect far too much. Thence 
 arose endless heart-burnings and jealousies, fol 
 lowed by resignations and the loss of valuable offi 
 cers. Congress, having made the appointments, 
 would go cheerfully about its business, while the 
 swarm of grievances thus let loose would come buz 
 zing about the devoted head of the commander- 
 in-chief. He could not get away, but was com 
 pelled to quiet rivalries, allay irritated feelings, and 
 ride the storm as best he might. It was all done, 
 however, in one way or another : by personal ap 
 peals, and by letters full of dignity, patriotism, and 
 patience, which are very impressive and full of 
 meaning for students of character, even in this day 
 and generation. 
 
 X Then again, not content with snarling up our 
 native appointments, Congress complicated matters 
 still more dangerously by its treatment of for 
 eigners. The members of Congress were colonists, 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 185 
 
 and the fact that they had shaken off the yoke of 
 the mother country did not in the least alter their 
 colonial and perfectly natural habit of regarding 
 with enormous respect Englishmen and French 
 men, and indeed anybody who had had the good 
 fortune to be born in Europe. The result was that 
 they distributed commissions and gave inordinate 
 rank to the many volunteers who came over the 
 ocean, actuated by various motives, but all filled 
 with a profound sense of their own merits. It is 
 only fair to Congress to say that the American 
 agents abroad were even more to blame in this 
 respect. Silas Deane especially scattered promises 
 of commissions with a lavish hand, and Congress re 
 fused to fulfil many of the promises thus made in 
 its name. Nevertheless, Congress was far too lax, 
 and followed too closely the example of its agents. 
 Some of these foreigners were disinterested men 
 and excellent soldiers, who proved of great value to 
 the American cause. Many others were mere mili 
 tary adventurers, capable of being turned to good 
 account, perhaps, but by no means entitled to what 
 they claimed and in most instances received. 
 
 The ill-considered action of Congress and of our 
 agents abroad in this respect was a source of con 
 stantly recurring troubles of a very serious nature. 
 Native officers, who had borne the burden and heat 
 of the day, justly resented being superseded by 
 some stranger, unable to speak the language, who 
 had landed in the states but a few days before. As 
 a result, resignations were threatened which, if 
 
186 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 carried out, would affect the character of the army 
 very deeply. Then again, the foreigners them 
 selves, inflated by the eagerness of our agents and 
 by their reception at the hands of Congress, would 
 find on joining the army that they could get no 
 commands, chiefly because there were none to give. 
 They would then become dissatisfied with their 
 rank and employment, and bitter complaints and 
 recriminations would ensue. All these difficulties, 
 of course, fell most heavily upon the commander-in- 
 chief, who was heartily disgusted with the whole 
 business. Washington believed from the begin 
 ning, and said over and over again in various and 
 ever stronger terms, that this was an American war 
 and must be fought by Americans. In no other 
 way, and by no other persons, did he consider that 
 it could be carried to any success worth having. 
 He saw of course the importance of a French alli 
 ance, and deeply desired it, for it was a leading ele 
 ment in the solution of the political and military 
 situation ; but alliance with a foreign power was 
 one thing, and sporadic military volunteers were 
 another. Washington had no narrow prejudices 
 against foreigners, for he was a man of broad and 
 liberal mind, and no one was more universally be 
 loved and respected by the foreign officers than he ; 
 but he was intensely American in his feelings, and he 
 would not admit for an instant that the American 
 war for independence could be righteously fought 
 or honestly won by others than Americans. He 
 was well aware that foreign volunteers had a value 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 187 
 
 and use of which he largely and gratefully availed 
 himself ; but he was exasperated and alarmed by 
 the indiscriminate and lavish way in which our 
 agents abroad and Congress gave rank and office 
 to them. " Hungry adventurers," he called them in 
 one letter, when driven beyond endurance by the 
 endless annoyances thus forced upon him ; and so 
 he pushed their pretensions aside, and managed, on 
 the whole, to keep them in their proper place. The 
 operation was delicate, difficult, and unpleasant, for 
 it seemed to savor of ingratitude. But Washington 
 was never shaken for an instant in his policy, and 
 while he checked the danger, he showed in many in 
 stances, like Lafayette and Steuben, that he could 
 appreciate and use all that was really valuable in 
 the foreign contingent. 
 
 The service rendered by Washington in this 
 matter has never been justly understood or ap 
 preciated. If he had not taken this position, and 
 held it with an absolute firmness which bordered 
 on harshness, we should have found ourselves in a 
 short time with an army of American soldiers offi 
 cered by foreigners, many of them mere merce 
 naries, "hungry adventurers." from France, Poland 
 or Hungary, from Germany, Ireland or England. 
 The result of such a combination would have been 
 disorganization and defeat. That members of Con 
 gress and some of our representatives in Europe did 
 not see the danger, and that they were impressed 
 by the foreign officers who came among them, was 
 perfectly natural. Men are the creatures of the 
 
188 GEORGE WASHINGTON, 
 
 time in which they live, and take their color from 
 the conditions which surround them, as the chame 
 leon does from the grass or leaves in which it hides. 
 The rulers and lawmakers of 1776 could not cast 
 off their provincial awe of the natives of England 
 and Europe as they cast off their political alle 
 giance to the British king. The only wonder is 
 that there should have been even one man so great 
 in mind and character that he could rise at a single 
 bound from the level of a provincial planter to the 
 heights of a great national leader. He proved him 
 self such in all ways, but in none more surely than 
 in his ability to consider all men simply as men, 
 and, with a judgment that nothing could confuse, 
 to ward off from his cause and country the dangers 
 inherent in colonial habits of thought and action, 
 so menacing to a people struggling for indepen 
 dence. We can see this strong, high spirit of 
 nationality running through Washington s whole 
 career, but it never did better service than when it 
 stood between the American army and lavish favor 
 to foreign volunteers. 
 
 Among other disagreeable and necessary truths, 
 Washington had told Congress that Philadelphia 
 was in danger, that Howe probably meant to oc 
 cupy it, and that it would be nearly impossible to 
 prevent his doing so. This warning being given 
 and unheeded, he continued to watch his antago 
 nist, doing so with increased vigilance, as signs of 
 activity began to appear in New York. Toward 
 the end of May he broke up his cantonments, 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 189 
 
 having now about seven thousand men, and took a 
 strong position within ten miles of Brunswick. 
 Here he waited, keeping an anxious eye on the 
 Hudson in case he should be mistaken in his ex 
 pectations, and should find that the enemy really 
 intended to go north to meet Burgoyiie instead of 
 south to capture Philadelphia. 
 
 Washington s doubts were soon to be resolved 
 and his expectations fulfilled. May 31st, a fleet 
 of a hundred sail left New York, and couriers 
 were at once sent southward to warn the States 
 of the possibility of a speedy invasion. About the 
 same time transports arrived with more German 
 mercenaries, and Howe, thus reinforced, entered 
 the Jerseys. Washington determined to decline 
 battle, and if the enemy pushed on and crossed the 
 Delaware, to hang heavily on their rear, while the 
 militia from the south were drawn up to Philadel 
 phia. He adopted this course because he felt con 
 fident that Howe would never cross the Delaware 
 and leave the main army of the Americans behind 
 him. His theory proved correct. The British 
 advanced and retreated, burned houses and villages 
 and made feints, but all in vain. Washington 
 baffled them at every point, and finally Sir Wil 
 liam evacuated the Jerseys entirely and withdrew 
 to New York and Staten Island, where active 
 preparations for some expedition were at once 
 begun. Again came anxious watching, with the 
 old fear that Howe meant to go northward and 
 join the now advancing Burgoyne. The fear was 
 
190 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 groundless. On July 23d the British fleet set sail 
 from New York, carrying between fifteen and eigh 
 teen thousand men. Not deceived by the efforts 
 to make him think that they aimed at Boston, 
 but still fearing that the sailing might be only 
 a ruse and the Hudson the real object after all, 
 Washington moved cautiously to the Delaware, 
 holding himself ready to strike in either direction. 
 On the 31st he heard that the enemy were at the 
 Capes. This seemed decisive ; so he sent in all di 
 rections for reinforcements, moved the main army 
 rapidly to Germantown, and prepared to defend 
 Philadelphia. The next news was that the fleet 
 had put to sea again, and again messengers went 
 north to warn Putnam to prepare for the defence 
 of the Hudson. Washington himself was about 
 to re-cross the Delaware, when tidings arrived that 
 the fleet had once more appeared at the Capes, and 
 after a few more days of doubt the ships came up 
 the Chesapeake and anchored. 
 
 Washington thought the " route a strange one," 
 but he knew now that he was right in his belief 
 that Howe aimed at Philadelphia. He therefore 
 gathered his forces and marched south to meet the 
 enemy, passing through the city in order to im 
 press the disaffected and the timid with the show 
 of force. It was a motley array that followed him. 
 There was nothing uniform about the troops except 
 their burnished arms and the sprigs of evergreen in 
 their hats. Nevertheless Lafayette, who had just 
 come among them, thought that they looked like 
 
[(UNIVERSITY )1 
 
 MALICE DOMESTIC, AND 
 
 good soldiers, and the Tories woke up sharply to 
 the fact that there was a large body of men known 
 as the American army, and that they had a certain 
 obvious fighting capacity visible in their appear 
 ance. Neither friends nor enemies knew, however, 
 as they stood on the Philadelphia sidewalks and 
 watched the troops go past, that the mere fact of 
 that army s existence was the greatest victory of 
 skill and endurance which the war could show, and 
 that the question of success lay in its continuance. 
 
 Leaving Philadelphia, Washington pushed on to 
 the junction of the Brandywine and Christiana 
 Creek, and posted his men along the heights. Au 
 gust 25th, Howe landed at the Head of Elk, and 
 Washington threw out light parties to drive in 
 cattle, carry off supplies, and annoy the enemy. 
 This was done, on the whole, satisfactorily, and af 
 ter some successful skirmishing on the part of the 
 Americans, the two armies on the 5th of Septem 
 ber found themselves within eight or ten miles of 
 each other. Washington now determined to risk a 
 battle in the field, despite his inferiority in every 
 way. He accordingly issued a stirring proclama 
 tion to the soldiers, and then fell back behind the 
 Brandywine, to a strong position, and prepared to 
 contest the passage of the river. 
 
 Early on September llth, the British advanced 
 to Chad s Ford, where Washington was posted 
 with the main body, and after some skirmishing 
 began to cannonade at long range. Meantime 
 Cornwallis, with the main body, made a long detour 
 
192 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 of seventeen miles, and came upon, the right flank 
 and rear of the Americans. Sullivan, who was on 
 the right, had failed to guard the fords above, and 
 through lack of information was practically sur 
 prised. Washington, on rumors that the enemy 
 were marching toward his right, with the instinct 
 of a great soldier was about to cross the river in 
 his front and crush" the enemy there, but he also 
 was misled and kept back by false reports. When 
 the truth was known, it was too late. The right 
 wing had been beaten and flung back, the enemy 
 were nearly in the rear, and were now advancing in 
 earnest in front. All that man could do was done. 
 Troops were pushed forward and a gallant stand 
 was made at various points ; but the critical moment 
 had come and gone, and there was nothing for it 
 but a hasty retreat, which came near degenerating 
 into a rout. 
 
 The causes of this complete defeat, for such it 
 was, are easily seen. Washington had planned 
 his battle and chosen his position well. If he had 
 not been deceived by the first reports, he even 
 then would have fallen upon and overwhelmed the 
 British centre before they could have reached his 
 right wing. But the Americans, to begin with, 
 were outnumbered. They had only eleven thou 
 sand effective men, while the British brought fif 
 teen of their eighteen thousand into action. Then 
 the Americans suffered, as they constantly did, 
 from misinformation, and from an absence of sys 
 tem in learning the enemy s movements. Wash- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 193 
 
 ington s attack was fatally checked in this way, and 
 Sullivan was surprised from the same causes, as 
 well as from his own culpable ignorance of the 
 country beyond him, which was the reason of his 
 failure to guard the upper fords. The Americans 
 lost, also, by the unsteadiness of new troops when 
 the unexpected happens, and when the panic-bear 
 ing notion that they are surprised and likely to be 
 surrounded comes upon them with a sudden shock. 
 
 This defeat was complete and severe, and it 
 was followed in a few days by that of Wayne, 
 who narrowly escaped utter ruin. Yet through all 
 this disaster we can see the advance which had 
 been made since the equally unfortunate and very 
 similar battle on Long Island. Then, the troops 
 seemed to lose heart and courage, the army was 
 held together with difficulty, and could do nothing 
 but retreat. Now, in the few days which Howe, as 
 usual, gave us with such fatal effect to himself, 
 Washington rallied his army, and finding them in 
 excellent spirits marched down the Lancaster road 
 to fight again. On the eve of battle a heavy storm 
 came on, which so injured the arms and munitions 
 that with bitter disappointment he was obliged to 
 withdraw, but nevertheless it is plain how much 
 this forward movement meant. At the moment, 
 however, it looked badly enough, especially after 
 the defeat of Wayne, for Howe pressed forward, 
 took possession of Philadelphia, and encamped the 
 main body of his army at Germantown. 
 
 Meantime Washington, who had not in the least 
 
194 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 given up his idea of fighting again, recruited his 
 army, and having a little more than eight thousand 
 men, determined to try another stroke at the British, 
 while they were weakened by detachments. On 
 the night of October 3d he started, and reached 
 German town at daybreak on the 4th. At first 
 the Americans swept everything before them, and 
 flung the British back in rout and confusion. Then 
 matters began to go wrong, as is always likely to 
 happen when, as in this case, widely separated 
 and yet accurately concerted action is essential to 
 success. Some of the British threw themselves into 
 a stone house, and instead of leaving them there 
 under guard, the whole army stopped to besiege, 
 and a precious half hour was lost. Then Greene 
 and Stephen were late in coming up, having made 
 a circuit, and although when they arrived all seemed 
 to go well, the Americans were seized with an in 
 explicable panic, and fell back, as Wayne truly 
 said, in the very moment of victory. One of those 
 unlucky accidents, utterly unavoidable, but always 
 dangerous to extensive combinations, had a prin 
 cipal effect on the result. The morning was very 
 misty, and the fog, soon thickened by the smoke, 
 caused confusion, random firing, and, worst of all, 
 that uncertainty of feeling and action which some 
 thing or nothing converted into a panic. Never 
 theless, the Americans rallied quickly this time, 
 and a good retreat was made, under the lead of 
 Greene, until safety was reached. The action, 
 while it lasted, had been very sharp, and the losses 
 
MALICE DOMKSTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 195 
 
 on both sides were severe, the Americans suffering 
 most. 
 
 Washington, as usual when matters went ill, ex 
 posed himself recklessly, to the great alarm of his 
 generals, but all in vain. He was deeply disap 
 pointed, and expressed himself so at first, for he 
 saw that the men had unaccountably given way 
 when they were on the edge of victory. The under 
 lying cause was of course, as at Long Island and 
 Brandywine, the unsteadiness of raw troops, and 
 Washington felt rightly, after the first sting had 
 passed, that he had really achieved a great deal. 
 Congress applauded the attempt, and when the 
 smoke of the battle had cleared away, men gener 
 ally perceived that its having been fought at all 
 was in reality the important fact. It made also 
 a profound impression upon the French cabinet. 
 Eagerly watching the course of events, they saw 
 the significance of the fact that an army raised 
 within a year could fight a battle in the open field, 
 endure a severe defeat, and then take the offensive 
 and make a bold and well-planned attack, which 
 narrowly missed being overwhelmingly successful. 
 To the observant and trained eyes of Europe, the 
 defeat at Germantown made it evident that there 
 was fighting material among these untrained colo 
 nists, capable of becoming formidable ; and that 
 there was besides a powerful will and directing 
 mind, capable on its part of bringing this same 
 material into the required shape and condition. To 
 dispassionate onlookers, England s grasp on her 
 
196 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 colonies appeared to be slipping away very rapidly. 
 Washington himself saw the meaning of it all 
 plainly enough, for it was but the development 
 of his theory of carrying on the war. 
 
 There is no indication, however, that England 
 detected, in all that had gone on since her army 
 landed at the Head of Elk, anything more than a 
 couple of natural defeats for the rebels. General 
 Howe was sufficiently impressed to draw in his 
 troops, and keep very closely shut up in Phila 
 delphia, but his country was not moved at all. 
 The fact that it had taken forty-seven days to get 
 their army from the Elk Eiver to Philadelphia, 
 and that in that time they had fought two success 
 ful battles and yet had left the American army 
 still active and menacing, had no effect upon the 
 British mind. The English were thoroughly satis 
 fied that the colonists were cowards and were sure 
 to be defeated, no matter what the actual facts 
 might be. They regarded Washington as an up 
 start militia colonel, and they utterly failed to com 
 prehend that they had to do with a great soldier, 
 who was able to organize and lead an army, over 
 come incredible difficulties, beat and outgeneral 
 them, bear defeat, and then fight again. They 
 were unable to realize that the mere fact that 
 such a man could be produced and such an army 
 maintained meant the inevitable loss of colonies 
 three thousand miles away. Men there were in 
 England, undoubtedly, like Burke and Fox, who 
 felt and understood the significance of these things, 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 197 
 
 but the mass of the people, as well as the aristocracy, 
 the king, and the cabinet, would have none of 
 them. Rude contempt for other people is a warm 
 ing and satisfying feeling, no doubt, and the Eng 
 lish have had unquestionably great satisfaction 
 from its free indulgence. No one should grudge 
 it to them, least of all Americans. It is a comfort 
 for which they have paid, so far as this country is 
 concerned, by the loss of their North American 
 colonies, and by a few other settlements with the 
 United States at other and later times. 
 But although Washington and his army failed 
 to impress England, events had happened in the 
 north, during this same summer, which were so 
 sharp-pointed that they not only impressed the 
 English people keenly and unpleasantly, but they 
 actually penetrated the dull comprehension o 
 George III. and his cabinet. " Why/ asked an 
 English lady of an American naval officer, in the 
 year of grace 1887 " why is your ship named 
 the Saratoga?" "Because," was the reply, "at 
 Saratoga an English general and an English army 
 of more than five thousand men surrendered to an 
 American army and laid down their arms." Al 
 though apparently neglected now in the general 
 scheme of British education, Saratoga was a mem 
 orable event in the summer of 1777, and the part 
 taken by Washington in bringing about the great 
 result has never, it would seem, been properly set 
 forth. There is no need to trace here the history 
 of that campaign, but it is necessary to show how 
 
198 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 much was done by the commander-in-chief, five 
 hundred miles away, to win the final victory. 
 
 In the winter of 1776-77 reports came that a 
 general and an army were to be sent to Canada to 
 invade the colonies from the north by way of Lake 
 Champlain. The news does not seem to have made 
 a very deep impression generally, nor to have been 
 regarded as anything beyond the ordinary course 
 of military events. But there was one man, fortu 
 nately, who in an instant perceived the full signifi 
 cance of this movement. Washington saw that the 
 English had at last found an idea, or, at least, a 
 general possessed of one. So long as the British 
 confined themselves to fighting one or two battles, 
 and then, taking possession of a single town, were 
 content to sit down and pass their winter in good 
 quarters, leaving the colonists in undisturbed con 
 trol of all the rest of the country, there was nothing 
 to be feared. The result of such campaigning as 
 this could not be doubtful for a moment to any 
 clear-sighted man. But when a plan was on foot, 
 which, if successful, meant the control of the lakes 
 and the Hudson, and of a line of communication 
 from the north to the great colonial seaport, the 
 case was very different. Such a campaign as this 
 would cause the complete severance of New Eng 
 land, the chief source for men and supplies, from 
 the rest of the colonies. It promised the mastery, 
 not of a town, but of half a dozen States, and this 
 to the American cause probably would be ruin. ) 
 
 So strongly and clearly did Washington feel 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 199 
 
 all this that his counter-plan was at once ready, 
 and before people had fairly grasped the idea that 
 there was to be a northern invasion, he was send 
 ing, early in March, urgent letters to New England 
 to rouse up the militia and have them in readiness 
 to march at a moment s notice. To Schuyler, in 
 command of the northern department, he began 
 now to write constantly, and to unfold the methods 
 which must be pursued in order to compass the de 
 feat of the invaders. His object was to delay the 
 army of Burgoyne by every possible device, while 
 steadily avoiding a pitched battle. Then the militia 
 and hardy farmers of New England and New York 
 were to be rallied, and were to fall upon the flank 
 and rear of the British, harass them constantly, cut 
 off their outlying parties, and finally hem them in 
 and destroy them. If the army and people of the 
 North could only be left undisturbed, it is evident 
 from his letters that Washington felt no doubt as 
 to the result in that quarter. 
 
 But the North included only half the conditions 
 essential to success. The grave danger feared by 
 Washington was that Howe would understand the 
 situation, and seeing his opportunity, would throw 
 everything else aside, and marching northward 
 with twenty thousand men, would make himself 
 master of the Hudson, effect a junction with Bur 
 goyne at Albany, and so cut the colonies in twain. 
 From all he could learn, and from his knowledge of 
 his opponent s character, Washington felt satisfied 
 that Howe intended to capture Philadelphia, ad- 
 
200 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 vancing, probably, through the Jerseys. Yet, de 
 spite his well-reasoned judgment on this point, it 
 seemed so incredible that any soldier could fail to 
 see that decisive victory lay in the north, and in 
 a junction with Burgoyne, that Washington could 
 not really and fully believe in such fatuity until he 
 knew that Howe was actually landing at the Head 
 of Elk. This is the reason for the anxiety dis 
 played in the correspondence of that summer, for 
 the changing and shifting movements, and for 
 the obvious hesitation of opinion, so unusual with 
 Washington at any time. Be it remembered, 
 moreover, that it was an awful doubt \vhich went 
 to bed and got up and walked with him through 
 all those long nights and days. If Howe, the dull 
 and lethargic, should awake from his dream of 
 conquering America by taking now and again an 
 isolated town, and should break for the north 
 with twenty thousand men, the fortunes of the 
 young republic would come to their severest test. 
 In that event, Washington knew well enough 
 what he meant to do. He would march his main 
 army to the Hudson, unite with the strong body of 
 troops which he kept there constantly, contest every 
 inch of the country and the river with Howe, and 
 keep him at all hazards from getting to Albany. 
 But he also knew well that if this were done the 
 odds would be fearfully against him, for Howe 
 would then not only outnumber him very greatly, 
 but there would be ample time for the British to 
 act, and but a short distance to be covered. We 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 201 
 
 can imagine, therefore, his profound sense of relief 
 when he found that Howe and his army were really 
 south of Philadelphia, after a waste of many pre 
 cious weeks. He could now devote himself single- 
 hearted to the defence of the city, for distance and 
 time were at last on his side, and all that remained 
 was to fight Howe so hard and steadily that neither 
 in victory nor defeat would he remember Burgoyne. 
 Pitt said that he would conquer Canada on the 
 plains of Germany, and Burgoyne was compelled 
 to surrender in large measure by the campaign of 
 Washington in New Jersey and Pennsylvania. 
 
 If we study carefully Washington s correspond 
 ence during that eventful summer, grouping to 
 gether that relating to the northern campaign, and 
 comparing it with that which dealt with the affairs 
 of his own army, all that has just been said comes 
 out with entire clearness, and it is astonishing to 
 see how exactly events justified his foresight. If 
 he could only hold Howe in the south, he was quite 
 willing to trust Burgoyne to the rising of the peo 
 ple and to the northern wilderness. Every effort 
 he made was in this direction, beginning, as has 
 been said, by his appeals to the New England 
 governors in March. Schuyler, on his part, was 
 thoroughly imbued with Washington s other lead 
 ing idea, that the one way to victory was by retard 
 ing the enemy. At the outset everything went 
 utterly and disastrously wrong. Washington 
 counted on an obstinate struggle, and a long delay 
 at Ticonderoga, for he had not been on the ground, 
 
202 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 and could not imagine that our officers would for 
 tify everything but the one commanding point. 
 
 The loss of the forts appalled the country and 
 disappointed Washington, but did not shake his 
 nerve for an instant. He wrote to Schuyler : " This 
 stroke is severe indeed, and has distressed us much. 
 But notwithstanding things at present have a dark 
 and gloomy aspect, I hope a spirited opposition 
 will check the progress of General Burgoyne s 
 army, arid that the confidence derived from his 
 success will hurry him into measures that will, in 
 their consequences, be favorable to us. We should 
 never despair ; our situation has before been un 
 promising, and has changed for the better ; so I 
 trust it will again. If new difficulties arise we 
 must only put forth new exertions, and proportion 
 our efforts to the exigency of the times." Even 
 after this seemingly crushing defeat he still felt 
 sure of Burgoyne, so long as he was unsupported. 
 Suiting the action to the word, he again bent every 
 nerve to rouse New England and get out her militia. 
 When he was satisfied that Howe was landing be 
 low Philadelphia, the first thing he did was to send 
 forth the same cry in the same quarter, to bring 
 out more men against Burgoyne. He showed, too, 
 the utmost generosity toward the northern army, 
 sending thither all the troops he could possibly 
 spare, and even parting with his favorite corps of 
 Morgan s riflemen. Despite his liberality, the 
 commanders in the north were unreasonable in their 
 demands, and when they asked too much, Washing- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 203 
 
 ton flatly declined to send more men, for he would 
 not weaken himself unduly, and he knew what they 
 did not see, that the fate of the northern invasion 
 turned largely on his own ability to cope with 
 Howe. 
 
 The blame for the loss of the forts fell of course 
 upon Schuyler, who was none too popular in Con 
 gress, and who with St. Clair was accordingly 
 made a scape-goat. Congress voted that Wash 
 ington should appoint a new commander, and the 
 New England delegates visited him to urge the 
 selection of Gates. This task Washington refused 
 to perform, alleging as a reason that the northern 
 department had always been considered a separate 
 command, and that he had never done more than 
 advise. These reasons do not look very weighty 
 or very strong, and it is not quite clear what the 
 underlying; motive was. Washington never shrank 
 
 */ O O 
 
 from responsibility, and he knew very well that he 
 could pick out the best man more unerringly than 
 Congress. But he also saw that Congress favored 
 Gates, whom he would not have chosen, and he 
 therefore probably felt that it was more important 
 to have some one whom New England believed in 
 and approved than a better soldier who would have 
 been unwelcome to her representatives. It is certain 
 that he would not have acted thus, had he thought 
 that generalship was an important element in the 
 problem ; but he relied on a popular uprising, and 
 not on the commander, to defeat Burgoyne. He 
 may have thought, too, that it was a mistake to 
 
204 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 relieve Schuyler, who was working in the directions 
 which he had pointed out, and who, if not a great 
 soldier, was a brave, high-minded, and sensible man, 
 devoted to his chief and to the country. It was 
 Schuyler indeed who, by his persistent labor in 
 breaking down bridges, tearing up roads, and fell 
 ing trees, while he gathered men industriously in 
 all directions, did more than any one else at that 
 moment to prepare the way for an ultimate victory. 
 Whatever his feelings may have been in regard 
 to the command of the northern department, 
 Washington made no change in his own course 
 after Gates had been appointed. He knew that 
 Gates was at least harmless, and not likely to block 
 the natural course of events. He therefore felt 
 free to press his own policy without cessation, and 
 without apprehension. He took care that Lincoln 
 and Arnold should be there to look after the New 
 England militia, and he wrote to Governor Clinton, 
 in whose energy and courage he had great confi 
 dence, to rouse up the men of New York. He sug 
 gested the points of attack, and at every moment 
 advised and counselled and watched, holding all the 
 while a firm grip on Howe. Slowly and surely the 
 net, thus painfully set, tightened round Burgoyne. 
 The New Englanders whipped one division at Ben- 
 nington, and the New Yorkers shattered another at 
 Oriskany and Fort Schuyler. The country people 
 turned out in defence of their invaded homes and 
 poured into the American camp. Burgoyne strug 
 gled and advanced, fought and retreated. Gates, 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 205 
 
 stupid, lethargic, and good-natured, did nothing, but 
 there was no need of generalship ; and Arnold was 
 there, turbulent and quarrelsome, but full of dar 
 ing ; and Morgan, too, equally ready ; and they and 
 others did all the necessary fighting. 
 
 Poor Burgoyne, a brave gentleman, if not a great 
 general, had the misfortune to be a clever man in 
 the service of a stupid administration, and he met 
 the fate usually meted out under such circumstances 
 to men of ideas. Howe went off to the conquest of 
 Philadelphia, Clinton made a brief burning and 
 plundering raid up the river, and the northern in 
 vasion, which really had meaning, was left to its 
 fate. It was a hard fate, but there was no escape. 
 Outnumbered, beaten, and caught, Burgoyne sur 
 rendered. If there had been a fighting-man at 
 the head of the American army, the British would 
 have surrendered as prisoners of war, and not on 
 conditions. Schuyler, we may be sure, whatever 
 his failings, would never have let them off so easily. 
 But it was sufficient as it was. The wilderness, 
 and the militia of New York and New England 
 swarming to the defence of their homes, had done 
 the work. It all fell out just as Washington had 
 foreseen and planned, and England, despising her 
 enemy and their commander, saw one of her armies 
 surrender, and might have known, if she had had 
 the wit, that the colonies were now lost forever. 
 The Revolution had been saved at Trenton ; it 
 was established at Saratoga. In the one case it 
 was the direct, in the other the indirect, work of 
 Washington. 
 
206 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Poor Gates, with his dull brain turning under 
 the impression that this crowning mercy had been 
 his own doing, lost his head, forgot that there was 
 a commander-in-chief, and sending his news to Con 
 gress, left Washington to find out from chance 
 rumors, and a tardy letter from Putnam, that Bur- 
 goyne had actually surrendered. This gross slight, 
 however, had deeper roots than the mere exultation 
 of victory acting on a heavy and common mind. It 
 represented a hostile feeling which had been slowly 
 increasing for some time, which had been carefully 
 nurtured by those interested in its growth, and 
 which blossomed rapidly in the heated air of mil 
 itary triumph. From the outset it had been Wash 
 ington s business to fight the enemy, manage the 
 army, deal with Congress, and consider in all its 
 bearings the political situation at home and abroad ; 
 but he was now called upon to meet a trouble out 
 side the line of duty, and to face attacks from 
 within, which, ideally speaking, ought never to have 
 existed, but which, in view of our very fallible 
 humanity, were certain to come sooner or later. 
 Much domestic malice Washington was destined 
 to encounter in the later years of political strife, 
 but this was the only instance in his military 
 career where enmity came to overt action and open 
 speech. The first and the last of its kind, this 
 assault upon him has much interest, for a strong 
 light is thrown upon his character by studying him, 
 thus beset, and by seeing just how he passed 
 through this most trying and disagreeable of or 
 deals. 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 207 
 
 The germ of the difficulties was to be found 
 where we should expect it, in the differences be 
 tween the men of speech and the man of action, 
 between the lawmakers and the soldier. Wash 
 ington had been obliged to tell Congress a great 
 many plain and unpleasant truths. It was part of 
 his duty, and he did it accordingly. He was al 
 ways dignified, calm, and courteous, but he had an 
 alarmingly direct way with him, especially when he 
 was annoyed. He was simple almost to bluntness, 
 but now and then would use a grave irony which 
 must have made listening ears tingle. Congress 
 was patriotic and well-intentioned, and on the 
 whole stood bravely by its general, but it was un 
 versed in war, very impatient, and at times wildly 
 impracticable. Here is a letter which depicts the 
 situation, and the relation between the general and 
 his rulers, with great clearness. March 14, 1777, 
 Washington wrote to the President : " Could I ac 
 complish the important objects so eagerly wished 
 by Congress, confining the enemy within their 
 present quarters, preventing their getting supplies 
 from the country, and totally subduing them be 
 fore they are reinforced, -- I should be happy in 
 deed. But what prospect or hope can there be of 
 my effecting so desirable a work at this time ? " 
 
 We can imagine how exasperating such requests 
 and suggestions must have been. It was very much 
 as if Congress had said : " Good General, bring in 
 the Atlantic tides and drown the enemy ; or pluck 
 the moon from the sky and give it to us, as a mark 
 
208 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 of your loyalty." Such requests are not soothing to 
 any man struggling his best with great anxieties, and 
 with a host of petty cares. Washington, neverthe 
 less, kept his temper, and replied only by setting 
 down a few hard facts which answered the demands 
 of Congress in a final manner, and with all the 
 sting of truth. Thus a little irritation had been 
 generated in Congress against the general, and 
 there were some members who developed a good 
 deal of pronounced hostility. Sam Adams, a born 
 agitator and a trained politician, unequalled almost 
 in our history as an organizer and manager of 
 men, able, narrow, coldly fierce, the man of the 
 town meeting and the caucus, had no possibility 
 of intellectual sympathy with the silent, patient, 
 hard-gripping soldier, hemmed with difficulties, but 
 ever moving straight forward to his object, with 
 occasional wild gusts of reckless fighting passion. 
 John Adams, too, brilliant of speech and pen, ar 
 dent, patriotic, and high-minded, was, in his way, 
 out of touch with Washington. Although he moved 
 Washington s appointment, he began almost im 
 mediately to find fault with him, an exercise to 
 which he was extremely prone. Inasmuch as he 
 could see how things ought to be done, he could 
 not understand why they were not done in that way 
 at once, for he had a fine forgetfulness of other 
 people s difficulties, as is the case with most of us. 
 The New England representatives generally took 
 their cue from these two, especially James Lovell, 
 who carried his ideas into action, and obtained a 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AXD FOREIGN LEVY. 209 
 
 little niche in the temple of fame by making him 
 self disagreeably conspicuous in the intrigue against 
 the coinmander-in-chief, when it finally developed. 
 
 There were others, too, outside New England 
 who were discontented, and among them Richard 
 Henry Lee, from the General s own State. He 
 was evidently critical and somewhat unfriendly at 
 this time, although the reasons for his being so are 
 not now very distinct. Then there was Mr. Clark 
 of New Jersey, an excellent man, who thought the 
 General was invading popular rights ; and to him 
 others might be added who vaguely felt that things 
 ought to be better than they were. This party, ad 
 verse to Washington, obtained the appointment of 
 Gates to the northern department, under whom the 
 army won a great victory, and they were corre 
 spondingly happy. John Adams wrote his wife 
 that one cause of thanksgiving was that the tide 
 had not been turned by the commander-in-chief 
 and southern troops, for the adulation would have 
 been intolerable ; and that a man may be wise and 
 virtuous and not a deity. 
 
 Here, so far as the leading and influential men 
 were concerned, the matter would have dropped, 
 probably; but there were lesser men like Lovell 
 who were much encouraged by the surrender of 
 Burgoyne, and who thought that they now might 
 supplant Washington with Gates. Before long, 
 too, they found in the army itself some active and 
 not over-scrupulous allies. The most conspicuous 
 figure among the military malcontents was Gates 
 
210 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 himself, who, although sluggish in all things, still 
 had a keen eye for his own advancement. He 
 showed plainly how much his head had been turned 
 by the victory at Saratoga when he failed to in 
 form Washington of the fact, and when he after 
 ward delayed sending back troops until he was 
 driven to it by the determined energy of Hamilton, 
 who was sent to bring him to reason. Next in im 
 portance to Gates was Thomas Mifflin, an ardent 
 patriot, but a rather light-headed person, who es 
 poused the opposition to Washington for causes 
 now somewhat misty, but among which personal 
 vanity played no inconsiderable part. About these 
 two leaders gathered a certain number of inferior 
 officers of no great moment then or since. 
 
 The active and moving spirit in the party, how 
 ever, was one Conway, an Irish adventurer, who 
 made himself so prominent that the whole affair 
 passed into history bearing his name, and the 
 " Conway cabal " has obtained an enduring noto 
 riety which its hero never acquired by any public 
 services. Conway was one of the foreign officers 
 who had gained the favor of Congress and held the 
 rank of brigadier-general, but this by no means 
 filled the measure of his pretensions, and when 
 De Kalb was made a major-general Conway im 
 mediately started forward with claims to the same 
 rank. He received strong support from the fac 
 tious opposition, and there was so much stir that 
 Washington sharply interfered, for to his general 
 objection to these lavish gifts of excessive rank 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 211 
 
 was added an especial distrust in this particular 
 case. In his calm way he had evidently observed 
 Conway, and with his unerring judgment of men 
 had found him wanting. " I may add," he wrote to 
 Lee, " and I think with truth, that it will give a 
 fatal blow to the existence of the army. Upon so 
 interesting a subject I must speak plainly. General 
 Conway s merit then as an officer, and his impor 
 tance in this army, exist more in his own imagina 
 tion than in reality." This plain talk soon reached 
 Conway, drove him at once into furious opposition, 
 and caused him to impart to the faction a cohesion 
 and vigor which they had before lacked. Circum 
 stances favored them. The victory at Saratoga 
 gave them something tangible to go upon, and the 
 first move was made when Gates failed to inform 
 Washington of the surrender, and then held back 
 the troops sent for so urgently by the commander- 
 in-chief, who had sacrificed so much from his own 
 army to secure that of the north. 
 
 At this very moment, indeed, when Washington 
 was calling for troops, he was struggling with the 
 utmost tenacity to hold control of the Delaware. 
 He made every arrangement possible to maintain 
 the forts, and the first assaults upon them were 
 repulsed with great slaughter, the British in the 
 attack on Fort Mercer losing Count Donop, the 
 leader, and four hundred men. Then came a 
 breathing space, and then the attacks were re 
 newed, supported by vessels, and both forts were 
 abandoned after the works had been levelled to 
 
212 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the ground by the enemy s fire. Meanwhile Ham 
 ilton, sent to the north, had done his work ; Gates 
 had been stirred, and Putnam, well-meaning but 
 stubborn, had been sharply brought to his bearings. 
 Reinforcements had come, and Washington medi 
 tated an attack on Philadelphia. There was a good 
 deal of clamor for something brilliant and decisive, 
 for both the army and the public were a little dizzy 
 from the effects of Saratoga, and with sublime blind 
 ness to different conditions, could not see why the 
 same performance should not be repeated to order 
 everywhere else. To oppose this wish was trying, 
 doubly trying to a man eager to fight, and with his 
 full share of the very human desire to be as suc 
 cessful as his neighbor. It required great nerve to 
 say No ; but Washington did not lack that quality, 
 and as general and statesman he reconnoitred the 
 enemy s works, weighed the chances, said No deci 
 sively, and took up an almost impregnable position 
 at White Marsh. Thereupon Howe announced 
 that he would drive Washington beyond the moun 
 tains, and on December 4th he approached the 
 American lines with this highly proper purpose. 
 There was some skirmishing along the foot of the 
 hills of an unimportant character, and on the third 
 day Washington, in high spirits, thought an attack 
 would be made, and rode among the soldiers direct 
 ing and encouraging them. Nothing came of it, 
 however, but more skirmishing, and the next day 
 Howe marched back to Philadelphia. He had of 
 fered battle in all ways, he had invited action ; but 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 213 
 
 again, with the same pressure both from his own 
 spirit and from public opinion, Washington had 
 said No. On his own ground he was more than 
 ready to fight Howe, but despite the terrible temp 
 tation he would fight on no other. Not the least 
 brilliant exploit of Wellington was the retreat to 
 the shrewdly prepared lines of Torres Vedras, and 
 one of the most difficult successes of Washington 
 was his double refusal to fight as the year 1777 
 drew to a close. 
 
 Like most right and wise things, Washington s 
 action looks now, a century later, so plainly sensible 
 that it is hard to imagine how any one could have 
 questioned it; and one cannot, without a great 
 effort, realize the awful strain upon will and temper 
 involved in thus refusing battle. If the proposed 
 attack on Philadelphia had failed, or if our army 
 had come down from the hills and been beaten in 
 the fields below, no American army would have 
 remained. The army of the north, of which men 
 were talking so proudly, had done its work and 
 dispersed. The fate of the Ke volution rested 
 where it had been from the beginning, with Wash 
 ington and his soldiers. Drive them beyond the 
 mountains and there was no other army to fall 
 back upon. On their existence everything hinged, 
 and when Howe got back to Philadelphia, there 
 they were still existent, still coherent, hovering on 
 his flank, cooping him up in his lines, and leaving 
 him master of little more than the ground his men 
 encamped upon, and the streets his sentinels pa- 
 
214 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 trolled. When Franklin was told in Paris that 
 Howe had taken Philadelphia, his reply was, " Phi 
 ladelphia has taken Howe." 
 
 But, with the exception of Franklin, contempo 
 rary opinion in the month of December, 1777, was 
 very different from that of to-day, and the cabal 
 had been at work ever since the commander-in- 
 chief had stepped between Conway and the exor 
 bitant rank he coveted. Washington, indeed, was 
 perfectly aware of what was going on. He was 
 quiet and dignified, impassive and silent, but he 
 knew when men, whether great or small, were plot 
 ting against him, and he watched them with the 
 same keenness as he did Howe and the British. ) 
 
 In the midst of his struggle to hold the Delaware 
 forts, and of his efforts to get back his troops from 
 the north, a story came to him that arrested his at 
 tention. Wilkinson, of Gates s staff, had come to 
 Congress with the news of the surrender. He had 
 been fifteen days on the road and three days get 
 ting his papers in order, and when it was proposed 
 to give him a sword, Dr. Witherspoon, canny Scot 
 as he was, suggested that they had better " gie the 
 lad a pair of spurs." This thrust and some delay 
 seem to have nettled Wilkinson, who was swelling 
 with importance, and although he was finally made 
 a brigadier-general, he rode off to the north much 
 ruffled. In later years Wilkinson was secretive 
 enough ; but in his hot youth he could not hold his 
 tongue, and on his way back to Gates he talked. 
 What he said was marked and carried to head- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 215 
 
 quarters, and on November 9th Washington wrote 
 to Conway : 
 
 " A letter which I received last night contained the 
 following paragraph, * In a letter from General Con- 
 way to General Gates he says, " Heaven lias determined 
 to save your country, or a weak general and bad coun 
 sellors ivould have ruined it." I am, sir, your humble 
 servant, " etc. 
 
 This curt note fell upon Conway with stunning 
 effect. It is said that he tried to apologize, and he 
 certainly resigned. As for Gates, he fell to writ 
 ing letters filled with expressions of wonder as to 
 who had betrayed him, and writhed most pitiably 
 under the exposure. Washington s replies are 
 models of cold dignity, and the calm indifference 
 with which he treated the whole matter, while 
 holding Gates to the point with relentless grasp, 
 is very interesting. The cabal was seriously shaken 
 by this sudden blow. It must have dawned upon 
 them dimly that they might have mistaken their 
 man, and that the silent soldier was perhaps not 
 so easy to dispose of by an intrigue as they had 
 fancied. Nevertheless, they rallied, and taking ad 
 vantage of the feeling in Congress created by 
 Burgoyne s surrender, they set to work to get con 
 trol of military matters. The board of war was 
 enlarged to five, with Gates at its head and Mifflin 
 a member, and, thus constituted, it proceeded to 
 make Conway inspector-general, with the rank of 
 major-general. This, after Conway s conduct, was 
 a direct insult to Washington, and marks the high 
 est point attained by his opponents. 
 
216 . GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 In Congress, too, they became more active, and 
 John Jay said that there was in that body a party 
 bitterly hostile to Washington. We know little of 
 the members of that faction now, for they never 
 took the trouble to refer to the matter in after 
 years, and did everything that silence could do to 
 have it all forgotten. But the party existed none 
 the less, and significant letters have come down to 
 us, one of them written by Lovell, and two anony 
 mous, addressed respectively to Patrick Henry and 
 to Laurens, then president, which show a bitter and 
 vindictive spirit, and breathe but one purpose. The 
 same thought is constantly reiterated, that with a 
 good general the northern army had won a great 
 victory, and that the main army, if commanded in 
 the same way, would do likewise. The plan was 
 simple and coherent. The cabal wished to drive 
 Washington out of power and replace him with 
 Gates. With this purpose they wrote to Henry 
 and Laurens; with this purpose they made Con- 
 way inspector-general. 
 
 When they turned from intrigue to action, how 
 ever, they began to fail. One of their pet schemes 
 was the conquest of Canada, and with this object 
 Lafayette was sent to the lakes, only to find that no 
 preparations had been made, because the origina 
 tors of the idea were ignorant and inefficient. The 
 expedition promptly collapsed and was abandoned, 
 with much instruction in consequence to Congress 
 and people. Under their control the commissariat 
 also went hopelessly to pieces, and a committee of 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 217 
 
 Congress proceeded to Valley Forge and found 
 that in this direction, too, the new managers had 
 grievously failed. Then the original Con way let 
 ter, uncovered so unceremoniously by Washington, 
 kept returning to plague its author. Gates s corre 
 spondence went on all through the winter, and with 
 every letter Gates floundered more and more, and 
 Washington s replies grew more and more freezing 
 and severe. Gates undertook to throw the blame 
 on Wilkinson, who became loftily indignant and 
 challenged him. The two made up their quarrel 
 very soon in a ludicrous manner, but Wilkinson in 
 the interval had an interview with Washington, 
 which revealed an amount of duplicity and perfidy 
 on the part of the cabal, so shocking to the for 
 mer s sensitive nature, that he resigned his secre 
 taryship of the board of war on account, as he 
 frankly said, of the treachery a-nd falsehood of 
 Gates. Such a quarrel of course hurt the cabal, 
 but it was still more weakened by Gates himself, 
 whose only idea seemed to be to supersede Wash 
 ington by slighting him, refusing troops, and de 
 clining to propose his health at dinner, methods 
 as unusual as they were feeble. 
 
 The cabal, in fact, was so weak in ability and 
 character that the moment any responsibility fell 
 upon its members it was certain to break down, 
 but the absolutely fatal obstacle to its schemes was 
 the man it aimed to overthrow. The idea evidently 
 was that Washington could be driven to resign. 
 They knew that they could not get either Congress 
 
218 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 or public opinion to support them in removing him, 
 but they believed that a few well placed slights and 
 insults would make him remove himself. It was 
 just here that they made their mistake. Washing 
 ton, as they were aware, was sensitive and high- 
 spirited to the last degree, and he had no love for 
 office, but he was not one of those weaklings who 
 leave power and place in a pet because they are 
 criticised and assailed. He was not ambitious in 
 the ordinary personal sense, but he had a passion 
 for success. Whether it was breaking a horse, or 
 reclaiming land, or fighting Indians, or saving a 
 state, whatever he set his hand to, that he carried 
 through to the end. With him there never was 
 any shadow of turning back. When, without any 
 self-seeking, he was placed at the head of the Rev 
 olution, he made up his mind that he would carry 
 it through everything to victory, if victory were 
 possible. Death or a prison could stop him, but 
 neither defeat nor neglect, and still less the forces 
 of intrigue and cabal. 
 
 When he wrote to his brother announcing Bur- 
 goyne s surrender, he had nothing to say of the 
 slight Gates put upon him, but merely added in a 
 postscript, " I most devoutly congratulate my coun 
 try and every well-wisher to the cause on this sig 
 nal stroke of Providence." This was his tone to 
 every one, both in private and public. His com 
 plaint of not being properly notified he made to 
 Gates alone, and put it in the form of a rebuke. 
 He knew of the movement against him from the 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 219 
 
 beginning, but apparently the first person he con 
 fided in was Conway, when he sent him the brief 
 note of November 9th. Even after the cabal was 
 fully developed, h^ wrote about it only once or 
 twice, when compelled to do so, and there is no evi 
 dence that he ever talked about it except, perhaps, 
 to a few most intimate friends. In a letter to 
 Patrick Henry he said that he was obliged to allow 
 a false impression as to his strength to go abroad, 
 and that he suffered in consequence ; and he added, 
 with a little touch of feeling, that while the yeo 
 manry of New York and New England poured into 
 the camp of Gates, outnumbering the enemy two to 
 one, he could get no aid of that sort from Pennsyl 
 vania, and still marvels were demanded of him. 
 
 Thus he went on his way through the winter, 
 silent except when obliged to answer some friend, 
 and always ready to meet his enemies. When 
 Conway complained to Congress of his reception at 
 camp, Washington wrote the president that he was 
 not given to dissimulation, and that he certainly 
 had been cold in his manner. He wrote to Lafay 
 ette that slander had been busy, and that he had 
 urged his officers to be cool and dispassionate as to 
 Conway, adding, " I have no doubt that everything 
 happens for the best, that we shall triumph over all 
 our misfortunes, and in the end be happy ; when, 
 my dear Marquis, if you will give me your company 
 in Virginia, we will laugh at our past difficulties 
 and the folly of others." But though he wrote thus 
 lightly to his friends, he followed Gates sternly 
 
220 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 enough, and kept that gentleman occupied as he 
 drove him from point to point. Among other 
 things he touched upon Conway s character with 
 sharp irony, saying, " It is, however, greatly to be 
 lamented that this adept in military science did 
 not employ his abilities in the progress of the cam 
 paign, in pointing out those wise measures which 
 were calculated to give us 4 that degree of success 
 we could reasonably expect. 
 
 Poor Gates did not find these letters pleasant 
 reading, and one more curt note, on February 24th, 
 finished the controversy. By that time the cabal 
 was falling to pieces, and in a little while was dis 
 persed. Wilkinson s resignation was accepted, Mif- 
 flin was put under Washington s orders, and Gates 
 was sent to his command in the north. Conway 
 resigned one day in a pet, and found his resigna 
 tion accepted and his power gone with unpleasant 
 suddenness. He then got into a quarrel with Gen 
 eral Cadwalader on account of his attacks on the 
 commander-in-chief. The quarrel ended in a duel. 
 Conway was badly wounded, and thinking himself 
 dying, wrote a contrite note of apology to Wash 
 ington, then recovered, left the country, and dis 
 appeared from the ken of history. Thus domes 
 tic malice and the " bitter party " in Congress 
 failed and perished. They had dashed themselves 
 in vain against the strong man who held firmly 
 both soldiers and people. " While the public are 
 satisfied with my endeavors, I mean not to shrink 
 from the cause." So Washington wrote to Gordon 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 221 
 
 as the cabal was coming to an end, and in that 
 spirit he crushed silently and thoroughly the fac 
 tion that sought to thwart his purpose, and drive 
 him from office by sneers, slights, and intrigues. 
 
 These attacks upon him came at the darkest 
 moment of his military career. Defeated at Brandy- 
 wine and Germantown, he had been forced from 
 the forts after a desperate struggle, had seen Phila 
 delphia and the river fall completely into the hands 
 of the enemy, and, bitterest of all, he had been 
 obliged to hold back from another assault on the 
 British lines, and to content himself with baffling 
 Howe when that gentleman came out and offered 
 battle. Then the enemy withdrew to their com 
 fortable quarters, and he was left to face again the 
 harsh winter and the problem of existence. It was 
 the same ever recurring effort to keep the Ameri 
 can army, and thereby the American Revolution, 
 alive. There was nothing in this task to stir the 
 blood and rouse the heart. It was merely a ques 
 tion of grim tenacity of purpose and of the ability 
 to comprehend its overwhelming importance. It 
 was not a work that appealed to or inspirited any 
 one, and to carry it through to a successful issue 
 rested with the commander-in-chief alone. 
 
 In the frost and snow he withdrew to Valley 
 Forge, within easy striking distance of Philadel 
 phia. He had literally nothing to rely upon but 
 his own stern will and strong head. His soldiers, 
 steadily dwindling in numbers, marked their road 
 to Valley Forge by the blood from their naked feet. 
 
222 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 They were destitute and in rags. When they 
 reached their destination they had no shelter, and 
 it was only by the energy and ingenuity of the 
 General that they were led to build huts, and thus 
 secure a measure of protection against the weather. 
 There were literally no supplies, and the Board of 
 War failed completely to remedy the evil. The 
 army was in such straits that it was obliged to seize 
 by force the commonest necessaries. This was a 
 desperate expedient and shocked public opinion, 
 which Washington, as a statesman, watched and 
 cultivated as an essential element of success in 
 his difficult business. He disliked to take extreme 
 measures, but there was nothing else to be done 
 when his men were starving, when nearly three 
 thousand of them were unfit for duty because 
 " barefoot and otherwise naked," and when a large 
 part of the army were obliged to sit up all night 
 by the fires for -warmth s sake, having no blankets 
 with which to cover themselves if they lay down. 
 With nothing to eat, nothing to burn, nothing 
 wherewith to clothe themselves, wasting away from 
 exposure and disease, we can only wonder at the 
 forbearance which stayed the hand of violent seiz 
 ure so long. Yet, as Washington had foreseen, 
 there was even then an outcry against him. Never 
 theless, his action ultimately did more good than 
 harm in the very matter of public opinion, for it 
 opened men s eyes, and led to some tardy improve 
 ments and some increased effort. 
 
 Worse even than this criticism was the remou- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 223 
 
 strance of the legislature of Pennsylvania against 
 the going into winter - quarters. They expected 
 Washington to keep the open field, and even to at 
 tack the British, with his starving, ragged army, in 
 all the severity of a northern winter. They had 
 failed him at every point and in every promise, in 
 men, clothing, and supplies. They were not con 
 tent that he covered their State and kept the Rev 
 olution alive among the huts of Valley Forge. 
 They wished the impossible. They asked for the 
 moon, and then cried out because it was not given 
 to them. It was a stupid, unkind thing to do, and 
 Washington answered their complaints in a letter 
 to the president of Congress. After setting forth 
 the shortcomings of the Pennsylvanians in the very 
 plainest of plain English, he said : " But what 
 makes this matter still more extraordinary in my 
 eye is that these very gentlemen should think a 
 winter s campaign, and the covering of these States 
 from the invasion of an enemy, so easy and prac 
 ticable a business. I can answer those gentlemen, 
 that it is a much easier and less distressing thing 
 to draw remonstrances in a comfortable room, by 
 a good fireside, than to occupy a cold, bleak hill, 
 and sleep under frost and snow, without clothes or 
 blankets. However, although they seem to have 
 little feeling for the naked and distressed soldiers, 
 I feel superabundantly for them, and from my soul 
 I pity those miseries which it is neither in my power 
 to relieve or prevent." 
 
 This was not a safe man for the gentlemen of 
 
224 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Pennsylvania to cross too far, nor could they swerve 
 Lira, with all his sense of public opinion, one jot 
 from what he meant to do. In the stern rebuke, and 
 in the deep pathos of these sentences, we catch a 
 glimpse of the silent and self -controlled man break 
 ing out for a moment as he thinks of his faithful 
 and suffering men. Whatever happened, he would 
 hold them together, for in this black time we detect 
 the fear which haunted him, that the people at large 
 might give way. He was determined on indepen 
 dence. He felt a keen hatred against England for 
 her whole conduct toward America, and this hatred 
 was sharpened by the efforts of the English to 
 injure him personally by forged letters and other 
 despicable contrivances. He was resolved that 
 England should never prevail, and his language in 
 regard to her has a fierceness of tone which is full 
 of meaning. He was bent, also, on success, and if 
 under the long strain the people should weaken or 
 waver, he was determined to maintain the army at 
 all hazards. 
 
 So, while he struggled against cold and hunger 
 and destitution, while he contended with faction at 
 home and lukewarmness in the administration of 
 the war, even then, in the midst of these trials, he 
 was devising a new system for the organization and 
 permanence of his forces. Congress meddled with 
 the matter of prisoners and with the promotion of 
 officers, and he argued with and checked them, and 
 still pressed on in his plans. He insisted that 
 officers must have better provision, for they had 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 225 
 
 begun to resign. * You must appeal to their inter 
 est as well as to their patriotism," he wrote, " and 
 you must give them half-pay and full pay in proper 
 measure." " You must follow the same policy with 
 the men," he said ; " you must have done with short 
 enlistments. In a word, gentlemen, you must give 
 me an army, a lasting, enduring, continental army, 
 for therein lies independence." 1 It all comes out 
 now, through the dust of details and annoyances, 
 through the misery and suffering of that wretched 
 winter, through the shrill cries of ignorance and 
 hostility, the great, clear, strong policy which 
 meant to substitute an army for militia, and thereby 
 secure victory and independence. It is the burden 
 of all his letters to the governors of States, and to 
 his officers everywhere. " I will hold the army to 
 gether," he said, " but you on all sides must help 
 me build it up." i 
 
 Thus with much strenuous labor and many fer 
 vent appeals he held his army together in some 
 way, and slowly improved it. His system began to 
 be put in force, his reiterated lessons were coming 
 home to Congress, and his reforms and sugges 
 tions were in some measure adopted. Under the 
 sound and trained guidance of Baron Steuben a 
 drill and discipline were introduced, which soon 
 showed marked results. Greene succeeded Mifflin 
 as quartermaster-general, and brought order out of 
 chaos. The Con way cabal went to pieces, and as 
 
 1 These two quotations are not literal, of course, but give the 
 substance of many letters. 
 
226 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 spring opened Washington began to see light once 
 more. To have held on through that winter was a 
 great feat, but to have built up and improved the 
 army at such a time was much more wonderful. 
 It shows a greatness of character and a force of 
 will rarer than military genius, and enables us to 
 understand better, perhaps, than almost any of his 
 victories, why it was that the success of the Kev- 
 olution lay in the hands of one man. . 
 
 After Howe s withdrawal from the Jerseys in the 
 previous year, a contemporary wrote that Washing 
 ton was left with the remnants of an army " to 
 scuffle for liberty." The winter had passed, and he 
 was prepared to scuffle again. On May llth Sir 
 Henry Clinton relieved Sir William Howe at Phi 
 ladelphia, and the latter took his departure in a 
 blaze* of mock glory and resplendent millinery, 
 known as the Mischianza, a fit close to a career of 
 failure, which he was too dull to appreciate. The 
 new commander was more active than his predeces 
 sor, but no cleverer, and no better fitted to cope 
 with Washington. It was another characteristic 
 choice on the part of the British ministry, who 
 could never muster enough intellect to understand 
 that the Americans would fight, and that they were 
 led by a really great soldier. The coming of Clin 
 ton did not alter existing conditions. 
 
 Expecting a movement by the enemy, Washing 
 ton sent Lafayette forward to watch Philadelphia. 
 Clinton, fresh in office, determined to cut him off, 
 and by a rapid movement nearly succeeded in so 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 227 
 
 doing. Timely information, presence of mind, and 
 quickness alone enabled the young Frenchman to 
 escape, narrowly but completely. Meantime, a 
 cause for delay, that curse of the British through 
 out the war, supervened. A peace commission, 
 consisting of the Earl of Carlisle, William Eden, 
 and Governor Johnstone, arrived. They were ex 
 cellent men, but they came too late. Their propo 
 sitions three years before would have been well 
 enough, but as it was they were worse than nothing. 
 Coolly received, they held a fruitless interview with 
 a committee of Congress, tried to bribe and in 
 trigue, found that their own army had been already 
 ordered to evacuate Philadelphia without their 
 knowledge, and finally gave up their task in angry 
 despair, and returned to England to join in the 
 chorus of fault-finding which was beginning to 
 sound very loud in ministerial ears. 
 
 Meanwhile, Washington waited and watched, 
 puzzled by the delay, and hoping only to harass 
 Sir Henry with militia on the march to New York. 
 But as the days slipped by, the Americans grew 
 stronger, while Sir Henry weakened himself by 
 sending five thousand men to the West Indies, 
 and three thousand to Florida. When he finally 
 started, he had with him less than ten thousand 
 men, while the Americans had thirteen thousand, 
 nearly all continental troops. Under these circum 
 stances, Washington determined to bring on a bat 
 tle. He was thwarted at the outset by his officers, 
 as was wont to be the case. Lee had returned 
 
228 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 more whimsical than ever, and at the moment was 
 strongly adverse to an attack, and was full of wise 
 saws about building a bridge of gold for the flying 
 enemy. The ascendancy which, as an English 
 officer, he still retained enabled him to get a cer 
 tain following, and the councils of war which were 
 held compared unfavorably, as Hamilton put it, 
 with the deliberations of midwives. Washington 
 was harassed of course by all this, but he did not 
 stay his purpose, and as soon as he knew that 
 Clinton actually had marched, he broke camp at 
 Valley Forge and started in pursuit. There were 
 more councils of an old-womanish character, but 
 finally Washington took the matter into his own 
 hands, and ordered forth a strong detachment to 
 attack the British rear-guard. They set out on 
 the 25th, and as Lee, to whom the command be 
 longed, did not care to go, Lafayette was put in 
 charge. As soon as Lafayette had departed, how 
 ever, Lee changed his mind, and insisted that all 
 the detachments in front, amounting to six thou 
 sand men, formed a division so large that it was 
 unjust not to give him the command. Washington, 
 therefore, sent him forward next day with two ad 
 ditional brigades, and then Lee by seniority took 
 . command on the 27th of the entire advance. 
 
 In the evening of that day, Washington came 
 up, reconnoitred the enemy, and saw that, although 
 their position was a strong one, another day s un 
 molested march would make it still stronger. He 
 therefore resolved to attack the next morning, and 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 229 
 
 gave Lee then and there explicit orders to that 
 effect. In the early dawn he despatched similar 
 orders, but Lee apparently did nothing except 
 move feebly forward, saying to Lafayette, * You 
 don t know the British soldiers ; we cannot stand 
 against them." He made a weak attempt to cut 
 off a covering party, marched and countermarched, 
 ordered and countermanded, until Lafayette and 
 Wayne, eager to fight, knew not what to do, and 
 sent hot messages to Washington to come to them. 
 Thus hesitating and confused, Lee permitted 
 Clinton to get his baggage and train to the front, 
 and to mass all his best troops in the rear under 
 Cornwallis, who then advanced against the Ameri 
 can lines. Now there were no orders at all, and 
 the troops did not know what to do, or where to 
 go. They stood still, then began to fall back, 
 and then to retreat. A very little more and there 
 would have been a rout. As it was, Washington 
 alone prevented disaster. His early reports from 
 the front from Dickinson s outlying party, and 
 from Lee himself, were all favorable. Then he 
 heard the firing, and putting the main army in 
 motion, he rode rapidly forward. First he encoun 
 tered a straggler, who talked of defeat. He could 
 not believe it, and the fellow was pushed aside and 
 silenced. Then came another and another, all with 
 songs of death. Finally, officers and regiments be 
 gan to come. No one knew why they fled, or what 
 had happened. As the ill tidings grew thicker, 
 Washington spurred sharper and rode faster 
 
230 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 through the deep sand, and under the blazing mid 
 summer sun. At last he met Lee and the main 
 body all in full retreat. He rode straight at Lee, 
 savage with anger, not pleasant to look at, one may 
 guess, and asked fiercely and with a deep oath, tra 
 dition says, what it all meant. Lee was no coward, 
 and did not usually lack for words. He was, too, 
 a hardened man of the world, and, in the phrase 
 of that day, impudent to boot. But then and there 
 he stammered and hesitated. The fierce question 
 was repeated. Lee gathered himself and tried to 
 excuse and palliate what had happened, but although 
 the brief words that followed are variously reported 
 to us across the century, we know that Washington 
 rebuked him in such a way, and with such passion, 
 that all was over between them. Lee had com 
 mitted the one unpardonable sin in the eyes of 
 his commander. He had failed to fight when the 
 enemy was upon him. He had disobeyed orders 
 and retreated. It was the end of him. He went 
 to the rear, thence to a court-martial, thence to dis 
 missal and to a solitary life. He was an intelli 
 gent, quick-witted, unstable man, much overrated 
 because he was an English officer among a colonial 
 people. He was ever treated magnanimously by 
 Washington after the day of battle at Monmouth, 
 but he then disappeared from the latter s life. 
 
 When Lee bowed before the storm and stepped 
 aside, Washington was left to deal with the danger 
 and confusion around him. Thus did he tell the 
 story afterwards to his brother: "A retreat, how- 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 231 
 
 ever, was the fact, be the causes what they may ; 
 and the disorder arising from it would have proved 
 fatal to the army, had not that bountiful Provi 
 dence, which has never failed us in the hour of dis 
 tress, enabled me to form a regiment or two (of 
 those that were retreating) in the face of the enemy, 
 and under their fire ; by which means a stand was 
 made long enough (the place through which the 
 enemy were pressing being narrow) to form the 
 troops, that were advancing, upon an advantageous 
 piece of ground in the rear." We cannot add 
 much to these simple and modest words, for they 
 tell the whole story. Having put Lee aside, Wash 
 ington rallied the broken troops, brought them 
 into position, turned them back, and held the en 
 emy in check. It was not an easy feat, but it was 
 done, and when Lee s division again fell back in 
 good order the main army was in position, and the 
 action became general. The British were repulsed, 
 and then Washington, taking the offensive, drove 
 them back until he occupied the battlefield of the 
 morning. Night came upon him still advancing. 
 He halted his army, lay down under a tree, his sol 
 diers lying on their arms about him, and planned a 
 fresh attack, to be made at daylight. But when the 
 dawn came it was seen that the British had crept 
 off, and were far on their road. The heat pre 
 vented a rapid pursuit, and Clinton got into New 
 York. Between there and Philadelphia he had 
 lost two thousand men, Washington said, and mod 
 ern authorities put it at about fifteen hundred, of 
 whom nearly five hundred fell at Momnouth. 
 
232 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 It is worth while to pause a moment and compare 
 this battle with the rout of Long Island, the sur 
 prise at the Brandywine, and the fatal unsteadiness 
 at Germantown. Here, too, a check was received 
 at the outset, owing to blundering which no one 
 could have foreseen. The troops, confused and 
 without orders, began to retreat, but without panic 
 or disorder. The moment Washington appeared 
 they rallied, returned to the field, showed perfect 
 steadiness, and the victory was won. Monmouth 
 has never been one of the famous battles of the 
 Kevolution, and yet there is no other which can 
 compare with it as an illustration of Washington s 
 ability as a soldier. It was not so much the way 
 in which it was fought, although that was fine 
 enough, but its importance lies in the evidence 
 which it gives of the way in which Washington, 
 after a series of defeats, during a winter of terrible 
 suffering and privation, had yet developed his 
 ragged volunteers into a well-disciplined and effec 
 tive army. The battle was a victory, but the exist 
 ence and the quality of the army that won it were 
 a far greater triumph. 
 
 The dreary winter at Valley Forge had indeed 
 borne fruit. With a slight numerical superiority 
 Washington had fought the British in the open 
 field, and fairly defeated them. " Clinton gained 
 no advantage," said the great Frederic, "except 
 to reach New York with the wreck of his army ; 
 America is probably lost for England." Another 
 year had passed, and England had lost an army, 
 
MALICE DOMESTIC, AND FOREIGN LEVY. 233 
 
 and still held what she had before, the city of New 
 York. Washington was in the field with a better 
 army than ever, and an army flushed with a victory 
 which had been achieved after difficulties and trials 
 that no one now can rightly picture or describe. 
 The American Kevolution was advancing, held 
 firm by the master-hand of its leader. Into it, 
 during these days of struggle and of battle, a new 
 element had come, and the next step is to see how 
 Washington dealt with the fresh conditions upon 
 which the great conflict had entered. 
 
CHAPTER V1IL 
 
 THE ALLIES. 
 
 ON May 4th, 1778, Congress ratified the treaties 
 of commerce and alliance with France. On the 
 6th, Washington, waiting at Valley Forge for the 
 British to start from Philadelphia, caused his army, 
 drawn out on parade, to celebrate the great event 
 with cheers and with salvos of artillery and mus 
 ketry. The alliance deserved cheers and celebra 
 tion, for it marked a long step onward in the He vo 
 lution. It showed that America had demonstrated 
 to Europe that she could win independence, and it 
 had been proved to the traditional enemy of Eng 
 land that the time had come when it would be pro 
 fitable to help the revolted colonies. But the alli 
 ance brought troubles as well as blessings in its 
 train. It induced a relaxation in popular energy, 
 and carried with it new and difficult problems for 
 the commander-in-chief. The successful manage 
 ment of allies, and of allied forces, had been one of 
 the severest tests of the statesmanship of William 
 III., and had constituted one of the principal glo 
 ries of Marlborough. A similar problem now con 
 fronted the American general. 
 
 Washington was free from the diplomatic and 
 
THE ALLIES. 235 
 
 political portion of the business, but the military 
 and popular part fell wholly into his hands, and 
 demanded the exercise of talents entirely different 
 from those of either a general or an administrator. 
 It has been not infrequently written more or less 
 plainly, and it is constantly said, that Washington 
 was great in character, but that in brains he was 
 not far above the commonplace. It is even hinted 
 sometimes that the father of his country was a dull 
 man, a notion which we shall have occasion to ex 
 amine more fully further on. At this point let the 
 criticism be remembered merely in connection with 
 the fact that to cooperate with allies in military mat 
 ters demands tact, quick perception, firmness, and 
 patience. In a word, it is a task which calls for the 
 finest and most highly trained intellectual powers, 
 and of which the difficulty is enhanced a thousand 
 fold when the allies were, on the one side, an old, 
 aristocratic, punctilious people, and on the other, 
 colonists utterly devoid of tradition, etiquette, or 
 fixed habits, and very much accustomed to go their 
 own way and speak their own minds with care 
 less freedom. With this problem Washington was 
 obliged suddenly to deal, both in ill success and good 
 success, as well as in many attempts which came 
 to nothing. Let us see how he solved it at the 
 very outset, when everything went most perversely 
 wrong. 
 
 On July 14th he heard that D Estaing s fleet 
 was off the coast, and at once, without a trace of 
 elation or excitement, he began to consider the 
 
236 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 possibility of intercepting the British fleet expected 
 to arrive shortly from Cork. As soon as D Estaing 
 was within reach he sent two of his aides on board 
 the flagship, and at once opened a correspondence 
 with his ally. These letters of welcome, and those 
 of suggestion which followed, are models, in tbeir 
 way, of what such letters ought always to be. They 
 were perfectly adapted to satisfy the etiquette and 
 the love of good manners of the French, and yet 
 there was not a trace of anything like servility, or 
 of an effusive gratitude which outran the favors 
 granted. They combined stately courtesy with 
 simple dignity, and are phrased with a sober grace 
 which shows the thoroughly strong man, as capable 
 to turn a sentence, if need be, as to rally retreating 
 soldiers in the face of the enemy. 
 
 In this first meeting of the allies nothing hap 
 pened fortunately. D Estaing had had a long pas 
 sage, and was too late to cut off Lord Howe at the 
 Delaware. Then he turned to New York, and was 
 too late there, and found further that he could not 
 get his ships over the bar. Hence more delays, so 
 that he was late again in getting to Newport, where 
 he was. to unite with Sullivan in driving the Brit 
 ish from Rhode Island, as Washington had planned, 
 in case of failure at New York, while the French 
 were still hovering on the coast. When D Estaing 
 finally reached Newport, there was still another 
 delay of ten days, and then, just as he and Sul 
 livan were preparing to attack, Lord Howe, with 
 his squadron reinforced, appeared off the harbor. 
 
THE ALLIES. 237 
 
 Promising to return, D Estaing sailed out to give 
 the enemy battle, and after much manoeuvring 
 both fleets were driven off by a severe storm, and 
 D Estaing came back only to tell Sullivan that he 
 must go to Boston at once to refit. Then came 
 the protest addressed to the Count and signed by 
 all the American officers ; then the departure of 
 D Estaing, and an indiscreet proclamation to the 
 troops by Sullivan, reflecting on the conduct of 
 the allies. 
 
 When D Estaing had actually gone, and the 
 Americans were obliged to retreat, there was much 
 grumbling in all directions, and it looked as if 
 the first result of the alliance was to be a very 
 pretty quarrel. It was a bad and awkward bus 
 iness. Congress had the good sense to suppress 
 the protest of the officers, and Washington, disap 
 pointed, but perhaps not wholly surprised, set him 
 self to work to put matters right. It was no easy 
 task to soothe the French, on the one hand, who 
 were naturally aggrieved at the utterances of the 
 American officers and at the popular feeling, and 
 on the other to calm his own people, who were, not 
 without reason, both disappointed and provoked. 
 To Sullivan, fuming with wrath, he wrote : " Should 
 the expedition fail through the abandonment of the 
 French fleet, the officers concerned will be apt to 
 complain loudly. But prudence dictates that we 
 should put the best face upon the matter, and to 
 the world attribute the removal to Boston to neces 
 sity. The reasons are too obvious to need explain- 
 
238 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ing." And again, a few days later : " First impres 
 sions, you know, are generally longest remembered, 
 and will serve to fix in a great degree our national 
 character among the French. In our conduct to 
 wards them we should remember that they are a 
 people old in war, very strict in military etiquette, 
 and apt to take fire when others scarcely seem 
 warmed. Permit me to recommend, in the most 
 particular manner, the cultivation of harmony and 
 good agreement, and your endeavor to destroy that 
 ill-humor which may have got into officers." To 
 Lafayette he wrote : " Everybody, sir, who reasons, 
 will acknowledge the advantages which we have 
 derived from the French fleet, and the zeal of 
 the commander of it ; but in a free and republican 
 government you cannot restrain the voice of the 
 multitude. Every man will speak as he thinks, 
 or, more properly, without thinking, and conse 
 quently will judge of effects without attending to 
 the causes. The censures which have been levelled 
 at the French fleet would more than probably have 
 fallen in a much higher degree upon a fleet of our 
 own, if we had had one in the same situation. It 
 is the nature of man to be displeased with every 
 thing that disappoints a favorite hope or flattering 
 project ; and it is the folly of too many of them 
 to condemn without investigating circumstances." 
 Finally he wrote to D Estaing, deploring the differ 
 ence which had arisen, mentioning his own efforts 
 and wishes to restore harmony, and said : " It is in 
 the trying circumstances to which your Excellency 
 
THE ALLIES. 239 
 
 has been exposed that the virtues of a great mind 
 are displayed in their brightest lustre, and that a 
 general s character is better known than in the 
 moment of victory. It was yours by every title that 
 can give it ; and the adverse elements that robbed 
 you of your prize can never deprive you of the 
 glory due you. Though your success has not been 
 equal to your expectations, yet you have the satis 
 faction of reflecting that you have rendered essen 
 tial services to the common cause." This is not 
 the letter of a dull man. Indeed, there is a nicety 
 about it that partakes of cleverness, a much com 
 moner thing than greatness, but something which 
 all great men by 110 means possess. Thus by tact 
 and comprehension of human nature, by judicious 
 suppression and judicious letters, Washington, 
 through the prudent exercise of all his commanding 
 influence, quieted his own people and soothed his 
 allies. In this way a serious disaster was averted, 
 and an abortive expedition was all that was left 
 to be regretted, instead of an ugly quarrel, which 
 might readily have neutralized the vast advantages 
 flowing from the French alliance. 
 
 Having refitted, D Estaing bore away for the 
 West Indies, and so closed the first chapter in the 
 history of the alliance with France. Nothing more 
 was heard of the allies until the spring was well 
 advanced, wh?n M. Gerard, the minister, wrote, 
 intimating that D Estaing was about to return, and 
 linking what we would do. Washington replied at 
 length, professing his willingness to cooperate in 
 
240 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 any way, and offering, if the French would send 
 ships, to abandon everything, run all risks, and 
 make an attack on New York. Nothing further 
 came of it, and Washington heard that the fleet 
 had gone to the Southern States, which he learned 
 without regret, as he was apprehensive as to the 
 condition of affairs in that region. Again, in the 
 autumn, it was reported that the fleet was once 
 more upon the northern coast. Washington at 
 once sent officers to be on the lookout at the most 
 likely points, and he wrote elaborately to D Es- 
 taing, setting forth with wonderful perspicuity the 
 incidents of the past, the condition of the present, 
 and the probabilities of the future. He was willing 
 to do anything, or plan anything, provided his allies 
 would join with him. The jealousy so habitual in 
 humanity, which is afraid that some one else may 
 get the glory of a common success, was unknown 
 to Washington, and if he could but drive the British 
 from America, and establish American indepen 
 dence, he was perfectly willing that the glory should 
 take care of itself. But all his wisdom in dealing 
 with the allies was, for the moment, vain. While 
 he was planning for a great stroke, and calling out 
 the militia of New England, D Estaing was making 
 ready to relieve Georgia, and a few days after 
 Washington wrote his second letter, the French 
 and Americans assaulted the British works at 
 Savannah, and were repulsed with heavy losses. 
 Then D Estaing sailed away again, and the second 
 effort of France to aid England s revolted colonies 
 
THE ALLIES. 241 
 
 came to an end. Their presence had had a good 
 moral effect, and the dread of D Estaing s return 
 had caused Clinton to withdraw from Newport and 
 concentrate in New York. This was all that was 
 actually accomplished, and there was nothing for 
 it but to await still another trial and a more con 
 venient season. 
 
 With all his courtesy and consideration, with all 
 his readiness to fall in with the wishes and schemes 
 of the French, it must not be supposed that Wash 
 ington ever went an inch too far in this direction. 
 
 O 
 
 He valued the French alliance, and proposed to use 
 it to great purpose, but he was not in the least daz 
 zled or blinded by it. Even in the earliest glow 
 of excitement and hope produced by D Estaing s 
 arrival, Washington took occasion to draw once 
 more the distinction between a valuable alliance 
 and volunteer adventurers, and to remonstrate 
 again with Congress about their reckless profusion 
 in dealing with foreign officers. To Gouverneur 
 Morris he wrote on July 24, 1778 : " The lavish 
 manner in which rank has hitherto been bestowed 
 on these gentlemen will certainly be productive of 
 one or the other of these two evils : either to make 
 it despicable in the eyes of Europe, or become the 
 means of pouring them in upon us like a torrent 
 and adding to our present burden. But it is nei 
 ther the expense nor the trouble of them that I 
 most dread. There is an evil more extensive in 
 its nature, and fatal in its consequences, to be ap 
 prehended, and that is the driving of all our own 
 
242 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 officers out of the service, and throwing not only our 
 army, but our military councils, entirely into the 
 hands of foreigners. . . . Baron Steuben, I now 
 find, is also wanting to quit his inspectorship for a 
 command in the line. This will be productive of 
 much discontent to the brigadiers. In a word, al 
 though I think the baron an excellent officer, I do 
 most devoutly wish that we had not a single for 
 eigner among us except the Marquis de Lafayette, 
 who acts upon very different principles from those 
 which govern the rest." A few days later he said, 
 on the same theme, to the president of Congress : 
 " I trust you think me so much a citizen of the 
 world as to believe I am not easily warped or led 
 away by attachments merely local and American ; 
 yet I confess I am not entirely without them, nor 
 does it appear to me that they are unwarrantable, 
 if confined within proper limits. Fewer promo 
 tions in the foreign line would have been produc 
 tive of more harmony, and made our warfare more 
 agreeable to all parties." Again, he said of Steu 
 ben : " I regret that there should be a necessity 
 that his services should be lost to the army ; at the 
 same time I think it my duty explicitly to observe 
 to Congress that his desire of having an actual and 
 permanent command in the line cannot be complied 
 with without wounding the feelings of a number of 
 officers, whose rank and merits give them every 
 claim to attention ; and that the doing of it would 
 be productive of much dissatisfaction and extensive 
 ill consequences." 
 
THE ALLIES. 243 
 
 Washington s resistance to the colonial deference 
 for foreigners has already been pointed out, but 
 this second burst of opposition, coming at this espe 
 cial time, deserves renewed attention. The splendid 
 fleet and well-equipped troops of our ally were 
 actually at our gates, and everybody was in a 
 paroxysm of perfectly natural gratitude. To the 
 colonial mind, steeped in colonial habits of thought, 
 the foreigner at this particular juncture appeared 
 more than ever to be a splendid and superior be 
 ing. But he did not in the least confuse or sway 
 the cool judgment that guided the destinies of the 
 Revolution. Let us consider well the pregnant 
 sentences just quoted, and the letters from which 
 they are taken. They deserve it, for they throw a 
 strong light on a side of Washington s mind and 
 character too little appreciated. One hears it said 
 not infrequently, it has been argued even in print 
 with some solemnity, that Washington was, no 
 doubt, a great man and rightly a national hero, but 
 that he was not an American. It will be necessary 
 to recur to this charge again and consider it at 
 some length. It is sufficient at this point to see 
 how it tallies with his conduct in a single matter, 
 which was a very perfect test of the national and 
 American quality of the man. We can get at the 
 truth by contrasting him with his own contempo 
 raries, the only fair comparison, for he was a man 
 and an American of his own time and not of the 
 present day, which is a point his critics overlook. 
 
 Where he differed from the men of his own time 
 
244 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 was in the fact that he rose to a breadth and height 
 of Americanism and of national feeling which no 
 other man of that day touched at all. Nothing 
 is more intense than the conservatism of mental 
 habits, and although it requires now an effort to 
 realize it, it should not be forgotten that in every 
 habit of thought the inhabitants of the thirteen 
 colonies were wholly colonial. If this is properly 
 appreciated we can understand the mental breadth 
 arid vigor which enabled Washington to shake off 
 at once all past habits and become an independent 
 leader of an independent people. He felt to the 
 very core of his being the need of national self- 
 respect and national dignity. To him, as the chief 
 of the armies and the head of the Revolution, all 
 men, no matter what tongue they spake or what 
 country they came from, were to be dealt with on 
 a footing of simple equality, and treated according 
 to their merits. There was to him no glamour in 
 the fact that this man was a Frenchman and that 
 an Englishman. His own personal pride extended 
 to his people, and he bowed to no national supe 
 riority anywhere. Hamilton was national through 
 out, but he was born outside the thirteen colonies, 
 and knew his fellow-citizens only as Americans. 
 Franklin was national by the force of his own 
 commanding genius. John Adams grew to the 
 same conception, so far as our relations to other 
 nations were concerned. But beyond these three 
 we may look far and closely before we find another 
 among all the really great men of the time who 
 
THE ALLIES. 245 
 
 freed himself wholly from the superstition of the 
 colonist about the nations of Europe. 
 
 When Washington drew his sword beneath the 
 Cambridge elm he stood forth as the first Amer 
 ican, the best type of man that the New World 
 could produce, with no provincial taint upon him, 
 and no shadow of the colonial past clouding his 
 path. It was this great quality that gave the strug 
 gle which he led a character it would never have 
 attained without a leader so constituted. Had he 
 been merely a colonial Englishman, had he not 
 risen at once to the conception of an American 
 nation, the world would have looked at us with 
 very different eyes. It was the splendid dignity 
 of the man, quite as much as his fighting capacity, 
 which impressed Europe. Kings and ministers, 
 looking on dispassionately, soon realized that here 
 was a really considerable man, no ordinary agita 
 tor or revolutionist, but a great man on a great 
 stage with great conceptions. England, indeed, 
 talked about a militia colonel, but this chatter dis 
 appeared in the smoke of Trenton, and even Eng 
 land came to look upon him as the all-powerful 
 spirit of the Revolution. Dull men and colonial 
 squires do not grasp a great idea and carry it into 
 action on the world s stage in a few months. To 
 stand forward at the head of raw armies and of a 
 colonial people as a national leader, calm, dignified, 
 and far-seeing, requires not only character, but in 
 tellect of the highest and strongest kind. Now 
 that we have come as a people, after more than a 
 
246 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 century s struggle, to the national feeling which 
 Washington compassed in a moment, it is well to 
 consider that single achievement and to meditate 
 on its meaning, whether in estimating him, or in 
 gauging what he was to the American people when 
 they came into existence. 
 
 Let us take another instance of the same quality, 
 shown also in the winter of 1778. Congress had 
 from the beginning a longing to conquer Canada, 
 which was a wholly natural and entirely lauda 
 ble desire, for conquest is always more interesting 
 than defence. Washington, on the other hand, 
 after the first complete failure, which was so nearly 
 a success in the then undefended and unsuspicious 
 country, gave up pretty thoroughly all ideas of 
 attacking Canada again, and opposed the various 
 plans of Congress in that direction. When he had 
 a life-and-death struggle to get together and subsist 
 enough men to protect their own firesides, he had 
 ample reason to know that invasions of Canada 
 were hopeless. Indeed, not much active opposi 
 tion from the commander-in-chief was needed to 
 dispose of the Canadian schemes, for facts settled 
 them as fast as they arose. When the cabal got 
 up its Canadian expedition, it consisted of La 
 fayette, and penetrated no farther than Albany. 
 So Washington merely kept his eye watchfully on 
 Canada, and argued against expeditions thither, 
 until this winter of 1778, when something quite 
 new in that direction came up. 
 
 Lafayette s imagination had been fired by the 
 
THE ALLIES. 247 
 
 notion of conquering Canada. His idea was to 
 get succors from Prance for this especial purpose, 
 and with them and American aid to achieve the 
 conquest. Congress was impressed and pleased by 
 the scheme, and sent a report upon it to Frank 
 lin, to communicate to the French court, but Wash 
 ington, when he heard of the plan, took a very 
 different view. He sent at once a long despatch 
 to Congress, urging every possible objection to 
 the proposed campaign, on the ground of its ut 
 ter impracticability, and with this official letter, 
 which was necessarily confined to the military side 
 of the question, went another addressed to Presi 
 dent Laurens personally, which contained the 
 deeper reasons of his opposition. He said that 
 there was an objection not touched upon in his 
 public letter, which was absolutely insurmountable. 
 This was the introduction of French troops into 
 Canada to take possession of the capital, in the 
 midst of a people of their own race and religion, 
 and but recently severed from them. 
 
 He pointed out the enormous advantages which 
 would accrue to France from the possession of 
 Canada, such as independent posts, control of the 
 Indians, and the Newfoundland trade. "France, 
 . . . possessed of New Orleans on our right, 
 Canada on our left, and seconded by the numer 
 ous tribes of Indians in our rear, . . . would, it 
 is much to be apprehended, have it in her power 
 to give law to these States." He went on to 
 show that France might easily find an excuse for 
 
248 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 such conduct, in seeking a surety for her advances 
 of money, and that she had but little to fear 
 from the contingency of our being driven to re 
 unite with England. He continued : " Men are 
 very apt to run into extremes. Hatred to Eng 
 land may carry some into an excess of confi 
 dence in France, especially when motives of grati 
 tude are thrown into the scale. Men of this de 
 scription would be unwilling to suppose France 
 capable of acting so ungenerous a part. I am 
 heartily disposed to entertain the most favorable 
 sentiments of our new ally, and to cherish them in 
 others to a reasonable degree. But it is a maxim, 
 founded on the universal experience of mankind, 
 that no nation is to be trusted farther than it is 
 bound by its own interest ; and no prudent states 
 man or politician will venture to depart from it. 
 In our circumstances we ought to be particularly 
 cautious ; for we have not yet attained sufficient 
 vigor and maturity to recover from the shock of 
 any false steps into which we may unwarily fall." 
 We shall have occasion to recall these utterances 
 at a later day, but at this time they serve to show 
 yet again how broadly and clearly Washington 
 judged nations and policies. Uppermost in his 
 mind was the destiny of his own nation, just com 
 ing into being, and from that firm point he watched 
 and reasoned. His words had no effect on Con 
 gress, but as it turned out, the plan failed through 
 adverse influences in the quarter where Washing 
 ton least expected them. He believed that this 
 
THE ALLIES. 249 
 
 Canadian plan had been put into Lafayette s mind 
 by the cabinet of Louis XVI., and he could not im 
 agine that a policy of such obvious wisdom could 
 be overlooked by French statesmen. In this he 
 was completely mistaken, for France failed to see 
 what seemed so simple to the American general, 
 that the opportunity had come to revive her old 
 American policy and reestablish her colonies under 
 the most favorable conditions. The ministers of 
 Louis XVI., moreover, did not wish the colonies 
 to conquer Canada, and the plan of Lafayette 
 and the Congress received no aid in Paris and 
 came to nothing. But the fruitless incident exhib 
 its in the strongest light the attitude of Washing 
 ton as a purely American statesman, and the com 
 prehensiveness of his mind in dealing with large 
 affairs. 
 
 The French alliance and the coming of the 
 French fleet were of incalculable advantage to the 
 colonies, but they had one evil effect, as has already 
 been suggested. To a people weary with unequal 
 conflict, it was a debilitating influence, and America 
 needed at that moment more than ever energy and 
 vigor, both in the council and the field. Yet the 
 general outlook was distinctly better and more en 
 couraging. Soon after Washington had defeated 
 Clinton at Mon mouth, and had taken a position 
 whence he could watch and check him, he wrote to 
 his friend General Nelson in Virginia : 
 
 " It is not a little pleasing, nor less wonderful to 
 contemplate, that, after two years manoeuvring and 
 
250 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 undergoing the strangest vicissitudes that perhaps 
 ever attended any one contest since the creation, 
 both armies are brought back to the very point 
 they set out from, and that the offending party at 
 the beginning is now reduced to the spade and 
 pickaxe for defence. The hand of Providence has 
 been so conspicuous in all this that he must be 
 worse than an infidel that lacks faith, and more 
 than wicked that has not gratitude enough to ac 
 knowledge his obligations. But it will be time 
 enough for me to turn preacher when my present 
 appointment ceases." 
 
 He had reason to congratulate himself on the 
 result of his two years campaigning, but as the 
 summer wore away and winter came on he found 
 causes for fresh and deep alarm, despite the good 
 outlook in the field. The demoralizing effects of 
 civil war were beginning to show themselves in 
 various directions. The character of Congress, in 
 point of ability, had declined alarmingly, for the 
 able men of the first Congress, with few exceptions, 
 had departed. Some had gone to the army, some 
 to the diplomatic service, and many had remained 
 at home, preferring the honors and offices of the 
 States to those of the Confederation. Their suc 
 cessors, patriotic and well-meaning though they 
 were, lacked the energy and force of those who 
 had started the Revolution, and, as a consequence, 
 Congress had become feeble and ineffective, easily 
 swayed by influential schemers, and unable to cope 
 with the difficulties which surrounded them. 
 
THE ALLIES. 251 
 
 Outside the government the popular tone had 
 deteriorated sadly. The lavish issues of irredeem 
 able paper by the Confederation and the States had 
 brought their finances to the verge of absolute ruin. 
 The continental currency had fallen to something 
 like forty to one in gold, and the decline was hast 
 ened by the forged notes put out by the enemy. 
 The fluctuations of this paper soon bred a spirit 
 of gambling, and hence came a class of men, both 
 inside and outside of politics, who sought, more or 
 less corruptly, to make fortunes by army contracts, 
 and by forestalling the markets. These develop 
 ments filled Washington with anxiety, for in the 
 financial troubles he saw ruin to the army. The 
 unpaid troops bore the injustice done them with 
 wonderful patience, but it was something that could 
 not last, and Washington knew the danger. In 
 vain did he remonstrate. It seemed to be impos 
 sible to get anything done, and at last, in the 
 following spring, the outbreak began. Two New 
 Jersey regiments refused to march until the as 
 sembly made provision for their pay. Washington 
 took high ground with them, but they stood re 
 spectfully firm, and finally had their way. Not 
 long after came another outbreak in the Connecti 
 cut line, with similar results. These object lessons 
 had some result, and by foreign loans and the 
 ability of Robert Morris the country was enabled 
 to stumble along ; but it was a frightful and wear 
 ing anxiety to the commander-in-chief. 
 
 Washington saw at once that the root of the evil 
 
252 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 lay in the feebleness of Congress, and although he 
 could not deal with the finances, he was able to 
 strive for an improvement in the governing body. 
 Not content with letters, he left the army and went 
 to Philadelphia, in the winter of 1779, and there 
 appealed to Congress in person, setting forth the 
 perils which beset them, and urging action. He 
 wrote also to his friends everywhere, pointing gut 
 the deficiencies of Congress, and begging them to 
 send better and stronger men. To Benjamin Har 
 rison he wrote : " It appears to me as clear as ever 
 the sun did in its meridian brightness, that America 
 never stood in more eminent need of the wise, 
 patriotic, and spirited exertions of her sons than 
 at this period ; . . . the States separately are too 
 much engaged in their local concerns, and have too 
 many of their ablest men withdrawn from the gen 
 eral council, for the good of the common weal." 
 He took the same high tone in all his letters, and 
 there can be seen through it all the desperate en 
 deavor to make the States and the people under 
 stand the dangers which he realized, but which they 
 either could not or would not appreciate. 
 
 On the other hand, while his anxiety was sharp 
 ened to the highest point by the character of Con 
 gress, his sternest wrath was kindled by the gam 
 bling and money-making which had become rampant. 
 To Reed he wrote in December, 1778 : " It gives 
 me sincere pleasure to find that there is likely to be 
 a coalition of the Whigs in your State, a few only 
 excepted, and that the assembly is so well disposed 
 
THE ALLIES. 253 
 
 to second your endeavors in bringing those murder 
 ers of our cause, the monopolizers, forestallers, and 
 engrossers, to condign punishment. It is much to 
 be lamented that each State, long ere this, has not 
 hunted them down as pests to society and the 
 greatest enemies we have to the happiness of Amer 
 ica. I would to God that some one of the most 
 atrocious in each State was hung in gibbets upon 
 a gallows five times as high as the one prepared 
 by Haman. No punishment, in my opinion, is too 
 great for the man who can build his greatness upon 
 his country s ruin." He would have hanged them 
 too had he had the power, for he was always as 
 good as his word. 
 
 It is refreshing to read these righteously angry 
 words, still ringing as sharply as when they were 
 written. They clear away all the myths the 
 priggish, the cold, the statuesque, the dull myths 
 as the strong gusts of the northwest wind in 
 autumn sweep off the heavy mists of lingering Au 
 gust. They are the hot words of a warm-blooded 
 man, a good hater, who loathed meanness and 
 treachery, and who would have hanged those who 
 battened upon the country s distress. When he 
 went to Philadelphia, a few weeks later, and saw 
 the state of things with nearer view, he felt the 
 wretchedness and outrage of such doings more 
 than ever. He wrote to Harrison : " If I were to 
 be called upon to draw a picture of the times and 
 of men, from what I have seen, heard, and in part 
 know, I should in one word say, that idleness, dis- 
 
254 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 sipation, and extravagance seem to have laid fast 
 hold of most of them ; that speculation, peculation, 
 and an insatiable thirst for riches seem to have 
 got the better of every other consideration, and al 
 most of every order of men ; that party disputes 
 and personal quarrels are the great business of the 
 day ; whilst the momentous concerns of an empire, 
 a great and accumulating debt, ruined finances, de 
 preciated money, and want of credit, which, in its 
 consequences, is the want of everything, are but 
 secondary considerations, and postponed from day 
 to day, from week to week, as if our affairs wore 
 the most promising aspect." 
 
 Other men talked about empire, but he alone 
 grasped the great conception, and felt it in his 
 soul. To see not only immediate success imper 
 illed, but the future paltered with by small, mean, 
 and dishonest men, cut him to the quick. He set 
 himself doggedly to fight it, as he always fought 
 every enemy, using both speech and pen in all quar 
 ters. Much, no doubt, he ultimately effected, but 
 he was contending with the usual results of civil 
 war, which are demoralizing always, and especially 
 so among a young people in a new country. At 
 first, therefore, all seemed vain. The selfishness, 
 " peculation, and speculation " seemed to get worse, 
 and the tone of Congress and the people lower, as 
 he struggled against them. In March, 1779, he 
 wrote to James Warren of Massachusetts : " Noth 
 ing, I am convinced, but the depreciation of our 
 currency, aided by stock-jobbing and party dissen- 
 
THE ALLIES. 255 
 
 sions, has fed the hopes of ihe enemy, and kept the 
 British arms in America to this day. They do not 
 scruple to declare this themselves, and add that we 
 shall be our own conquerors. Can not our com 
 mon country, America, possess virtue enough to 
 disappoint them ? Is the paltry consideration of a 
 little pelf to individuals to be placed in competi 
 tion with the essential rights and liberties of the 
 present generation, and of millions yet unborn ? 
 Shall a few designing men, for their own aggran 
 dizement, and to gratify their own avarice, overset 
 the goodly fabric we have been rearing, at the ex 
 pense of so much time., blood, and treasure ? And 
 shall we at last become the victims of our own lust 
 of gain ? Forbid it, Heaven ! Forbid it, all and 
 every State in the Union, by enacting and enforc 
 ing efficacious laws for checking the growth of 
 these monstrous evils, and restoring matters, in 
 some degree, to the state they were in at the com 
 mencement of the war." 
 
 " Our cause is noble. It is the cause of man 
 kind, and the danger to it is to be apprehended 
 from ourselves. Shall we slumber and sleep, then, 
 while we should be punishing those miscreants 
 who have brought these troubles upon us, and who 
 are aiming to continue us in them ; while we should 
 be striving to fill our battalions, and devising ways 
 and means to raise the value of the currency, on 
 the credit of which everything depends ? " Again 
 we see the prevailing idea of the future, which 
 haunted him continually. Evidently, he had some 
 
256 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 imagination, and also ,a power of terse and elo 
 quent expression which we have heard of before, 
 and shall note again. 
 
 Still the appeals seemed to sound in deaf ears. 
 He wrote to George Mason : " I have seen, without 
 despondency, even for a moment, the hours which 
 America has styled her gloomy ones ; but I have 
 beheld no day since the commencement of hostili 
 ties that I have thought her liberties in such im 
 minent danger as at present. . . . Indeed, we are 
 verging so fast to destruction that I am filled 
 with sensations to which I have been a stranger 
 till within these three months." To Gouverneur 
 Morris he said : " If the enemy have it in their 
 power to press us hard this campaign, I know not 
 what may be the consequence." He had faced the 
 enemy, the bleak winters, raw soldiers, and all the 
 difficulties of impecunious government, with a 
 cheerful courage that never failed. But the spec 
 tacle of widespread popular demoralization, of self 
 ish scrambles for plunder, and of feeble adminis 
 tration at the centre of government weighed upon 
 him heavily. It was not the general s business to 
 build up Congress and grapple with finance, but 
 Washington addressed himself to the new task with 
 his usual persistent courage. It was slow and 
 painful work. He seemed to make no progress, 
 and then it was that his spirits sank at the prospect 
 of ruin and defeat, not coming on the field of battle, 
 but from our own vices and our own lack of energy 
 and wisdom. Yet his work told in the end, as it 
 
THE ALLIES. 257 
 
 always did. His vast and steadily growing influ 
 ence made itself felt even through the dense trou 
 bles of the uneasy times. Congress turned with 
 energy to Europe for fresh loans. Lafayette worked 
 away to get an army sent over. The two Morrises, 
 stimulated by Washington, flung themselves into 
 the financial difficulties, and feeble but distinct ef 
 forts toward a more concentrated and better organ 
 ized administration of public affairs were made 
 both in the States and the confederation. 
 
 But, although Washington s spirits fell, and his 
 anxieties became wellnigh intolerable in this period 
 of reaction which followed the French alliance, 
 he made no public show of it, bnt carried on his 
 own work with the army and in the field as usual, 
 contending with all the difficulties, new and old, 
 as calmly and efficiently as ever. After Clinton 
 slipped away from Monmouth and sought refuge 
 in New York, Washington took post at convenient 
 points and watched the movements of the enemy. 
 In this way the summer passed. As always, Wash 
 ington s first object was to guard the Hudson, and 
 while he held this vital point firmly, he waited, 
 ready to strike elsewhere if necessary. It looked 
 for a time as if the British intended to descend on 
 Boston, seize the town, and destroy the French fleet, 
 which had gone there to refit. Such was the opin 
 ion of Gates, then commanding in that department, 
 and as Washington inclined to the same belief, the 
 fear of this event gave him many anxious moments. 
 He even moved his troops so as to be in readiness 
 
258 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 to march eastward at short notice ; but he gradu 
 ally became convinced that the enemy had no such 
 plan. Much of his thought, now and always, was 
 given to efforts to divine the intentions of the Brit 
 ish generals. They had so few settled ideas, and 
 were so tardy and lingering when they had plans, 
 that it is small wonder that their opponents were 
 sorely puzzled in trying to find out what their pur 
 poses were, when they really had none. The fact 
 was that Washington saw their military opportu 
 nities with the eye of a great soldier, and so much 
 better than they, that he suffered a good deal of 
 needless anxiety in devising methods to meet at 
 tacks which they had not the wit to undertake. 
 He had a profound contempt for their policy of 
 holding towns, and believing that they must see the 
 utter futility of it, after several years of trial, he 
 constantly expected from them a well-planned and 
 extensive campaign, which in reality they were in 
 capable of devising. 
 
 The main army, therefore, remained quiet, and 
 when the autumn had passed went into winter- 
 quarters in well-posted detachments about New 
 York. In December Clinton made an ineffectual 
 raid, and then all was peaceful again, and Wash 
 ington was able to go to Philadelphia and struggle 
 with Congress, leaving his army more comfortable 
 and secure than they had been in any previous 
 winter. 
 
 In January he informed Congress as to the next 
 campaign. He showed them the impossibility of 
 
THE ALLIES. 259 
 
 undertaking anything on a large scale, and an 
 nounced his intention of remaining on the defen 
 sive. It was a trying policy to a man of his tem 
 per, but he could do no better, and he knew, now 
 as always, what others could not yet see, that by 
 simply holding on and keeping his army in the 
 field he was slowly but surely winning independ 
 ence. He tried to get Congress to do something 
 with the navy, and he planned an expedition, un 
 der the command of Sullivan, to overrun the Indian 
 country and check the barbarous raids of the Tories 
 and savages on the frontier ; and with this he was 
 fain to be content. In fact, he perceived very 
 clearly the direction in which the war was tending. 
 He kept up his struggle with Congress for a per 
 manent army, and with the old persistency pleaded 
 that something should be done for the officers, and 
 at the same time he tried to keep the States in 
 good humor when they were grumbling about the 
 amount of protection afforded them. 
 
 But all this wear and tear of heart and brain 
 and temper, while given chiefly to hold the army 
 together, was not endured with any notion that he 
 and Clinton were eventually to fight it out in the 
 neighborhood of New York. Washington felt that 
 that part of the conflict was over. He now hoped 
 and believed that the moment would come, when, 
 by uniting his army with the French, he should be 
 able to strike the decisive blow. Until that time 
 came, however, he knew that he could do nothing 
 on a great scale, and he felt that meantime the 
 
260 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 British, abandoning practically the eastern and 
 middle States, would make one last desperate strug 
 gle for victory, and would make it in the south. 
 Long before any one else, he appreciated this fact, 
 and saw a peril looming large in that region, where 
 everybody was considering the British invasion as 
 little more than an exaggerated raid. He foresaw, 
 too, that we should suffer more there than we had 
 in the extreme north, because the south was full 
 of Tories and less well organized. 
 
 All this, however, did not change his own plans 
 one jot. He believed that the south must work out 
 its own salvation, as New York and New England 
 had done with Burgoyne, and he felt sure that in 
 the end it would be successful. But he would not 
 go south, nor take his army there. The instinct of 
 a great commander for the vital point in a war or 
 a battle, is as keen as that of the tiger is said to 
 be for the jugular vein of its victim. The British 
 might overrun the north or invade the south, but 
 he would stay where he was, with his grip upon 
 New York and the Hndspn River. The tide of in 
 vasion might ebb and flow in this region or that, 
 but the British were doomed if they could not di 
 vide the eastern colonies from the others. When 
 the appointed hour came, he was ready to abandon 
 everything and strike the final and fatal blow ; but 
 until then he waited and stood fast with his army, 
 holding the great river in his grasp. He felt much 
 more anxiety about the south than he had felt 
 about the north, and expected Congress to consult 
 
THE ALLIES. 261 
 
 him as to a commander, having made up his mind 
 that Greene was the man to send. But Congress 
 still believed in Gates, who had been making trou 
 ble for Washington all winter ; and so Gates was 
 sent, and Congress in due time got their lesson, 
 and found once more that Washington understood 
 men better than they did. 
 
 In the north the winter was comparatively un 
 eventful. The spring passed, and in June Clinton 
 came out and took possession of Stony Point and 
 Verplanck s Point, and began to fortify them. It 
 looked a little as if Clinton might intend to get 
 control of the Hudson by slow approaches, fortify 
 ing, and then advancing until he reached West 
 Point. With this in mind, Washington at once 
 determined to check the British by striking sharply 
 at one of their new posts. Having made up his 
 mind, he sent for Wayne and asked him if he would 
 storm Stony Point. Tradition says that Wayne 
 replied, " I will storm hell, if you will plan it." A 
 true tradition, probably, in keeping with Wayne s 
 character, and pleasant to, us to-day as showing 
 with a vivid gleam of rough human speech the 
 utter confidence of the army in their leader, that 
 confidence which only a great soldier can inspire. 
 So Washington planned, and Wayne stormed, and 
 Stony Point fell. It was a gallant and brilliant feat 
 of arms, one of the most brilliant of the war. Over 
 five hundred prisoners were taken, the guns were 
 carried off, and the works destroyed, leaving the 
 British to begin afresh with a good deal of increased 
 
262 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 caution and respect. Not long after, Harry Lee 
 stormed Paulus Hook with equal success, and the 
 British were checked and arrested, if they intended 
 any extensive movement. On the frontier, Sulli 
 van, after some delays, did his work effectively, 
 ravaging the Indian towns and reducing them to 
 quiet, thus taking away another annoyance and 
 danger. 
 
 In these various ways Clinton s circle of activity 
 was steadily narrowed, but it may be doubte<l 
 whether he had any coherent plan. The principal 
 occupation of the British was to send out maraud 
 ing expeditions and cut off outlying parties. Tryon 
 burned and pillaged in Connecticut, Matthews in 
 Virginia, and others on a smaller scale elsewhere 
 in New Jersey and New York. The blundering 
 stupidity of this system of warfare was only 
 equalled by its utter brutality. Houses were 
 burned, peaceful villages went up in smoke, women 
 and children were outraged, and soldiers were bay 
 oneted after they had surrendered. These details 
 of the Revolution are wellnigh forgotten now, but 
 when the ear is wearied with talk about English 
 generosity and love of fair play, it is well to turn 
 back and study the exploits of Tryon, and it is not 
 amiss in the same connection to recall that Eng 
 lish budgets contained a special appropriation for 
 scalping-knives, a delicate attention to the Tories 
 and Indians who were burning and butchering on 
 the frontier. 
 
 Such methods of warfare Washington despised 
 
THE ALLIES. 263 
 
 intellectually, and hated morally. He saw that 
 every raid only hardened the people against Eng 
 land, and made her cause more hopeless. The 
 misery caused by these raids angered him, but he 
 would not retaliate in kind, and Wayne bayoneted 
 no English soldiers after they laid down their arms 
 at Stony Point. It was enough for Washington 
 to hold fast to the great objects he had in view, 
 to check Clinton and circumscribe his movements. 
 Steadfastly he did this through the summer and 
 winter of 1779, which proved one of the worst 
 that he had yet endured. Supplies did not come, 
 the army dwindled, and the miseries of Valley 
 Forge were renewed. Again was repeated the old 
 and pitiful story of appeals to Congress and the 
 States, and again the undaunted spirit and strenu 
 ous exertions of Washington saved the army and 
 the Revolution from the internal ruin which was his 
 worst enemy. When the new year began, he saw 
 that he was again condemned to a defensive cam 
 paign, but this made little difference now, for what 
 he had foreseen in the spring of 1779 became cer 
 tainty in the autumn. The active war was trans 
 ferred to the south, where the chapter of disasters 
 was beginning, and Clinton had practically given 
 up everything except New York. The war had 
 taken on the new phase expected by Washington. 
 Weak as he was, he began to detach troops, and 
 prepared to deal with the last desperate effort of 
 England to conquer her revolted colonies from the 
 south. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ARNOLD S TREASON, AND THE WAR IN THE 
 SOUTH. 
 
 THE spring of 1780 was the beginning of a 
 period of inactivity and disappointment, of dili 
 gent effort and frustrated plans. During the 
 months which ensued before the march to the 
 south, Washington passed through a stress of 
 harassing anxiety, which was far worse than any 
 thing he had to undergo at any other time. Plans 
 were formed, only to fail. Opportunities arose, 
 only to pass by unfulfilled. The network of hos 
 tile conditions bound him hand and foot, and it 
 seemed at times as if he could never break the 
 bonds that held him, or prevent or hold back the 
 moral, social, and political dissolution going on 
 about him. With the aid of France, he meant to 
 strike one decisive blow, and end the struggle. 
 Every moment was of importance, and yet the 
 days and weeks and months slipped by, and he 
 could get nothing done. He could neither gain 
 control of the sea, nor gather sufficient forces of 
 his own, although delay now meant ruin. He 
 saw the British overrun the south, and he could 
 not leave the Hudson. He was obliged to sacri- 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 265 
 
 fice the southern States, and yet he could get 
 neither ships nor men to attack New York. The 
 army was starving and mutinous, and he sought 
 relief in vain. The finances were ruined, Con 
 gress was helpless, the States seemed stupefied. 
 Treason of the most desperate kind suddenly 
 reared its head, and threatened the very citadel of 
 the Revolution. These were the days of the war 
 least familiar to posterity. They are unmarked in 
 the main by action or fighting, and on this dreary 
 monotony nothing stands out except the black 
 stain of Arnold s treason. Yet it was the time of 
 all others when Washington had most to bear. It 
 was the time of all others when his dogged persist 
 ence and unwavering courage alone seemed to sus 
 tain the flickering fortunes of the war. 
 
 In April Washington was pondering ruefully 
 on the condition of affairs at the south. He saw 
 that the only hope of saving Charleston was in 
 the defence of the bar ; and when that became in 
 defensible, he saw that the town ought to be aban 
 doned to the enemy, and the army withdrawn to 
 the country. His military genius showed itself 
 again and again in his perfectly accurate judg 
 ment on distant campaigns. He seemed to appre 
 hend all the conditions at a glance, and although 
 his wisdom made him refuse to issue orders when 
 he was not on the ground, those generals who fol 
 lowed his suggestions, even when a thousand miles 
 away, were successful, and those who disregarded 
 them were not. Lincoln, commanding at Charles- 
 
266 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ton, was a brave and loyal man, but he had neither 
 the foresight nor the courage to withdraw to the 
 country, and then, hovering on the lines of the 
 enemy, to confine them to the town. He yielded 
 to the entreaties of the citizens and remained, only 
 to surrender. Washington had retreated from 
 New York, and after five years of fighting the 
 British still held it, and had gone no further. He 
 had refused to risk an assault to redeem Philadel 
 phia at the expense of much grumbling and curs 
 ing, and had then beaten the enemy when they 
 hastily retreated thence in the following spring. 
 His cardinal doctrine was that the Revolution de 
 pended upon the existence of the army, and not on 
 the possession of any particular spot of ground, and 
 his masterly adherence to this theory brought 
 victory, slowly but surely. Lincoln s very natural 
 inability to grasp it, and to withstand popular pres 
 sure, cost us for a time the southern States and a 
 great deal of bloody fighting. 
 
 In the midst of this anxiety about the south, and 
 when he foresaw the coming disasters, Washington 
 was cheered and encouraged by the arrival of 
 Lafayette, whom he loved, and who brought good 
 tidings of his zealous work for the United States 
 in Paris. An army and a fleet were on their way 
 to America, with a promise of more to follow. This 
 was great news indeed. It is interesting to note how 
 Washington took it, for we see here with unusual 
 clearness the readiness of grasp and quickness of 
 thought which have been noted before, but which 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 267 
 
 are not commonly attributed to him. It has been 
 the fashion to treat Washington as wise and pru 
 dent, but as distinctly slow, and when he was obliged 
 to concentrate public opinion, either military or 
 civil, or when doubt overhung his course, he moved 
 with great deliberation. When he required no 
 concentration of opinion, and had made up his 
 mind, he could strike with a terribly swift deci 
 sion, as at Trenton or Mon mouth. So when a new 
 situation presented itself he seized with wonder 
 ful rapidity every phase and possibility opened by 
 changed conditions. 
 
 The moment he learned from Lafayette that the 
 French succors were actually on the way, he began 
 to lay out plans in a manner which showed how he 
 had taken in at the first glance every chance and 
 every contingency. He wrote that the decisive 
 moment was at hand, and that the French succors 
 would be fatal if not used successfully now. Con 
 gress must improve their methods of administra 
 tion, and for this purpose must appoint a small 
 committee to cooperate with him. This step he 
 demanded, and it was taken at once. Fresh from 
 his interview with Lafayette, he sent out orders 
 to have inquiries made as to Halifax and its de 
 fences. Possibly a sudden and telling blow might 
 be struck there, and nothing should be overlooked. 
 He also wrote to Lafayette to urge upon the French 
 commander an immediate assault on New York 
 the moment he landed. Yet despite his thought 
 for New York, he even then began to see the oppor- 
 
268 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 tunities which were destined to develop into York- 
 town. He had longed to go to the south before, 
 and had held back only because he felt that the 
 main army and New York were still the key of the 
 position, and could not be safely left. Now, while 
 planning the capture of New York, he asked in a 
 letter whether the enemy was not more exposed at 
 the southward and therefore a better subject for a 
 combined attack there. Clearness and precision of 
 plan as to the central point, joined to a perfect 
 readiness to change suddenly and strike hard and 
 decisively in a totally different quarter, are sure 
 marks of the great commander. We can find them 
 all through the correspondence, but here in May, 
 1780, they come out with peculiar vividness. They 
 are qualities arising from a wide foresight, and 
 from a sure and quick perception. They are not 
 the qualities of a slow or heavy mind. 
 
 On June 1st came the news of the surrender 
 of Charleston and the loss of the army, which was 
 followed by the return of Clinton to New York. 
 The southern States lay open now to the enemy, 
 and it was a severe trial to Washington to be 
 unable to go to their rescue ; but with the same 
 dogged adherence to his ruling idea, he concen 
 trated his attention on the Hudson with renewed 
 vigilance on account of Clinton s return. Adver 
 sity and prosperity alike were unable to divert him 
 from the control of the great river and the mas 
 tery of the middle States until he saw conclusive 
 victory elsewhere fairly within his grasp. In the 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 269 
 
 same unswerving way he pushed on the prepara 
 tions for what he felt to be the coming of the deci 
 sive campaign and the supreme moment of the war. 
 To all the governors went urgent letters, calling on 
 the States to fill their lines in the continental army, 
 and to have their militia in readiness. 
 
 In the midst of these anxieties and preparations, 
 the French arrived at Newport, bringing a well- 
 equipped army of some five thousand men, and a 
 small fleet. They brought, too, something quite as 
 important, in the way of genuine good-will and full 
 intention to do all in their power for their allies. 
 After a moment s hesitation, born of unlucky 
 memories, the people of Rhode Island gave De 
 Rochambeau a hearty welcome, and Washington 
 sent him the most cordial greeting. With the 
 greeting went the polite but earnest request for 
 immediate action, together with plans for attack 
 ing New York; and, at the same time, another 
 urgent call went out to the States for men, money, 
 and supplies. The long looked-for hour had ar 
 rived, a fine French army was in Newport, a French 
 fleet rode in the harbor, and instead of action, im 
 mediate and effective, the great event marked Only 
 the beginning of a period of delays and disappoint 
 ment, wearing heart and nerve almost beyond en 
 durance. 
 
 First it appeared that the French ships could 
 not get into New York harbor. Then there was 
 sickness in the French army. Then the British 
 menaced Newport, and rapid preparations had to be 
 
270 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 made to meet that danger. Then it came out that 
 De Rochambeau was ordered to await the arrival 
 of the second division of the army, with more ships ; 
 and after due waiting, it was discovered that the 
 aforesaid second division, with their ships, were 
 securely blockaded by the English fleet at Brest. 
 On our side it was no better ; indeed, it was rather 
 worse. There was lack of arms and powder. The 
 drafts were made with difficulty, and the new levies 
 came in slowly. Supplies failed altogether, and on 
 every hand there was nothing but delay, and ever 
 fresh delay, and in the midst of it all Washington, 
 wrestling with sloth and incoherence and ineffi 
 ciency, trampled down one failure and disappoint 
 ment only to encounter another, equally important, 
 equally petty, and equally harassing. 
 
 On August 20th he wrote to Congress a long and 
 most able letter, which set forth forcibly the evil 
 and perilous condition of affairs. After reading 
 that letter no man could say that there was not need 
 of the utmost exertion, and for the expenditure of 
 the last ounce of energy. In it Washington struck 
 especially at the two delusions with which the people 
 and their representatives were lulling themselves 
 into security, and by which they were led to relax 
 their efforts. One was the belief that England was 
 breaking down ; the other, that the arrival of the 
 French was synonymous with the victorious close 
 of the war. Washington demonstrated that Eng 
 land still commanded the sea, and that as long as 
 she did so there was a great advantage on her side. 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 271 
 
 She was stronger, on the whole, this year than the 
 year before, and her financial resources were still 
 ample. There was no use in looking for victory in 
 the weakness of the enemy, and on the other hand, to 
 rely wholly on France was contemptible as well as 
 foolish. After stating plainly that the army was 
 on the verge of dissolution, he said : " To me it will 
 appear miraculous if our affairs can maintain them 
 selves much longer in their present train. If either 
 the temper or the resources of the country will not 
 admit of an alteration, we may expect soon to be 
 reduced to the humiliating condition of seeing the 
 cause of America, in America, upheld by foreign 
 arms. The generosity of our allies has a claim to 
 all our confidence and all our gratitude, but it is 
 neither for the honor of America, nor for the inter 
 est of the common cause, to leave the work entirely 
 to them." 
 
 It must have been bitter to Washington above 
 all men, with his high dignity and keen sense 
 of national honor, to write such words as these, 
 or make such an argument to any of his coun 
 trymen. But it was a work which the time de 
 manded, and he did it without flinching. Hav 
 ing thus laid bare the weak places, he proceeded 
 to rehearse once more, with a weariness we can 
 easily fancy, the old, old lesson as to organization, 
 a permanent army, and a better system of adminis 
 tration. This letter neither scolded, nor bewailed, 
 nor desponded, but it told the truth with great 
 force and vigor. It, of course, had but slight 
 
272 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 results, comparatively speaking, still it did some 
 thing, and the final success of the Revolution is due 
 to the series of strong truth-telling letters, of which 
 this is an example, as much as to any one thing 
 clone by Washington. There was need of some 
 one, not only to fight battles and lead armies, but 
 to drive Congress into some sort of harmony, spur 
 the careless and indifferent to action, arouse the 
 States, and kill various fatal delusions, and in 
 Washington the robust teller of unwelcome truths 
 was found. 
 
 Still, even the results actually obtained by such 
 letters came but slowly, and Washington felt that 
 he must strike at all hazards. Through Lafayette 
 he tried to get De Rochambeau to agree to an im 
 mediate attack on New York. His army was on the 
 very eve of dissolution, and he began with reason to 
 doubt his own power of holding it together longer. 
 The finances of the country were going ever faster 
 to irremediable ruin, and it seemed impossible that 
 anything could postpone open and avowed bank 
 ruptcy. So, with his army crumbling, mutinous, 
 and half starved, he turned to his one unfailing 
 resource of fighting, and tried to persuade De 
 Rochambeau to join him. Under the circumstances, 
 Washington was right to wish to risk a battle, and 
 De Rochambeau, from his point of view, was 
 equally so in refusing to take the offensive, unless 
 the second division arrived or De Guichen came 
 with his fleet, or the English force at New York 
 was reduced. 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 273 
 
 In these debates and delays, mingled with an 
 appeal to De Guichen in the West Indies, the 
 summer was fast wearing away, and, by way of 
 addition, early in September came tidings of the 
 battle of Camden, and the utter rout of Gates s 
 army. Despite his own needs and trials, Washing 
 ton s first idea was to stem the current of disaster 
 at the south, and he ordered the fresh Maryland 
 troops to turn back at once and march to the Caro- 
 linas, but Gates fled so fast and far that it was some 
 time before anything was heard of him. As more 
 news came of Camden and its beaten general, 
 Washington wrote to Rutledge that he should ulti 
 mately come southward. Meantime, he could only 
 struggle with his own difficulties, and rack his 
 brains for men and means to rescue the south. It 
 must have seemed to Washington, in those lovely 
 September days, as if fate could not have any worse 
 trials in store, and that if he could only breast the 
 troubles now surging about him, he might count on 
 sure and speedy success. Yet the bitterest trial of 
 all was even then hanging over his head, and with 
 a sort of savage sarcasm it came upon him in one of 
 those rare moments when he had an hour of rest 
 and sunshine. 
 
 The story of Arnold s treason is easily told. Its 
 romantic side has made it familiar to all Ameri 
 cans, and given it a factitious importance. Had it 
 succeeded it would have opened vast opportunities 
 of disaster to America. It failed, and had no 
 result whatever. It has passed into history simply 
 
274 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 as a picturesque episode, charged with possibilities 
 which fascinate the imagination, but having, in it 
 self, neither meaning nor consequences beyond the 
 two conspirators. To us it is of interest, because 
 it shows Washington in one of the sharpest and 
 bitterest experiences of his life. Let us see how 
 he met it and dealt with it. 
 
 From the day when the French landed, both 
 De Rochambeau and Washington had been most 
 anxious to meet. The French general had been 
 particularly urgent, but it was difficult for Wash 
 ington to get away. As he wrote on August 21st : 
 " We are about ten miles from the enemy. Our 
 popular government imposes a necessity of great 
 circumspection. If any misfortune should happen 
 in my absence, it would be attended with every 
 inconvenience. I will, however, endeavor if possi 
 ble, and as soon as possible, to meet you at some 
 convenient rendezvous." In accordance with this 
 promise, a few weeks later, he left Greene in com 
 mand of the army, and, not without misgivings, 
 started on September 18th to meet De Rocham- 
 beau. On his way he had an interview with Ar 
 nold, who came to him to show a letter from the 
 loyalist Colonel Robinson, and thus disarm suspi 
 cion as to his doings. On the 20th, the day when 
 Andre and Arnold met to arrange the terms of 
 the sale, Washington was with De Rochambeau at 
 Hartford. News had arrived, meantime, that De 
 Guichen had sailed for Europe ; the command of 
 the sea was therefore lost, and the opportunity for 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 275 
 
 action had gone by. There was no need for fur 
 ther conference, and Washington accordingly set 
 out on his return at once, two or three days earlier 
 than he had intended. 
 
 He was accompanied by his own staff, and by 
 Knox and Lafayette with their officers. With him, 
 too, went the young Count Dumas, who has left a 
 description of their journey, and of the popular en 
 thusiasm displayed in the towns through which they 
 passed. In one village, which they reached after 
 nightfall, all the people turned out, the children 
 bearing torches, and men and women hailed Wash 
 ington as father, and pressed about him to touch 
 the hem of his garments. Turning to Dumas he 
 said, " We may be beaten by the English ; it is the 
 chance of war ; but there is the army they will 
 never conquer." Political leaders grumbled, and 
 military officers caballed, but the popular feeling 
 went out to Washington with a sure and utter con 
 fidence. The people in that little village recog 
 nized the great and unselfish leader as they recog 
 nized Lincoln a century later, and from the masses 
 of the people no one ever heard the cry that Wash 
 ington was cold or unsympathetic. They loved 
 him, and believed in him, and such a manifestation 
 of their devotion touched him deeply. His spirits 
 rose under the spell of appreciation and affection, 
 always so strong upon human nature, and he rode 
 away from Fishkill the next morning at daybreak 
 with a li^ht heart. 
 
 O 
 
 The company was pleasant and lively, the morn- 
 
276 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ing was fair, and as they approached Arnold s head 
 quarters at the Robinson house, Washington turned 
 off to the redoubts by the river, telling the young 
 men that they were all in love with Mrs. Arnold 
 and would do well to go straight on and breakfast 
 with her. Hamilton and McHenry followed his 
 advice, and while they were at breakfast a note 
 was brought to Arnold. It was the letter of warn 
 ing from Andre announcing his capture, which 
 Colonel Jameson, who ought to have been cashiered 
 for doing it, had forwarded. Arnold at once left 
 the table, and saying that he was going to West 
 Point, jumped into his boat and was rowed rapidly 
 down the river to the British man-of-war. Wash 
 ington on his arrival was told that Arnold had 
 gone to the fort, and so after a hasty breakfast he 
 went over there himself. On reaching: West Point 
 
 O 
 
 no salute broke the stillness, and no guard turned 
 out to receive him. He was astonished to learn 
 that his arrival was unexpected, and that Arnold 
 had not been there for two days. Still unsuspect 
 ing he inspected the works, and then returned. 
 
 Meantime, the messenger sent to Hartford with 
 the papers taken on Andre reached the Robinson 
 house and delivered them to Hamilton, together 
 with a letter of confession from Andre himself. 
 Hamilton read them, and hurrying out met Wash 
 ington just coming up from the river. He took his 
 chief aside, said a few words to him in a low voice, 
 and they went into the house together. When 
 they came out, Washington looked as calm as ever, 
 
THE WAR JN 
 
 and calling- to Lafayette and Knox gave them the 
 papers, saying simply, " Whom can we trust now? " 
 Pie despatched Hamilton at once to try to inter 
 cept Arnold at Verplanck s Point, but it was too 
 late ; the boat had passed, and Arnold was safe on 
 board the Vulture. This done, Washington bade 
 his staff sit down with him to dinner, as the general 
 was absent, and Mrs. Arnold was ill in her room. 
 Dinner over, he immediately set about guarding the 
 post, which had been so near betrayal. To Colonel 
 Wade at West Point he wrote : " Arnold has gone 
 to the enemy ; you are in command, be vigilant." 
 To Jameson he sent word to guard Andre closely. 
 To the colonels and commanders of various outlying 
 regiments he sent orders to bring up their troops. 
 Everything was done that should have been done, 
 quickly, quietly, and without comment. The most 
 sudden and appalling treachery had failed to shake 
 his nerve, or confuse his mind. 
 
 Yet the strong and silent man was wrung to the 
 quick, and when everything possible had been done, 
 and he had retired to his room, the guard outside the 
 door heard him marching back and forth through all 
 the weary night. The one thing he least expected, 
 because he least understood it, had come to pass. 
 He had been a good and true friend to the villain 
 who had fled, for Arnold s reckless bravery and 
 dare-devil fighting had appealed to the strongest 
 passion of his nature, and he had stood by him 
 always. He had grieved over the refusal of Con 
 gress to promote him in due order and had inter- 
 
278 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ceded with ultimate success in his behalf. He had 
 sympathized with him in his recent troubles in 
 Philadelphia, and had administered the reprimand 
 awarded by the court-martial so that rebuke 
 seemed turned to praise. He had sought to give 
 him every opportunity that a soldier could desire, 
 and had finally conferred upon him the command 
 of West Point. He had admired his courage and 
 palliated his misconduct, and now the scoundrel 
 had turned on him and fled. Mingled with the bit 
 terness of these memories of betrayed confidence 
 was the torturing ignorance of how far this base 
 treachery had extended. For all he knew there 
 might be a brood of traitors about him in the very 
 citadel of America. We can never know Wash 
 ington s thoughts at that time, for he was ever 
 silent, but as we listen in imagination to the sound 
 of the even footfalls which the guard heard all 
 through that September night, we can dimly guess 
 the feelings of the strong and passionate nature, 
 wounded and distressed almost beyond endurance. 
 l/ There is but little more to tell. The conspiracy 
 stopped with Arnold. He had no accomplices, 
 and meant to deliver the fort and pocket the booty 
 alone. The British tried to spread the idea that 
 other officers had been corrupted, but the attempt 
 failed, and Washington s prompt measures of de 
 fence checked any movement against the forts. 
 Every effort was made by Clinton to save Andre, 
 but in vain. He was tried by a court composed 
 of the highest officers in the American service, 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 279 
 
 among whom was Lafayette. On his own state - 
 ment, but one decision was possible. He was con 
 demned as a spy, and as a spy he was sentenced 
 to be hanged. He made a manly appeal against 
 the manner of his death, and begged to be shot. 
 Washington declined to interfere, and Andre* went 
 to the gallows. 
 
 The British, at the time, and some of their writers 
 afterwards, attacked Washington for insisting on 
 this mode of execution, but there never was an in 
 stance in his career when he was more entirely 
 right. Andre was a spy and briber, who sought to 
 ruin the American cause by means of the treachery 
 of an American general. It was a dark and dan 
 gerous game, and he knew that he staked his life 
 on the result. He failed, and paid the penalty. 
 Washington could not permit, he would have 
 been grossly and feebly culpable if he had per 
 mitted, such an attempt to pass without extreme 
 punishment. He was generous and magnanimous, 
 but he was not a sentimentalist, and he punished 
 this miserable treason, so far as he could reach it, 
 as it deserved. It is true that Andre* was a man 
 of talent, well-bred and courageous, and of engag 
 ing manners. He deserved all the sympathy and 
 sorrow which he excited at the time, but nothing 
 more. He was not only technically a spy, but he 
 had sought his ends by bribery, he had prostituted 
 a flag of truce, and he was to be richly paid for 
 his work. It was all hire and salary. No doubt 
 Andre* was patriotic and loyal. Many spies have 
 
280 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 been the same, and have engaged in their danger 
 ous exploits from the highest motives. Nathan 
 Hale, whom the British hanged without compunc 
 tion, was as well-born and well-bred as Andre*, and 
 as patriotic as man could be, and moreover he was 
 a spy and nothing more. Andr w r as a trafficker in 
 bribes and treachery, and however we may pity his 
 fate, his name has no proper place in the great 
 temple at Westminster, where all English-speaking 
 people bow with reverence, and only a most per 
 verted sentimentality could conceive that it was 
 fitting to erect a monument to his memory in this 
 country. 
 
 Washington sent Andre to the gallows because 
 it was his duty to do so, but he pitied him none 
 the less, and whatever he may have thought of the 
 means Andre* employed to effect his end, he made 
 no comment upon him, except to say that " he met 
 his fate with that fortitude which was to be ex 
 pected from an accomplished man and gallant offi 
 cer." As to Arnold, he was almost equally silent. 
 When obliged to refer to him he did so in the plain 
 est and simplest way, and only in a familiar letter 
 to Laurens do we get a glimpse of his feelings. He 
 wrote : "I am mistaken if at this time Arnold is 
 undergoing the torment of a mental hell. He 
 wants feeling. From some traits of his character 
 which have lately come to my knowledge, he seems 
 to have been so hackneyed in villainy, and so lost 
 to all sense of honor and shame, that, while his 
 faculties will enable him to continue his sordid 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 281 
 
 pursuits, there will be no time for remorse." With 
 this single expression of measureless contempt, 
 Washington let Arnold drop from his life. The 
 first shock had touched him to the quick, although 
 it could not shake his steady mind. Reflection 
 revealed to him the extraordinary baseness of Ar 
 nold s real character, and he cast the thought of 
 him out forever, content to leave the traitor to the 
 tender mercies of history. The calmness and dig 
 nity, the firmness and deep feeling which Wash 
 ington exhibited, are of far more interest than the 
 abortive treason, and have as real a value now as 
 they had then, when suspicion for a moment ran 
 riot, and men wondered " whom they could trust." 
 The treason of Arnold swept like a black cloud 
 across the sky, broke, and left everything as before. 
 That such a base peril should have existed was 
 alarming and hateful. That it should have been 
 exploded harmlessly made all men give a deep 
 sigh of relief. But neither the treason nor its dis 
 covery altered the current of events one jot. The 
 summer had come and gone. The French had ar 
 rived, and no blow had been struck. There was 
 nothing to show for the campaign but inaction, dis 
 appointment, and the loss of the Carolinas. With 
 the commander-in-chief, through it all, were ever 
 present two great questions, getting more porten 
 tous and more difficult of solution with each suc 
 ceeding day. How he was to keep his army in ex 
 istence was one, and how he was to hold the gov 
 ernment together was the other. He had thirteen 
 
282 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 tired States, a general government almost impotent, 
 a bankrupt treasury, and a broken credit. The 
 American Kevolution had come down to the ques 
 tion of whether the brain, will, and nerve of one 
 man could keep the machine going long enough to 
 find fit opportunity for a final and decisive stroke. 
 Washington had confidence in the people of the 
 country and in himself, but the difficulties in the 
 way were huge, and the means of surmounting 
 them slight. There is here and there a passionate 
 undertone in the letters of this period, which shows 
 us the moments when the waves of trouble and dis 
 aster seemed to sweep over him. But the feeling 
 passed, or was trampled under foot, for there was 
 no break in the steady fight against untoward 
 circumstances, or in the grim refusal to accept 
 defeat. 
 
 It is almost impossible now to conceive the 
 actual condition at that time of every matter of 
 detail which makes military and political existence 
 possible. No general phrases can do justice to the 
 situation of the army ; and the petty miseries and 
 privations, which made life unendurable, went on 
 from day to day in ever varying forms. While 
 Washington was hearing the first ill news from the 
 south and struggling with the problem on that side, 
 and at the same time was planning with Lafayette 
 how to take advantage of the French succors, the 
 means of subsisting his army were wholly giving 
 out. The men actually had no food. For days, 
 as Washington wrote, there was no meat at all in 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 283 
 
 camp. Goaded by hunger, a Connecticut regiment 
 mutinied. They were brought back to duty, but 
 held out steadily for their pay, which they had not 
 received for five months. Indeed, the whole army 
 was more or less mutinous, and it was only by 
 the utmost tact that Washington kept them from 
 wholesale desertion. After the summer had passed 
 and the chance for a decisive campaign had gone 
 with it, the excitement of expected action ceased 
 to sustain the men, and the unclothed, unpaid, unfed 
 soldiers began again to get restive. We can im* 
 agine what the condition of the rank and file must 
 have been when we find that Washington hirnsell 
 could not procure an express from the quarter 
 master-general, and was obliged to send a letter to 
 the Minister of France by the unsafe and slow 
 medium of the post. He was expected to carry 
 on a war against a rich and powerful enemy, and 
 he could not even pay a courier to carry his dis 
 patches. 
 
 With the commander-in-chief thus straitened, 
 the sufferings of the men grew to be intoler 
 able, and the spirit of revolt which had been 
 checked through the summer began again to ap 
 pear. At last, in January, 1781, it burst all the 
 bounds. The Pennsylvania line mutinied and 
 threatened Congress. Attempts on the part of the 
 English to seduce them failed, but they remained 
 in a state of open rebellion. The officers were 
 powerless, and it looked as if the disaffection 
 would spread, and the whole army go to pieces in 
 
284 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the very face of the enemy. Washington held 
 firm, and intended in his unshaken way to bring 
 them back to their duty without yielding in a dan 
 gerous fashion. But the government of Pennsyl 
 vania, at last thoroughly frightened, rushed into 
 the field, and patched up a compromise which con 
 tained most perilous concessions. The natural con 
 sequence was a fresh mutiny in the New Jersey 
 line, and this time Washington determined that he 
 would not be forestalled. He sent forward at once 
 some regiments of loyal troops, suppressed the mu 
 tiny suddenly and with a strong hand, and hanged 
 two of the ringleaders. The difficulty was con 
 quered, and discipline restored. 
 
 To take this course required great boldness, for 
 these mutinies were of no ordinary character; In 
 the first place, it was impossible to tell whether 
 any troops would do their duty against their fel 
 lows, and failure would have been fatal. In the 
 second place, the grievances of the soldiers were 
 very great, and their complaints were entirely 
 righteous^ Washington felt the profoundest sym 
 pathy with his men, and it was no easy matter 
 to maintain order with soldiers tried almost be 
 yond endurance, against their comrades whose 
 claims were just. Two things saved the army. 
 One was Washington s great influence with the 
 men and their utter belief in him. The other was 
 the quality of the men themselves. Lafayette said 
 they were the most patient and patriotic soldiers 
 the world had seen, and it is easy to believe him. 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 285 
 
 The wonder is, not that they mutinied when they 
 did, but that the whole army had riot mutinied and 
 abandoned the struggle years before. The misfor 
 tunes and mistakes of the Revolution, to whom 
 ever due, were in no respect to be charged to the 
 army, and the conduct of the troops through all 
 the dreary months of starvation and cold and pov 
 erty is a proof of the intelligent patriotism and 
 patient courage of the American soldier which can 
 never be gainsaid. To fight successful battles is 
 the test of a good general, but to hold together 
 a suffering army through years of unexampled 
 privations, to meet endless failure of details with 
 unending expedients, and then to fight battles and 
 plan campaigns, shows a leader who was far more 
 than a good general. Such multiplied trials and 
 difficulties are overcome only by a great soldier 
 who with small means achieves large results, and 
 by a great man who by force of will and charac 
 ter can establish with all who follow him a power 
 which no miseries can conquer, and no suffering 
 diminish. 
 
 The height reached by the troubles in the army 
 and their menacing character had, however, a good 
 as well as a bad side. They penetrated the indif 
 ference and carelessness of both Congress and the 
 States. Gentlemen in the confederate and local 
 administrations and legislatures woke up to a real 
 izing sense that the dissolution of the army meant 
 a general wreck, in which their own necks would 
 be in very considerable danger ; and they also had 
 
286 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 an uneasy feeling that starving and mutinous sol 
 diers were very uncertain in taking revenge. The 
 condition of the army gave a sadden and pierc 
 ing reality to Washington s indignant words to 
 Mathews on October 4th : " At a time when public 
 harmony is so essential, when we should aid and 
 assist each other with all our abilities, when our 
 hearts should be open to information and our 
 hands ready to administer relief, to find distrusts 
 and jealousies taking possession of the mind and 
 a party spirit prevailing affords a most melancholy 
 reflection, and forebodes no good." The hoarse 
 murmur of impending mutiny emphasized strongly 
 the words written on the same day to Duane : 
 " The history of the war is a history of false hopes 
 and temporary expedients. Would to God they 
 were to end here." 
 
 The events in the south, too, had a sobering 
 effect. The congressional general Gates had not 
 proved a success. His defeat at Camden had been 
 terribly complete, and his flight had been too rapid 
 to inspire confidence in his capacity for recupera 
 tion. The members of Congress were thus led to 
 believe that as managers of military matters they 
 left much to be desired ; and when Washington, 
 on October llth, addressed to them one of his long 
 and admirable letters on reorganization, it was re 
 ceived in a very chastened spirit. They had lis 
 tened to many such letters before, and had benefited 
 by them always a little, but danger and defeat gave 
 this one peculiar point. They therefore accepted 
 
THE WAR JN THE SOUTH. 287 
 
 the situation, and adopted all the suggestions of 
 the commander-in-chief. They also in the same 
 reasonable frame of mind determined that Wash 
 ington should select the next general for the south 
 ern army. A good deal could have been saved had 
 this decision been reached before ; but even now 
 it was not too late. October 14th, Washington 
 appointed Greene to this post of difficulty and 
 danger, and Greene s assumption of the command 
 marks the turning-point in the tide of disaster, and 
 the beginning of the ultimate expulsion of the 
 British from the only portion of the colonies where 
 they had made a tolerable campaign. 
 
 The uses of adversity, moreover, did not stop 
 here. They extended to the States, which began 
 to grow more vigorous in action, and to show signs 
 of appreciating the gravity of the situation and the 
 duties which rested upon them. This change and 
 improvement both in Congress and the States came 
 none too soon. Indeed, as it was, the results of 
 their renewed efforts were too slow to be felt at 
 once by the army, and mutinies broke out even 
 after the new spirit had shown itself. Washington 
 also sent Knox to travel from State to State, to 
 see the various governors, and lay the situation of 
 affairs before them ; yet even with such a text it 
 was a difficult struggle to get the States to make 
 quick and strong exertions sufficient to prevent a 
 partial mutiny from becoming a general revolt. 
 The lesson, however, had had its effect. For the 
 moment, at least, the cause was saved. The worst 
 
288 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 defects were temporarily remedied, and something 
 was done toward supplies and subsistence. The 
 army would be able to exist through another winter, 
 and face another summer. Then the next cam 
 paign might bring the decisive moment ; but still, 
 who could tell ? Years, instead of months, might 
 yet elapse before the end was reached, and then no 
 man could say what the result would be. 
 
 Washington saw plainly enough that the relief 
 and improvement were only temporary, and that 
 carelessness and indifference were likety to return, 
 and be more case-hardened than ever. He was too 
 strong and sane a man to waste time in fighting 
 shadows or in nourishing himself with hopes. He 
 dealt with the present as he found it, and fought 
 down difficulties as they sprang up in his path. 
 But he was also a man of extraordinary prescience, 
 with a foresight as penetrating as it was judicious. 
 It was, perhaps, his most remarkable gift, and while 
 he controlled the present he studied the future. 
 Outside of the operations of armies, and the plans 
 of campaign, he saw, as the war progressed, that 
 the really fatal perils were involved in the political 
 system. At the beginning of the Revolution there 
 was no organization outside the local state govern 
 ments. Congress voted and resolved in favor of 
 anything that seemed proper, and the States re 
 sponded to their appeal. In the first flush of revo 
 lution, and the first excitement of freedom, this was 
 all very well. But as the early passion cooled, and 
 a long and stubborn struggle, replete with suffer- 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 289 
 
 ings and defeat, developed itself, the want of sys 
 tem began to appear. 
 
 One of the earliest tasks of Congress was the 
 formation of articles for a general government, but 
 state jealousies, and the delays incident to the move 
 ments of thirteen sovereignties, prevented their 
 adoption until the war was nearly over. Washing 
 ton, suffering from all the complicated troubles of 
 jarring States and general incoherence, longed for 
 and urged the adoption of the act of confederation. 
 He saw sooner than any one else, and with more 
 painful intensity, the need of better union and more 
 energetic government. As the days and months of 
 difficulties and trials went by, the suggestions on 
 this question in his letters grew more frequent and 
 more urgent, and they showed the insight of the 
 statesman and practical man of affairs. How much 
 he hoped from the final acceptance of the act of 
 confederation it is not easy to say, but he hoped for 
 some improvement certainly. When at last it went 
 into force, he saw almost at once that it would not 
 do, and in the spring of 1780 he knew it to be 
 a miserable failure. The system which had been 
 established was really no better than that which 
 had preceded it. With alarm and disgust Wash 
 ington found himself flung back on what he called 
 " the pernicious state system," and with worse 
 prospects than ever. 
 
 Up to the time of the Revolution he had never 
 given attention to the philosophy or science of 
 government, but when it fell to his lot to fight 
 
290 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the war for independence he perceived almost im 
 mediately the need of a strong central government, 
 and his suggestions, scattered broadcast among 
 his correspondents, manifested a knowledge of the 
 conditions of the political problem possessed by no 
 one else at that period. When he was satisfied 
 of the failure of the confederation, his efforts to 
 improve the existing administration multiplied, 
 and he soon had the assistance of his aide-de-camp, 
 Alexander Hamilton, who then wrote, although 
 little more than a boy, his remarkable letters 
 on government and finance, which were the first 
 full expositions of the political necessities from 
 which sprang the Constitution of the United States. 
 Washington was vigorous in action and methodi 
 cal in business, while the system of thirteen sov 
 ereignties was discordant, disorderly, and feeble in 
 execution. He knew that the vices inherent in the 
 confederation were ineradicable and fatal, and he 
 also knew that it was useless to expect any compre 
 hensive reforms until the war was over. The prob 
 lem before him was whether the existing machine 
 could be made to work until the British were finally 
 driven from the country. The winter of 178081 
 was marked, therefore, on his part, by an urgent 
 striving for union, and by unceasing efforts to mend 
 and improve the rickety system of the confedera 
 tion. It was with this view that he secured the 
 despatch of Laurens, whom he carefully instructed, 
 to get money in Paris ; for he was satisfied that it 
 was only possible to tide over the financial difncul- 
 
THE WAR IN THE SOUTH. 291 
 
 ties by foreign loans from those interested in our 
 success. In the same spirit he worked to bring 
 about the establishment of executive departments, 
 which was finally accomplished, after delays that 
 sorely tried his patience. These two cases were but 
 the most important among many of similar charac 
 ter, for he was always at work on these perplexing 
 questions. 
 
 It is an astonishing proof of the strength and 
 power of his mind that he was able to solve the 
 daily questions of army existence, to deal with 
 the allies, to plan attacks on New York, to watch 
 and scheme for the southern department, to cope 
 with Arnold s treason, with mutiny, and with ad 
 ministrative imbecility, and at the very same time 
 consider the gravest governmental problems, and 
 send forth wise suggestions, which met the exigen 
 cies of the moment, and laid the foundation of 
 much that afterwards appeared in the Constitution 
 of the United States. He was not a speculator on 
 government, and after his fashion he was engaged 
 in dealing with the questions of the day and hour. 
 Yet the ideas that he put forth in this time of con 
 fusion and conflict and expedients were so vitally 
 sound and wise that they deserve the most care 
 ful study in relation to after events. The polit 
 ical trials and difficulties of this period were the 
 stern teachers from whom Washington acquired 
 the knowledge and experience which made him the 
 principal agent in bringing about the formation and 
 adoption of the Constitution of the United States. 
 
292 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 We shall have occasion to examine these opinions 
 and views more closely when they were afterwards 
 brought into actual play. At this point it is only 
 necessary to trace the history of the methods by 
 which he solved the problem of the Revolution 
 before the political system of the confederation 
 became absolutely useless. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 YOKKTOWN. 
 
 THE failure to accomplish anything in the north 
 caused Washington, as the year drew to a close, 
 to turn his thoughts once more toward a combined 
 movement at the south. In pursuance of this idea, 
 he devised a scheme of uniting with the Span 
 iards in the seizure of Florida, and of advancing 
 thence through Georgia to assail the English in the 
 rear. De Rochambeau did not approve the plan 
 and it was abandoned ; but the idea of a southern 
 movement was still kept steadily in sight. The 
 governing thought now was, not to protect this 
 place or that, but to cast aside everything else 
 in order to strike one great blow which would fin 
 ish the war. Where he could do this, time alone 
 would show, but if one follows the correspondence 
 closely, it is apparent that Washington s military 
 instinct turned more and more toward the south. 
 
 In that department affairs changed their aspect 
 rapidly. January 17th, Morgan won his brilliant 
 victory at the Cowpens, withdrew in good order 
 with his prisoners, and united his army with that of 
 Greene. Cornwallis was terribly disappointed by 
 this unexpected reverse, but he determined to push 
 on, defeat the combined American army, and then 
 
294 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 join the British forces on the Chesapeake. Greene 
 was too weak to risk a battle, and made a masterly 
 retreat of two hundred miles before Cornwallis, es 
 caping across the Dan only twelve hours ahead of 
 the enemy. The moment the British moved away, 
 Greene recrossed the river and hung upon their 
 rear. For a month he kept in their neighborhood, 
 checking the rising of the Tories, and declining 
 battle. At last he received reinforcements, felt 
 strong enough to stand his ground, and on March 
 15th the battle of Guilford Court House was 
 fought. It was a sharp and bloody fight ; the 
 British had the advantage, and Greene abandoned 
 the field, bringing off his army in good order. 
 Cornwallis, on his part, had suffered so heavily, 
 however, that his victory turned to ashes. On the 
 18th he was in full retreat, with Greene in hot 
 chase, and it was not until the 28th that he suc 
 ceeded in getting over the Deep River and escap 
 ing to Wilmington. Thence he determined to push 
 on and transfer the seat of war to the Chesapeake. 
 Greene, with the boldness and quickness which 
 showed him to be a soldier of a high order, now 
 dropped the pursuit and turned back to fight the 
 British in detachments and free the southern States. 
 There is no need to follow him in the brilliant oper 
 ations which ensued, and by which he achieved 
 this result. It is sufficient to say here that he had 
 altered the whole aspect of the war, forced Corn 
 wallis into Virginia within reach of Washington, 
 and begun the work of redeeming the Carolinas. 
 
YORKTOWN. 295 
 
 The troops which Cornwallis intended to join 
 had been sent in detachments to Virginia during 
 the winter and spring. The first body had arrived 
 early in January under the command of Arnold, 
 and a general marauding and ravaging took place. 
 A little later General Phillips arrived with rein 
 forcements and took command. On May 13th, 
 General Phillips died, and a week later Cornwallis 
 appeared at Petersburg, assumed control, and sent 
 Arnold back to New York. 
 
 Meantime Washington, though relieved by Mor 
 gan s and Greene s admirable work, had a most 
 trying and unhappy winter and spring. He sent 
 every man he could spare, and more than he ought 
 to have spared, to Greene, and he stripped himself 
 still further when the invasion of Virginia began. 
 Bat for the most part he was obliged, from lack 
 of any naval strength, to stand helplessly by and 
 see more and more British troops sent to the south, 
 and witness the ravaging of his native State, with 
 out any ability to prevent it. To these grave trials 
 was added a small one, which stung him to the 
 quick. The British came up the Potomac, and 
 Lund Washington, in order to preserve Mount 
 Vernon, gave them refreshments, and treated them 
 in a conciliatory manner. He meant well but acted 
 ill, and Washington wrote : 
 
 " It would have been a less painful circumstance 
 to me to have heard that, in consequence of your 
 non-compliance with their request, they had burnt 
 iny house and laid the plantation in ruins. You 
 
296 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ought to have considered yourself as my repre 
 sentative, and should have reflected on the bad ex 
 ample of communicating with the enemy, and mak 
 ing a voluntary offer of refreshments to them, with 
 a view to prevent a conflagration." 
 
 What a clear glimpse this little episode gives of 
 the earnestness of the man who wrote these lines. 
 He could not bear the thought that any favor should 
 be shown him on any pretence. He was ready to 
 take his share of the marauding and pillaging with 
 the rest, but he was deeply indignant at the idea 
 that any one representing him should even appear 
 to ask a favor of the British. 
 
 Altogether, the spring of 1781 was very trying, 
 for there was nothing so galling to Washington as 
 to be unable to fight. He wanted to get to the 
 south, but he was bound hand and foot by lack 
 of force. Yet the obstacles did not daunt or de 
 press him. He wrote in June that he felt sure of 
 bringing the war to a happy conclusion, and in the 
 division of the British forces he saw his opportu 
 nity taking shape. Greene had the southern forces 
 well in hand. Cornwallis was equally removed 
 from Clinton on the north and Rawdon on the 
 south, and had come within reach ; so that if he 
 could but have naval strength he could fall upon 
 Cornwallis with superior force and crush him. In 
 naval matters fortune thus far had dealt hardly 
 with him, yet he could not but feel that a French 
 fleet of sufficient force must soon come. He grasped 
 the situation with a master -hand, and began to 
 
YORKTO WN. 297 
 
 prepare the way. Still he kept his counsel strictly 
 to himself, and set to work to threaten, and if pos 
 sible to attack, New York, not with much hope of 
 succeeding in any such attempt, but with a view of 
 frightening Clinton and of inducing him either to 
 withdraw troops from Virginia, or at least to with 
 hold reinforcements. As he began his Virginian 
 campaign in this distant and remote fashion at the 
 mouth of the Hudson, he was cheered by news 
 that De Grasse, the French admiral, had sent re 
 cruits to Newport, and intended to come himself to 
 the American coast. He at once wrote De Grasse 
 not to determine absolutely to come to New York, 
 hinting that it might prove more advisable to op- 
 crate to the southward. It required great tact to 
 keep the French fleet where he needed it, and yet 
 not reveal his intentions, and nothing showed Wash 
 ington s foresight more plainly than the manner in 
 which he made the moves in this campaign, when 
 miles of space and weeks of time separated him 
 from the final object of his plans. To trace this 
 mastery of details, and the skill with which every 
 point was remembered and covered, would require 
 a long and minute narrative. They can only be 
 indicated here sufficiently to show how exactly 
 each movement fitted in its place, and how all to 
 gether brought the great result. 
 
 Fortified by the good news from De Grasse, 
 Washington had an interview with De Rocham- 
 beau, and effected a junction with the French 
 army. Thus strengthened, he opened his cam- 
 
298 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 paign against Cornwallis by beginning a move 
 ment against Clinton. The troops were massed 
 above the city, and an effort was made to surprise 
 the upper posts and destroy Delaneey s partisan 
 corps. The attempt, although well planned, failed 
 of its immediate purpose, giving Washington op 
 portunity only for an effective reconnoissance of 
 the enemy s positions. But the move was perfectly 
 successful in its real and indirect object. Clinton 
 was alarmed. He began to write to Cornwallis 
 that troops should be returned to New York, and 
 he gave up absolutely the idea of sending more men 
 to Virginia. Having thus convinced Clinton that 
 New York was menaced, Washington then set to 
 work to familiarize skilfully the minds of his allies 
 and of Congress with the idea of a southern cam 
 paign. With this end in view, he wrote on Au 
 gust 2d that, if more troops arrived from Virginia, 
 New York would be impracticable, and that the 
 next point was the south. The only contingency, 
 as he set forth, was the all-important one of obtain 
 ing naval superiority. August 15th this essential 
 condition gave promise of fulfilment, for on that 
 day definite news arrived that De Grasse with his 
 fleet was on his way to the Chesapeake. Without 
 a moment s hesitation, Washington began to move, 
 and at the same time he sent an urgent letter to the 
 New England governors, demanding troops with an 
 earnestness which he had never surpassed. 
 
 In Virginia, meanwhile, during these long mid 
 summer days, while Washington was waiting and 
 
YORKTOWN. 299 
 
 planning, Cornwallis had been going up and down, 
 harrying, burning, and plundering. His cavalry 
 had scattered the legisjature, and driven Governor 
 Jefferson in headlong flight over the hills, while 
 property to the value of more than three millions 
 had been destroyed. Lafayette, sent by Washing 
 ton to maintain the American cause, had been too 
 weak to act decisively, but he had been true to his 
 general s teaching, and, refusing battle, had hung 
 upon the flanks of the British and harassed and 
 checked them. Joined by Wayne, he had fought 
 an unsuccessful engagement at Green Springs, but 
 brought off his army, and with steady pertinacity 
 followed the enemy to the coast, gathering strength 
 as he moved. Now, when all was at last ready, 
 Washington began to draw his net about Corn 
 wallis, whom he had been keenly watching during 
 the victorious marauding of the summer. On the 
 news of the coming of the French fleet, he wrote 
 to Lafayette to be prepared to join him when he 
 reached Virginia, to retain W^ayne, who intended to 
 join Greene, and to stop Cornwallis at all hazards, 
 if he attempted to go southward. 
 
 Cornwallis, however, had no intention of moving. 
 He had seen the peril of his position, and had 
 wished to withdraw to Charleston ; but the minis 
 try, highly pleased with his performances, wished 
 him to remain on the Chesapeake, and decisive 
 orders came to him to take a permanent post 
 in that region. Clinton, moreover, was jealous of 
 Cornwallis, and, impressed and deceived by Wash- 
 
300 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ington s movements, he not only sent no reinforce 
 ments, but detained three thousand Hessians, who 
 had lately arrived. Cornwallis, therefore, had no 
 choice, and with much writing for aid, and some 
 protesting, he obeyed his orders, planted himself at 
 Yorktowii and Gloucester, and proceeded to fortify, 
 while Lafayette kept close watch upon him. Corn 
 wallis was a good soldier and a clever man, suf 
 fering, as Burgoyne did, from a stupid ministry 
 and a dull and jealous commander-in-chief. Thus 
 hampered and burdened, he was ready to fall a 
 victim to the operations of a really great general, 
 whom his official superiors in England undervalued 
 and despised. 
 
 August 17th, as soon as he had set his own ma 
 chinery in motion, Washington wrote to De Grasse 
 to meet him in the Chesapeake. He was working 
 now more anxiously and earnestly than at any 
 time in the Eevolution, not merely because he felt 
 that success depended on the blow, but because he 
 descried a new and alarming danger. He had 
 perceived it in June, and the idea pursued him 
 until all was over, and kept recurring in his letters 
 during this strained and eager summer. To Wash 
 ington s eyes, watching campaigns and government 
 at home and the politics of Europe abroad, the 
 signs of exhaustion, of mediation, and of coming 
 peace across the Atlantic were plainly visible. If 
 peace should come as things then were, America 
 would get independence, and be shorn of many 
 of her most valuable possessions. The sprawling 
 
YORK TO WN. 301 
 
 British campaign of maraud and plunder, so bad 
 in a military point of view, and about to prove fa 
 tal to Cornwallis, would, in case of sudden cessation 
 of hostilities, be capable of the worst construction. 
 Time, therefore, had become of the last importance, 
 The decisive blow must be given at once, and 
 before the slow political movements could come to 
 a head. On July 14th, Washington had his plan 
 mapped out. He wrote in his diary : 
 
 "Matters having now come to a crisis, and a 
 decided plan to be determined on, I was obliged 
 from the shortness of Count De Grasse s promised 
 stay on this coast, the apparent disinclination of 
 their naval officers to force the harbor of New 
 York, and the feeble compliance of the States with 
 my requisitions for men hitherto, and the little 
 prospect of greater exertions in future to give 
 up all ideas of attacking New York, and instead 
 thereof to remove the French troops and a detach 
 ment from the American army to the Head of Elk, 
 to be transported to Virginia for the purpose of 
 cooperating with the force from the West Indies 
 against the troops in that State." 
 
 Like most of Washington s plans, this one was 
 clear-cut and direct, and looks now simple enough, 
 but at the moment it was hedged with almost incon 
 ceivable difficulties at every step. The ever-present 
 and ever-growing obstacles at home were there as 
 usual. Appeals to Morris for money were met 
 by the most discouraging responses, and the States 
 seemed more lethargic than ever. Neither men nor 
 
302 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 supplies could be obtained ; neither transportation 
 nor provision for the march could be promised. 
 Then, too, in addition to all this, came a wholly 
 new set of stumbling-blocks arising among the 
 allies. Everything hinged on the naval force. 
 Washington needed it for a short time only ; but 
 for that crucial moment he must have not only 
 superiority but supremacy at sea. Every French 
 ship that could be reached must be in the Chesa 
 peake, and Washington had had too many French 
 fleets slip away from him at the last moment and 
 bring everything to naught to take any chances 
 in this direction. To bring about his naval su 
 premacy required the utmost tact and good man 
 agement, and that he succeeded is one of the chief 
 triumphs of the campaign. In fact, at the very out 
 set he was threatened in this quarter with a serious 
 defection. De Barras, with the American squad 
 ron, was at Boston, and it was essential that he 
 should be united with De Grasse at Yorktown. 
 But De Barras was nettled by the favoritism which 
 had made De Grasse, his junior in service, his 
 superior in command. He determined therefore to 
 take advantage of his orders and sail away to the 
 north to Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, and leave 
 De Grasse to fight it out alone. It is a hard thing 
 to beat an opposing army, but it is equally hard 
 to bring human jealousies and ambitions into the 
 narrow path of self-sacrifice and subordination. 
 Alarmed beyond measure at the suggested depart 
 ure of the Boston squadron, Washington wrote a 
 
YORKTOWN. 303 
 
 letter, which De Rochambeau signed with him, urg 
 ing De Barras to turn his fleet toward the Chesa 
 peake. It was a skilfully drawn missive, an adroit 
 mingling of appeals to honor and sympathy and of 
 vigorous demands to perform an obvious duty. The 
 letter did its work, the diplomacy of Washington 
 was successful, and De Barras suppressed his feel 
 ings of disappointment, and agreed to go to the 
 Chesapeake and serve under De Grasse. 
 * This point made, Washington pushed on his 
 preparations, or rather pushed on despite his lack 
 of preparations, and on August 17th, as has been 
 said, wrote to De Grasse to meet him in the Chesa 
 peake. He left the larger part of his own troops 
 with Heath, to whom in carefully drawn instructions 
 he entrusted the grave duty of guarding the Hud 
 son and watching the British in New York. This 
 done, he gathered his forces together, and on 
 August 21st the army started on its march to the 
 south. On the 23d and 24th it crossed the Hud 
 son, without annoyance from the British of any 
 kind. Washington had threatened New York so 
 effectively, and manoeuvred so successfully, that 
 Clinton could not be shaken in his belief that the 
 real object of the Americans was his own army ; 
 and it was not until September 2d that he real 
 ized that his enemy was going to the south, and 
 that Cornwallis was in danger. He even then hesi 
 tated and delayed, but finally dispatched Admiral 
 Graves with the fleet to the Chesapeake. The 
 Admiral came upon the French early on Septem- 
 
304 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ber 5th, the very day that Washington was rejoic 
 ing in the news that De Grasse had arrived in the 
 Chesapeake and had landed St. Simon and three 
 thousand men to support Lafayette. As soon as 
 the English fleet appeared, the French, although 
 many of their men were on shore, sailed out and 
 gave battle. An indecisive action ensued, in which 
 the British suffered so much that five days later 
 they burned one of their frigates and withdrew to 
 New York. De Grasse returned to his anchorage, 
 to find that De Barras had come in from Newport 
 with eight ships and ten transports carrying ord 
 nance. 
 
 While everything was thus moving well toward 
 the consummation of the campaign, Washington, 
 in the midst of his delicate and important work of 
 breaking camp and beginning his rapid march to 
 the south, was harassed by the ever-recurring diffi 
 culties of the feeble and bankrupt government of 
 the confederation, lie wrote again and again to 
 Morris for money, and finally got some. His de 
 mands for men and supplies remained almost un 
 heeded, but somehow he got provisions enough to 
 start. He foresaw the most pressing need, and 
 sent messages in all directions for shipping to 
 transport his army down the Chesapeake. No one 
 responded, but still he gathered the transports ; at 
 first a few, then more, and finally, after many de 
 lays, enough to move his army to Yorktown. The 
 spectacle of such a struggle, so heroically made, one 
 would think, might have inspired every soul on 
 
YORKTO WN. 305 
 
 the continent with enthusiasm ; but at this very 
 moment, while Washington was breaking camp and 
 marching southward, Congress was considering the 
 reduction of the army ! which was as appropriate 
 as it would have been for the English Parliament 
 to have reduced the navy on the eve of Trafalgar, 
 or for Lincoln to have advised the restoration of 
 the army to a peace footing while Grant was fight 
 ing in the Wilderness. The fact was that the 
 Continental Congress was weakened in ability and 
 very tired in point of nerve and will-power. They 
 saw that peace was coming, and naturally thought 
 that the sooner they could get it the better. They 
 entirely failed to see, as Washington saw, that in 
 a too sudden peace lurked the danger of the uti 
 possidetis, and that the mere fact of peace by no 
 means implied necessarily complete success. They 
 did not, of course, effect their reductions, but they 
 remained inert, and so for the most part did the 
 state governments, becoming drags upon the wheels 
 of war instead of helpers to the man who was driv 
 ing the Revolution forward to its goal. Both state 
 and confederate governments still meant well, but 
 they were worn out and relaxed. Yet over and 
 through all these heavy masses of misapprehension 
 and feebleness, Washington made his way. Here 
 again all that can be said is that somehow or other 
 the thing was done. We can take account of the 
 resisting forces, but we cannot tell just how they 
 were dealt with. We only know that one strong 
 man trampled them down and got what he wanted 
 done. 
 
306 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 Pushing on after the joyful news of the arrival 
 of De Grasse had been received, Washington left 
 the army to go by water from the Head of Elk, 
 and hurried to Mount Vernon, accompanied by De 
 Rochambeau. It was six years since he had seen 
 his home. He had left it a Virginian colonel, full 
 of forebodings for his country, with a vast and 
 unknown problem awaiting solution at his hands. 
 He returned to it the first soldier of his day, after 
 six years of battle and trial, of victory and defeat, 
 on the eve of the last and crowning triumph. As 
 he paused on the well-beloved spot, and gazed 
 across the broad and beautiful river at his feet, 
 thoughts and remembrances must have come 
 thronging to his mind which it is given to few 
 men to know. He lingered there two days, and 
 then pressing on again, was in Williamsburg on the 
 14th, and on the 17th went on board the Ville de 
 Paris to congratulate De Grasse on his victory, and 
 to concert measures for the siege. 
 
 The meeting was most agreeable. All had gone 
 well, all promised well, and everything was smiling 
 and harmonious. Yet they were on the eve of 
 the greatest peril which occurred in the campaign. 
 Washington had managed to scrape together enough 
 transports ; but his almost unassisted labors had 
 taken time, and delay had followed. Then the 
 transports were slow, and winds and tides were 
 uncertain, and there was further delay. The inter 
 val permitted De Grasse to hear that the British 
 fleet had received reinforcements, and to become 
 
YORK TOWN. 307 
 
 nervous in consequence. He wanted to get out to 
 sea ; the season was advancing, and he was anxious 
 to return to the West Indies ; and above all he did 
 not wish to fight in the bay. He therefore pro 
 posed firmly and vigorously to leave two ships in 
 the river, and stand out to sea with his fleet. The 
 Yorktown campaign began to look as if it had 
 reached its conclusion. Once again Washington 
 wrote one of his masterly letters of expostulation 
 and remonstrance, and once more he prevailed, 
 aided by the reasoning and appeals of Lafayette, 
 who carried the message. De Grasse consented to 
 stay, and Washington, grateful beyond measure, 
 wrote him that " a great mind knows how to make 
 personal sacrifice to secure an important general 
 good." Under the circumstances, and in view of 
 the general truth of this complimentary sentiment, 
 one cannot help rejoicing that De Grasse had " a 
 great mind/ 
 
 At all events he stayed, and thereafter every 
 thing went well. The northern army landed at Wil- 
 liamsburg and inarched for Yorktown on the 28th. 
 They reconnoitred the outlying works the next day, 
 and prepared for an immediate assault ; but in 
 the night Cornwallis abandoned all his outside 
 works and withdrew into the town. Washington 
 thereupon advanced at once, and prepared for the 
 siege. On the night of the 5th, the trenches were 
 opened only six hundred yards from the enemy s 
 line, and in three days the first parallel was com 
 pleted. On the llth the second parallel was be- 
 
308 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 gun, and on the 14th the American batteries 
 played on the two advanced redoubts with such 
 effect that the breaches were pronounced practica 
 ble. Washington at once ordered an assault. The 
 smaller redoubt was stormed by the Americans 
 under Hamilton and taken in ten minutes. The 
 other, larger and more strongly garrisoned, was car 
 ried by the French with equal gallantry, after half 
 an hour s fighting. During the assault Washing 
 ton stood in an embrasure of the grand battery, 
 watching the advance of the men. He was always 
 given to exposing himself recklessly when there 
 was fighting to be done, but not when he was 
 only an observer. This night, however, he was 
 much exposed to the enemy s fire. One of his 
 aides, anxious and disturbed for his safety, told him 
 that the place was perilous. " If you think so," 
 was the quiet answer, " you are at liberty to step 
 back." The moment was too exciting, too fraught 
 with meaning, to think of peril. The old fighting 
 spirit of Braddock s field was unchained for the 
 last time. He would have liked to head the Amer 
 ican assault, sword in hand, and as he could not 
 do that he stood as near his troops as he could, 
 utterly regardless of the bullets whistling in the 
 air about him. Who can wonder at his intense 
 excitement at that moment ? Others saw a brilliant 
 storming of two outworks, but to Washington the 
 whole Revolution, and all the labor and thought 
 and conflict of six years were culminating in the 
 smoke and din on those redoubts, while out of the 
 
YORKTO WN. 309 
 
 dust and heat of the sharp quick fight success was 
 coming. He had waited long, and worked hard, 
 and his whole soul went out as he watched the 
 troops cross the abattis and scale the works. He 
 could have no thought of danger then, and when 
 all was over he turned to Knox and said, " The 
 work is done, and well done. Bring me my horse." 
 
 Washington was not mistaken. The work was 
 indeed done. Tarleton early in the siege had 
 dashed out against Lauzun on the other side of 
 the river and been repulsed. Cornwallis had been 
 forced back steadily into the town, and his redoubts, 
 as soon as taken, were included in the second par 
 allel. A sortie to retake the redoubts failed, and a 
 wild attempt to transport the army across the river 
 was stopped by a gale of wind. On the 17th Corn 
 wallis was compelled to face much bloody and use 
 less slaughter, or to surrender. Pie chose the latter 
 course, and after opening negotiations and trying in 
 vain to obtain delay, finally signed the capitulation 
 and gave up the town. The next day the troops 
 marched out and laid down their arms. Over 7000 
 British and Hessian troops surrendered. It was a 
 crushing defeat. The victorious army consisted in 
 round numbers of 5500 continentals, 3500 militia, 
 and 7000 French, and they were backed by the 
 French fleet with entire control of the sea. 
 
 When Washington had once reached Yorktown 
 with his fleet and army, the campaign was really at 
 an end, for he held Cornwallis in an iron grip from 
 which there was no escape. The masterly part of 
 
310 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 the Yorktown campaign lay in the manner in which 
 it was brought about, in the management of so 
 many elements, and in the rapidity of movement 
 which carried an army without any proper supplies 
 or means of transportation from New York to the 
 mouth of Chesapeake Bay. The control of the 
 sea had been the great advantage of the British 
 from the beginning, and had enabled them to 
 achieve all that they ever gained. With these odds 
 against him, with no possibility of obtaining a fleet 
 of his own, Washington saw that his only chance 
 of bringing the war to a quick and successful issue 
 was by means of the French. It is difficult to 
 manage allied troops. It is still more difficult to 
 manage allied troops and an allied fleet. Wash 
 ington did both with infinite address, and won. 
 The chief factor of his success in this direction lay 
 in his profound personal influence on all men with 
 whom he came in contact. His courtesy and tact 
 were perfect, but he made no concessions, and 
 never stooped. The proudest French noble who 
 came here shrank from disagreement with the 
 American general, and yet not one of them had 
 anything but admiration and respect to express 
 when they wrote of Washington in their memoirs, 
 diaries, and letters. He impressed them one and 
 all with a sense of power and greatness which 
 could not be disregarded. Many times he failed 
 to get the French fleet in cooperation, but finally 
 it came. Then he put forth all his influence and 
 all his address, and thus he got De Barras to the 
 Chesapeake, and kept De Grasse at Yorktown. 
 
YORKTOWN. 311 
 
 This was one side of the problem, the most es 
 sential because everything hinged on the fleet, but 
 by no means the most harassing. The doubt about 
 the control of the sea made it impossible to work 
 steadily for a sufficient time toward any one end. It 
 was necessary to have a plan for every contingency, 
 and be ready to adopt any one of several plans at 
 short notice. With a foresight and judgment that 
 never failed, Washington planned an attack on 
 New York, another on Yorktown, and a third on 
 Charleston. The division of the British forces gave 
 him his opportunity of striking at one point with an 
 overwhelming force, but there was always the possi 
 bility of their suddenly reuniting. In the extreme 
 south he felt reasonably sure that Greene would 
 hold Rawdon, but he was obliged to deceive and 
 amuse Clinton, and at the same time, with a ridic 
 ulously inferior force, to keep Cornwallis from 
 marching to South Carolina. Partly by good for 
 tune, partly by skill, Cornwallis was kept in Vir 
 ginia, while by admirably managed feints and 
 threats Clinton was held in New York in inactivity. 
 When the decisive moment came, and it was evident 
 that the control of the sea was to be determined in 
 the Chesapeake, Washington, overriding all sorts 
 of obstacles, moved forward, despite a bankrupt 
 and inert government, with a rapidity and daring 
 which have been rarely equalled. It was a bold 
 stroke to leave Clinton behind at the mouth of the 
 Hudson, and only the quickness with which it was 
 done, and the careful deception which had been 
 
312 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 practised, made it possible. Once at Yorktown, 
 there was little more to do. The combination was 
 so perfect, and the judgment had been so sure, that 
 Cornwallis was crushed as helplessly as if he had 
 been thrown before the car of Juggernaut. There 
 was really but little fighting, for there was no op 
 portunity to fight. Washington held the British 
 in a vice, and the utter helplessness of Cornwallis, 
 the entire inability of such a good and gallant 
 soldier even to struggle, are the most convincing 
 proofs of the military genius of his antagonist. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 FORTITUDE in misfortune is more common than 
 composure in the hour of victory. The bitter med 
 icine of defeat, however unpalatable, is usually ex 
 tremely sobering, but the strong new wine of success 
 generally sets the heads of poor humanity spinning, 
 and leads often to worse results than folly. The 
 capture of Cornwallis was en6ugh to have turned the 
 strongest head, for the moment at least, but it had 
 no apparent effect upon the man who had brought 
 it to pass, and who, more than any one else, knew 
 what it meant. Unshaken and undismayed in the 
 New Jersey winter, and among the complicated 
 miseries of Valley Forge, Washington turned from 
 the spectacle of a powerful British army laying 
 down their arms as coolly as if he had merely 
 fought a successful skirmish, or repelled a danger 
 ous raid. He had that rare gift, the attribute of 
 the strongest minds, of leaving the past to take 
 care of itself. He never fretted over what could 
 not be undone, nor dallied among pleasant memo 
 ries while aught still remained to do. He wrote to 
 Congress in words of quiet congratulation, through 
 which pierced the devout and solemn sense of the 
 
314 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 great deed accomplished, and then, while the salvos 
 of artillery were still booming in his ears, and the 
 shouts of victory were still rising about him, he set 
 himself, after his fashion, to care for the future 
 and provide for the immediate completion of his 
 work. 
 
 He wrote to De Grasse, urging him to join in an 
 immediate movement against Charleston, such as 
 he had already suggested, and he presented in the 
 strongest terms the opportunities now offered for 
 the sudden and complete ending of the struggle. 
 But the French admiral was by no means imbued 
 with the tireless and determined spirit of Wash 
 ington. He had had his fill even of victory, and 
 was so eager to get back to the West Indies, where 
 he was to fall a victim to Rodney, that he would 
 not even transport troops to Wilmington. Thus 
 deprived of the force which alone made compre 
 hensive and extended movements possible, Wash 
 ington returned, as he had done so often before, to 
 making the best of cramped circumstances and 
 straitened means. He sent all the troops he could 
 spare to Greene, to help him in wresting the south 
 ern States from the enemy, the work to which he 
 had in vain summoned De Grasse. This done, he 
 prepared to go north. On his way he was stopped 
 at Eltham by the illness and death of his wife s 
 son, John Custis, a blow which he felt severely, 
 and which saddened the great victory he had just 
 achieved. Still the business of the state could 
 not wait on private grief. He left the house of 
 
PEACE. 315 
 
 mourning, and, pausing for an instant only at 
 Mount Yernon, hastened on to Philadelphia. At 
 the very moment of victory, and while honorable 
 members were shaking each other s hands and con 
 gratulating each other that the war was now really 
 over, the commander-in-chief had fallen again to 
 writing them letters in the old strain, and was once 
 more urging them to keep up the army, while he 
 himself gave his personal attention to securing 
 a naval force for the ensuing year, through the 
 medium of Lafayette. Nothing was ever finished 
 with Washington until it was really complete 
 throughout, and he had as little time for rejoicing 
 as he had for despondency or despair, while a Brit 
 ish force still remained in the country. He prob 
 ably felt that this was as untoward a time as he 
 had ever met in a pretty large experience of un 
 suitable occasions, for offering sound advice, but 
 he was not deterred thereby from doing it. This 
 time, however, he was destined to an agreeable 
 disappointment, for on his arrival at Philadelphia 
 he found an excellent spirit prevailing in Congress. 
 That body was acting cheerfully on his advice, it 
 had filled the departments of the government, and 
 set on foot such measures as it could to keep up the 
 army. So Washington remained for some time at 
 Philadelphia, helping and counselling Congress in 
 its work, and writing to the States vigorous letters, 
 demanding pay and clothing for the soldiers, ever 
 uppermost in his thoughts. 
 
 But although Congress was compliant, Washing- 
 
316 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ton could not convince the country of the justice of 
 his views, and of the continued need of energetic 
 exertion. The steady relaxation of tone, which 
 the strain of a long and trying war had produced, 
 was accelerated by the brilliant victory of York- 
 town. Washington for his own part had but little 
 trust in the sense or the knowledge of his enemy. 
 He felt that Yorktown was decisive, but he also 
 thought that Great Britain would still struggle on, 
 and that her talk of peace was very probably a 
 mere blind, to enable her to gain time, and, by 
 taking advantage of our relaxed and feeble condi 
 tion, to strike again in hope of winning back all 
 that had been lost. He therefore continued his 
 appeals in behalf of the army, and reiterated every 
 where the necessity for fresh and ample prepara 
 tions. 
 
 As late as May 4th he wrote sharply to the States 
 for men and money, saying that the change of min 
 istry was likely to be adverse to peace, and that we 
 were being: lulled into a false and fatal sense of 
 
 O 
 
 security. A few days later, on receiving informa 
 tion from Sir Guy Carleton of the address of the 
 Commons to the king for peace, Washington wrote 
 to Congress : " For my own part, I view our situa 
 tion as such that, instead of relaxing, we ought to 
 improve the present moment as the most favorable 
 to our wishes. The British nation appear to me to 
 be staggered, and almost ready to sink beneath the 
 accumulating weight of debt and misfortune. If 
 we follow the blow with vigor and energy, I think 
 the game is our own." 
 
PEACE. 317 
 
 Again he wrote in July : " Sir Guy Carleton is 
 using every art to soothe and lull our people into 
 a state of security. Admiral Digby is capturing 
 all our vessels, and suffocating as fast as possible 
 in prison-ships all our seamen who will not enlist 
 into the service of his Britannic Majesty ; and 
 Haldimand, with his savage allies, is scalping and 
 burning on the frontiers." Facts always were the 
 object of Washington s first regard, and while 
 gentlemen on all sides were talking of peace, war 
 was going on, and he could not understand the 
 supineness which would permit our seamen to be 
 suffocated, and our borderers scalped, because some 
 people thought the war ought to be and practically 
 was over. While the other side was fighting, he 
 wished to be fighting too. A month later he wrote 
 to Greene : " From the former infatuation, duplic 
 ity, and perverse system of British policy, I confess 
 I am induced to doubt everything, to suspect every 
 thing." He could say heartily with the Trojan 
 priest, " Quicquid id est timeo Danaos et dona fe- 
 rentes." Yet again, a month later still, when the 
 negotiations were really going forward in Paris, he 
 wrote to McHenry : " If we are wise, let us pre 
 pare for the worst. There is nothing which will 
 so soon produce a speedy and honorable peace as a 
 state of preparation for war ; and we must either 
 do this, or lay our account to patch up an inglori 
 ous peace, after all the toil, blood, and treasure we 
 have spent." 
 
 No man had done and given so much as Wash- 
 
318 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 ington, and at the same time no other man had his 
 love of thoroughness, and his indomitable fighting 
 temper. He found few sympathizers, his words fell 
 upon deaf ears, and he was left to struggle on and 
 maintain his ground as best he might, without any 
 substantial backing. As it turned out, England 
 was more severely wounded than he dared to hope, 
 and her desire for peace was real. But Washing 
 ton s distrust and the active policy which he urged 
 were, in the conditions of the moment, perfectly 
 sound, both in a military and a political point of 
 view. It made no real difference, however, whether 
 he was right or wrong in his opinion. He could 
 not get what he wanted, and he was obliged to drag 
 through another year, fettered in his military move 
 ments, and oppressed with anxiety for the future. 
 He longed to drive the British from New York, 
 and was forced to content himself, as so often be 
 fore, with keeping his army in existence. It was a 
 trying time, and fruitful in nothing but anxious 
 forebodings. All the fighting was confined to skir 
 mishes of outposts, and his days were consumed in 
 vain efforts to obtain help from the States, while he 
 watched with painful eagerness the current of events 
 in Europe, down which the fortunes of his country 
 were feebly drifting. 
 
 Among the petty incidents of the year there was 
 one which, in its effects, gained an international 
 importance, which has left a deep stain upon the 
 English arms, and which touched Washington 
 deeply. Captain Huddy, an American officer, was 
 
PEACE. 319 
 
 captured in a skirmish and carried to New York, 
 where he was placed in confinement. Thence he 
 was taken on April 12th by a party of Tories in 
 the British service, commanded by Captain Lippin- 
 cott, and hanged in the broad light of day on the 
 heights near Middletown. Testimony and affidavits 
 to the fact, which was never questioned, were duly 
 gathered and laid before Washington. The deed 
 was one of wanton barbarity, for which it would be 
 difficult to find a parallel in the annals of modern 
 warfare. The authors of this brutal murder, to 
 our shame be it said, were of American birth, but 
 they were fighting for the crown and wore the Brit 
 ish uniform. England, which for generations has 
 deafened the world with paeans of praise for her 
 own love of fair play and for her generous human 
 ity, stepped in here and threw the mantle of her 
 protection over these cowardly hangmen. It has 
 not been uncommon for wild North American sav 
 ages to deliver up criminals to the vengeance of the 
 law, but English ministers and officers condoned 
 the murder of Huddy, and sheltered his murderers. 
 When the case was laid before Washington it 
 stirred him to the deepest wrath. He submitted 
 the facts to twenty-five of his general officers, who 
 unanimously advised what he was himself deter 
 mined upon, instant retaliation. He wrote at once 
 to Sir Guy Carleton, and informed him that unless 
 the murderers were given up he should be compelled 
 to retaliate. Carleton replied that a court-martial 
 was ordered, and some attempt was made to recrim- 
 
320 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 mate ; but Washington pressed on in the path he 
 had marked out, and had an English officer selected 
 by lot and held in close confinement to await the 
 action of the enemy. These sharp measures brought 
 the British, as nothing else could have done, to some 
 sense of the enormity of the crime that had been 
 committed. Sir Guy Caiieton wrote in remon 
 strance, and Washington replied : " Ever since the 
 commencement of this unnatural war my conduct 
 has borne invariable testimony against those inhu 
 man excesses, which, in too many instances, have 
 marked its progress. With respect to a late trans 
 action, to which I presume your excellency alludes, 
 I have already expressed my resolution, a resolution 
 formed on the most mature deliberation, and from 
 which I shall not recede." The affair dragged 
 along, purposely protracted by the British, and the 
 court-martial on a technical point acquitted Lippin- 
 cott. Sir Guy Carleton, however, who really was 
 deeply indignant at the outrage, wrote, expressing 
 his abhorrence, disavowed Lippincott, and promised 
 a further inquiry. This placed Washington in a 
 very trying position, more especially as his human 
 ity was touched by the situation of the unlucky 
 hostage. The fatal lot had fallen upon a mere boy, 
 Captain Asgill, who was both amiable and popular, 
 and Washington was beset with appeals in his be 
 half, for Lady Asgill moved heaven and earth to 
 save her son. She interested the French court, 
 and Vergennes made a special request that Asgill 
 should be released. Even Washington s own offi- 
 
PEACE. 321 
 
 cers, notably Hamilton, sought to influence him, 
 and begged him to recede. In these difficult cir 
 cumstances he hesitated, and asked instructions 
 from Congress. He wrote to Duane in September : 
 " While retaliation was apparently necessary, how 
 ever disagreeable in itself, I had no repugnance to 
 the measure. But when the end proposed by it is 
 answered by a disavowal of the act, by a dissolution 
 of the board of refugees, and by a promise (whether 
 with or without meaning to comply with it, I shall 
 not determine) that further inquisition should be 
 made into the matter, I thought it incumbent upon 
 me, before I proceeded any farther in the matter, to 
 have the sense of Congress, who had most explicit!} 
 approved and impliedly indeed ordered retaliation 
 to take place. To this hour I am held in dark 
 ness." 
 
 He did not long remain in doubt. The fact was 
 that the public, as is commonly the case, had for 
 gotten the original crime and saw only the misery 
 of the man who was to pay the just penalty, and 
 who was, in this instance, an innocent and vicari 
 ous sufferer. It was difficult to refuse Yergennes, 
 and Congress, glad of the excuse and anxious to 
 oblige their allies, ordered the release of Asgill. 
 That Washington, touched by the unhappy condi 
 tion of his prisoner, did not feel relieved by the 
 result, it would be absurd to suppose. But he was 
 by no means satisfied, for the murderous wrong that 
 had been done rankled in his breast. He wrote to 
 Vergennes : " Captain Asgill has been released, and 
 
322 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 is at perfect liberty to return to the arms of an 
 affectionate parent, whose pathetic address to your 
 Excellency could not fail of interesting every feel 
 ing heart in her behalf. I have no right to assume 
 any particular merit from the lenient manner in 
 which this disagreeable affair has terminated." 
 
 There is a perfect honesty about this which is 
 very wholesome. He had been freely charged with 
 cruelty, and had regarded the accusation with in 
 difference. Now, when it was easy for him to have 
 taken the glory of mercy by simply keeping silent, 
 he took pains to avow that the leniency was not 
 due to him. He was not satisfied, and no one 
 should believe that he was, even if the admission 
 seemed to justify the charge of cruelty. If he erred 
 at all it was in not executing some British officer at 
 the very start, unless Lippincott had been given up 
 within a limited time. As it was, after delay was 
 once permitted, it is hard to see how he could have 
 acted otherwise than he did, but Washington was 
 not in the habit of receding from a fixed purpose, 
 and being obliged to do so in this case troubled 
 him, for he knew that he did well to be angry. 
 But the frankness of the avowal to Vergennes is a 
 good example of his entire honesty and absolute 
 moral fearlessness. 
 
 The matter, however, which most filled his heart 
 and mind during these weary days of waiting and 
 doubt was the condition and the future of his soldiers. 
 To those persons who have suspected or suggested 
 that Washington was cold-blooded and unmindful of 
 
PEACE. 323 
 
 others, the letters he wrote in regard to the soldiers 
 may be commended. The man whose heart was 
 wrung by the sufferings of the poor people on the 
 Virginian frontier, in the days of the old French 
 war, never in fact changed his nature. Fierce 
 in fight, passionate and hot when his anger was 
 stirred, his love and sympathy were keen and 
 strong toward his army. His heart went out to 
 the brave men who had followed him, loved him, 
 and never swerved in their loyalty to him and to 
 their country. Washington s affection for his men, 
 and their devotion to him, had saved the cause of 
 American independence more often than strategy 
 or daring. Now, when the war was practically 
 over, his influence with both officers and soldiers 
 was destined to be put to its severest tests. 
 
 The people of the American colonies were self- 
 governing in the extremest sense, that is, they were 
 accustomed to very little government interference of 
 any sort. They were also poor and entirely unused 
 to war. Suddenly they found themselves plunged 
 into a bitter and protracted conflict with the most 
 powerful of civilized nations. In the first flush of 
 excitement, patriotic enthusiasnTsupplied many de 
 fects ; but as time wore on, and year after year 
 passed, and the whole social and political fabric was 
 shaken, the moral tone of the people relaxed. In 
 such a struggle, coming upon an unprepared people 
 of the habits and in the circumstances of the colo 
 nists, this relaxation was inevitable. It was like 
 wise inevitable that, as the war continued, there 
 
324 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 should be in both national and state governments, 
 and in all directions, many shortcomings and many 
 lamentable errors. But for the treatment accorded 
 the army, no such excuse can be made, and no suf 
 ficient explanation can be offered. There was 
 throughout the colonies an inborn and a carefully 
 cultivated dread of standing armies and military 
 power. But this very natural feeling was turned 
 most unreasonably against our own army, and car 
 ried in that direction to the verge of insanity. 
 This jealousy of military power indeed pursued 
 Washington from the beginning to the end of the 
 Revolution. It cropped out as soon as he was 
 appointed, and came up in one form or another 
 whenever he was obliged to take strong measures. 
 Even at the very end, after he had borne the cause 
 through to triumph, Congress was driven almost to 
 frenzy because Vergennes proposed to commit the 
 disposition of a French subsidy to the commander- 
 in-chief. 
 
 If this feeling could show itself toward Wash 
 ington, it is easy to imagine that it was not re 
 strained toward his officers and men, and the treat 
 ment of the soldiers by Congress and by the States 
 was not only ungrateful to the last degree, but 
 was utterly unpardonable. Again and again the 
 menace of immediate ruin and the stern demands 
 of Washington alone extorted the most grudging 
 concessions, and saved the army from dissolution. 
 The soldiers had every reason to think that noth 
 ing but personal fear could obtain the barest con- 
 
PEACE. 325 
 
 sideration from the civil power. In this frame of 
 mind, they saw the war which they had fought 
 and won drawing to a close with no prospect of 
 either provision or reward for them, and every 
 indication that they would be disbanded when they 
 were no longer needed, and left in many cases to 
 beggary and want. In the inaction consequent 
 upon the victory at Yorktown, they had ample 
 time to reflect upon these facts, and their reflec 
 tions were of such a nature that the situation soon 
 became dangerous. Washington, who had strug 
 gled in season and out of season for justice to the 
 soldiers, labored more zealously than ever during 
 all this period, aided vigorously by Hamilton, who 
 was now in Congress. Still nothing was done, and 
 in October, 1782, he wrote to the Secretary of War 
 in words warm with indignant feeling : " While 
 I premise that no one I have seen or heard of ap 
 pears opposed to the principle of reducing the army 
 as circumstances may require, yet I cannot help 
 fearing the result of the measure in contemplation, 
 under present circumstances, when I see such a num 
 ber of men, goaded by a thousand stings of reflec 
 tion on the past and of anticipation on the future, 
 about to be turned into the world, soured by pen 
 ury and what they call the ingratitude of the pub 
 lic, involved in debts, without one farthing of money 
 to carry them home after having spent the flower 
 of their days, and many of them their patrimonies, 
 in establishing the freedom and independence of 
 their country, and suffered everything that human 
 
326 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 nature is capable of enduring on this side of death. 
 . . . You may rely upon it, the patriotism and long- 
 suffering of this army are almost exhausted, and 
 that there never was so great a spirit of discontent 
 as at this instant. While in the field I think it 
 may be kept from breaking into acts of outrage ; 
 but when we retire into winter-quarters, unless the 
 storm is previously dissipated, I cannot be at ease 
 respecting the consequences. It is high time for a 
 peace." 
 
 These were grave words, coming from such a 
 man as Washington, but they passed unheeded. 
 Congress and the States went blandly along as 
 if everything was all right, and as if the army 
 had no grievances. But the soldiers thought dif 
 ferently. " Dissatisfactions rose to a great and 
 alarming height, and combinations among officers 
 to resign at given periods in a body were begin 
 ning to take place." The outlook was so threat 
 ening that Washington, who had intended to go 
 to Mount Vernon, remained in camp, and by man 
 agement and tact thwarted these combinations and 
 converted these dangerous movements into an ad 
 dress to Congress from the officers, asking for 
 half-pay, arrearages, and some other equally proper 
 concessions. Still Congress did not stir. Some 
 indefinite resolutions were passed, but nothing was 
 done as to the commutation of half-pay into a fixed 
 sum, and after such a display of indifference the dis 
 satisfaction increased rapidly, and the army became 
 more and more restless. In March a call was is- 
 
PEACE. ^ 
 
 sued for a meeting of officers, and an anonymous 
 address, written with much skill, the work, as 
 afterwards appeared, of Major John Armstrong, 
 was published at the same time. The address 
 was well calculated to inflame the passions of the 
 troops ; it advised a resort to force, and was scat 
 tered broadcast through the camp. The army was 
 now in a ferment, and the situation was full of 
 peril. A weak man would have held his peace ; 
 a rash one would have tried to suppress the meet 
 ing. Washington did neither, but quietly took 
 control of the whole movement himself. In gen 
 eral orders he censured the call and the address as 
 irregular, and then appointed a time and place for 
 the meeting. Another anonymous address there 
 upon appeared, quieter in tone, but congratulat 
 ing the army on the recognition accorded by the 
 com m ander-in-chief . 
 
 When the officers assembled, Washington arose 
 with a manuscript in his hand, and as he took out 
 his glasses said, simply, " You see, gentlemen, I 
 have grown both blind and gray in your service." 
 His address was brief, calm, and strong. The clear, 
 vigorous sentences were charged with meaning and 
 with deep feeling. He exhorted them one and all, 
 both officers and men, to remain loyal and obedient, 
 true to their glorious past and to their country. 
 He appealed to their patriotism, and promised them 
 that which they had always had, his own earnest 
 support in obtaining justice from Congress. When 
 he had finished he quietly withdrew. The officers 
 
328 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 were deeply moved by his words, and his influence 
 prevailed. Resolutions were passed, reiterating the 
 demands of the army, but professing entire faith 
 in the government. This time Congress listened, 
 and the measures granting half-pay in commuta 
 tion and certain other requests were passed. Thus 
 this very serious danger was averted, not by the 
 reluctant action of Congress, but by the wisdom 
 and strength of the general, who was loved by his 
 soldiers after a fashion that few conquerors could 
 boast. 
 
 Underlying all these general discontents, there 
 was, besides, a well-defined movement, which saw 
 a solution of all difficulties and a redress of all 
 wrongs in a radical change of the form of govern 
 ment, and in the elevation of Washington to su 
 preme power. This party was satisfied that the 
 existing system was a failure, and that it was not 
 and could not be made either strong, honest, or re 
 spectable. The obvious relief was in some kind of 
 monarchy, with a large infusion of the one-man 
 power; and it followed, as a matter of course, that 
 the one man could be no other than the commander- 
 in-chief. In May, 1782, when the feeling in the 
 army had risen very high, this party of reform 
 brought their ideas before Washington through an 
 old and respected friend of his, Colonel Nicola. 
 The colonel set forth very clearly the failure and 
 shortcomings of the existing government, argued 
 in favor of the substitution of something much 
 stronger, and wound up by hinting very plainly 
 
PEACE. 329 
 
 that his correspondent was the man for the crisis 
 and the proper savior of society. The letter was 
 forcible and well written, and Colonel Nicola was 
 a man of character and standing. It could not be 
 passed over lightly or in silence, and Washington 
 replied as follows : 
 
 " With a mixture of surprise and astonishment, 
 I have read with attention the sentiments you have 
 submitted to my perusal. Be assured, sir, no occur 
 rence in the course of the war has given me more 
 painful sensations than your information of there 
 being such ideas existing in the army as you have 
 expressed, and [which] I must view with abhorrence 
 and reprehend with severity. For the present, the 
 communication of them will rest in my own bosom, 
 unless some further agitation of the matter shall 
 make a disclosure necessary. I am much at a loss 
 to conceive what part of my conduct could have 
 given encouragement to an address which seems to 
 me big with the greatest mischiefs that can befall 
 my country. If I am not deceived in the knowl 
 edge of myself, you could not have found a per 
 son to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. 
 At the same time, in justice to my own feelings, 
 I must add that no man possesses a more sincere 
 wish to see justice done to the army than I do ; and 
 as far as my power and influence in a constitutional 
 way extend, they shall be employed to the utmost 
 of my abilities to effect it, should there be any 
 occasion. Let me conjure you, then, if you have 
 any regard for your country, concern for yourself 
 
330 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 or posterity, or respect for me., to banish these 
 thoughts from your mind, and never communicate, 
 as from yourself or any one else, a sentiment of the 
 like nature." 
 
 This simple but exceedingly plain letter checked 
 the whole movement at once ; but the feeling of 
 hostility to the existing system of government and 
 of confidence in Washington increased steadily 
 through the summer and winter. When the next 
 spring had come round, and the "Newburgh ad 
 dresses " had been published, the excitement was 
 at fever heat. All the army needed was a leader. 
 It was as easy for Washington to have grasped 
 supreme power then, as it would have been for 
 Caesar to have taken the crown from Antony upon 
 the Lupercal. He repelled Nicola s suggestion 
 with quiet reproof, and took the actual movement, 
 when it reared its head, into his own hands and 
 turned it into other channels. This incident has 
 been passed over altogether too carelessly by his 
 torians and biographers. It has generally been 
 used merely to show the general nobility of Wash 
 ington s sentiments, and no proper stress has been 
 laid upon the facts of the time which gave birth 
 to such an idea and such a proposition. It would 
 have been a perfectly feasible thing at that par 
 ticular moment to have altered the frame of gov 
 ernment and placed the successful soldier in pos 
 session of supreme power. The notion of kingly 
 government was, of course, entirely familiar to 
 everybody, and had in itself nothing repulsive. 
 
PEACE. 331 
 
 The confederation was disintegrated, the States 
 were demoralized, and the whole social and politi 
 cal life was weakened. The army was the one 
 coherent, active, and thoroughly organized body in 
 the country. Six years of war had turned them 
 from militia into seasoned veterans, and they stood 
 armed and angry, ready to respond to the call of 
 the great leader to whom they were entirely de 
 voted. When the English troops were once with 
 drawn, there was nothing on the continent that 
 could have stood against them. If they had moved, 
 they would have been everywhere supported by 
 their old comrades who had returned to the ranks 
 of civil life, by all the large class who wanted peace 
 and order in the quickest and surest way, and by 
 the timid and tired generally. There would have 
 been in fact no serious opposition, probably because 
 there would have been no means of sustaining it. 
 
 The absolute feebleness of the general govern 
 ment was shown a few weeks later, when a recently 
 recruited regiment of Pennsylvania troops mu 
 tinied, and obliged Congress to leave Philadelphia, 
 unable either to defend themselves or procure de 
 fence from the State. This mutiny was put down 
 suddenly and effectively by Washington, very 
 wroth at the insubordination of raw troops, who had 
 neither fought nor suffered. Yet even such muti 
 neers as these would have succeeded in a large meas 
 ure, had it not been for Washington, and one can 
 easily imagine from this incident the result of dis 
 ciplined and well-planned action on the part of the 
 
832 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 army led by their great chief. In that hour of 
 debility and relaxation, a military seizure of the 
 government and the erection of some form of mon 
 archy would not have been difficult. Whether such 
 a change would have lasted is another question, but 
 there is no reason to doubt that at the moment it 
 might have been effected. Washington, however, 
 not only refused to have anything to do with the 
 scheme, but he used the personal loyalty which 
 might have raised him to supreme power to check 
 all dangerous movements and put in motion the 
 splendid and unselfish patriotism for which the 
 army was conspicuous, and which underlay all their 
 irritations and discontents. 
 
 The obvious view of Washington s action in this 
 crisis as a remarkable exhibition of patriotism is 
 at best somewhat superficial. In a man in any 
 way less great, the letter of refusal to Nicola and 
 the treatment of the opportunity presented at the 
 time of the Newburgh addresses would have been 
 fine in a high degree. In Washington they were 
 not so extraordinary, for the situation offered him 
 no temptation. Carlyle was led to think slight 
 ingly of Washington, one may believe, because he 
 did not seize the tottering government with a 
 strong hand, and bring order out of chaos on the 
 instant. But this is a woful misunderstanding of 
 the man. To put aside a crown for love of coun 
 try is noble, but to look down upon such an op 
 portunity indicates a much greater loftiness and 
 strength of mind. Washington was wholly free 
 
PEACE. 333 
 
 from the vulgar ambition of the usurper, and the 
 desire of mere personal aggrandizement found no 
 place in his nature. His ruling passion was the 
 passion for success, and for thorough and complete 
 success. What he could not bear was the least 
 shadow of failure. To have fought such a war 
 to a victorious finish, and then turned it to his 
 own advantage, would have been to him failure of 
 the meanest kind. He fought to free the colo 
 nies from England, and make them independent, 
 not to play the part of a Ca?sar or a Cromwell in 
 the wreck and confusion of civil war. He flung 
 aside the suggestion of supreme power, not simply 
 as dishonorable and unpatriotic, but because such 
 a result would have defeated the one great and 
 noble object at which he aimed. Nor did he act 
 in this way through any indolent shrinking from 
 the great task of making what he had won worth 
 winning, by crushing the forces of anarchy and 
 separation, and bringing order and unity out of 
 confusion. From the surrender of Yorktown to 
 the day of his retirement from the Presidency, he 
 worked unceasingly to establish union and strong 
 government in the country he had made indepen 
 dent. He accomplished this great labor more suc 
 cessfully by honest and lawful methods than if 
 he had taken the path of the strong-handed savior 
 of society, and his work in this field did more for 
 the welfare of his country than all his battles. To 
 have restored order at the head of the army was 
 much easier than to effect it in the slow and law- 
 
334 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 abiding fashion which he adopted. To have re 
 fused supreme rule, and then to have effected in 
 the spirit and under the forms of free government 
 all and more than the most brilliant of military 
 chiefs could have achieved by absolute power, is a 
 glory which belongs to Washington alone. 
 
 Nevertheless, at that particular juncture it was, 
 as he himself had said, " high time for a peace." 
 The danger at Newburgh had been averted by his 
 commanding influence and the patriotic conduct of 
 the army. But it had been averted only, not re 
 moved. The snake was scotched, not killed. The 
 finishing stroke was still needed in the form of an 
 end to hostilities, and it was therefore fortunate 
 for the United States that a fortnight later, on 
 March 23d, news came that a general treaty of 
 peace had been signed. This final consummation 
 of his work, in addition to the passage by Congress 
 of the half-pay commutation and the settlement of 
 the army accounts, filled Washington with deep 
 rejoicing. He felt that in a short time, a few 
 weeks at most, he would be free to withdraw to the 
 quiet life at Mount Vernon for which he longed. 
 But public bodies move slowly, and one delay after 
 another occurred to keep him still in the harness. 
 He chafed under the postponement, but it was not 
 possible to him to remain idle even when he 
 awaited in almost daily expectation the hour of 
 dismissal. He saw with the instinctive glance of 
 statesmanship that the dangerous point in the 
 treaty of peace was in the provisions as to the 
 
PEACE. 335 
 
 western posts on the one side, and those relating 
 to British debts on the other. A month therefore 
 had not passed before he brought to the attention 
 of Congress the importance of getting immediate 
 possession of those posts, and a little later he suc 
 ceeded in having Steuben sent out as a special 
 envoy to obtain their surrender. The mission was 
 vain, as he had feared. He was not destined to ex 
 tract this thorn for many years, and then only after 
 many trials and troubles. Soon afterward he made 
 a journey with Governor Clinton to Ticonderoga, 
 and along the valley of the Mohawk, " to wear 
 away the time," as he wrote to Congress. He wore 
 away time to more purpose than most people, for 
 where he travelled he observed closely, and his ob 
 servations were lessons which he never forgot. On 
 this trip he had the western posts and the Indians 
 always in mind, and familiarized himself with the 
 conditions of a part of the country where these 
 matters were of great importance. 
 
 On his return he went to Princeton, where Con 
 gress had been sitting since their flight from the 
 mutiny which he had recently suppressed, and 
 where a house had been provided for his use. He 
 remained there two months, aiding Congress in 
 their work. During the spring he had been en 
 gaged on the matter of a peace establishment, and 
 he now gave Congress elaborate and well-matured 
 advice on that question, and on those of public 
 lands, western settlement, and the best Indian policy. 
 In all these directions his views were clear, far- 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 sighted, and wise. He saw that in these questions 
 was involved much of the future development and 
 wellbeing of the country, and he treated them with 
 a precision and an easy mastery which showed the 
 thought he had given to the new problems which 
 now were coming to the front. Unluckily, he was 
 so far ahead, both in knowledge and perception, of 
 the body with which he dealt, that he could get 
 little or nothing done, and in September he wrote 
 in plain but guarded terms of the incapacity of the 
 lawmakers. The people were not yet ripe for his 
 measures, and he was forced to bide his time, and 
 see the injuries caused by indifference and short 
 sightedness work themselves out. Gradually, how 
 ever, the absolutely necessary business was brought 
 to an end. Then Washington issued a circular 
 letter to the governors of the States, which was 
 one of the ablest he ever wrote, and full of the 
 profoundest statesmanship, and he also sent out a 
 touching address of farewell to the army, eloquent 
 with wisdom and with patriotism. 
 
 From Princeton he went to West Point, where 
 the army that still remained in service was stationed. 
 Thence he moved to Harlem, and on November 
 25th the British army departed, and Washington, 
 with his troops, accompanied by Governor Clinton 
 and some regiments of local militia, marched in and 
 took possession. This was the outward sign that 
 the war was over, and that American independence 
 had been won. Carleton feared that the entry of 
 the American army might be the signal for con- 
 
PEACE. 337 
 
 fusion and violence, in which the Tory inhabitants 
 would suffer ; but everything passed off with perfect 
 tranquillity and good order, and in the evening 
 Clinton gave a public dinner to the commander-in- 
 chief and the officers of the army. 
 
 All was now over, and Washington prepared to 
 go to Annapolis and lay down his commission. On 
 December 4th his officers assembled in Fraunces 
 Tavern to bid him farewell. As he looked about 
 on his faithful friends, his usual self-command de 
 serted him, and he could not control his voice. 
 Taking a glass of wine, he lifted it up, and said 
 simply, " With a heart full of love and gratitude 
 I now take my leave of you, most devoutly wishing 
 that your latter days may be as prosperous and 
 happy as your former ones have been glorious and 
 honorable." The toast was drunk in silence, and 
 then Washington added, " I cannot come to each 
 of you and take my leave, but shall be obliged if 
 you will come and take me by the hand." One by 
 one they approached, and Washington grasped the 
 hand of each man and embraced him. His eyes 
 were full of tears, and he could not trust himself to 
 speak. In silence he bade each and all farewell, 
 and then, accompanied by his officers, walked to 
 Whitehall Ferry. Entering his barge, the word 
 was given, and as the oars struck the water he 
 stood up and lifted his hat. In solemn silence his 
 officers returned the salute, and watched the noble 
 and gracious figure of their beloved chief until the 
 boat disappeared from sight behind the point of 
 the Battery. 
 
338 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 At Philadelphia he stopped a few days and ad 
 justed his accounts, which he had in characteristic 
 fashion kept himself in the neatest and most me 
 thodical way. He had drawn no pay, and had ex 
 pended considerable sums from his private fortune, 
 which he had omitted to charge to the government. 
 The gross amount of his expenses was about 15,000 
 pounds sterling, including secret service and other 
 incidental outlays. In these days of wild money- 
 hunting, there is something worth pondering in this 
 simple business settlement between a great general 
 and his government, at the close of eight years of 
 war. This done, he started again on his journey. 
 From Philadelphia he proceeded to Annapolis, 
 greeted with addresses and hailed with shouts at 
 every town and village on his route, and having 
 reached his destination, he addressed a letter to 
 Congress on December 20th, asking when it would 
 be agreeable to them to receive him. The 23d was 
 appointed, and on that day, at noon, he appeared 
 before Congress. 
 
 The following year a French orator and " maitre 
 avocat," in an oration delivered at Toulouse upon 
 the American Revolution, described this scene in 
 these words : " On the day when Washington re 
 signed his commission in the hall of Congress, a 
 crown decked with jewels was placed upon the Book 
 of the Constitutions. Suddenly Washington seizes 
 it, breaks it, and flings the pieces to the assembled 
 people. How small ambitious Caesar seems beside 
 the hero of America." It is worth while to recall 
 
PEACE. 339 
 
 this contemporary French description, because its 
 theatrical and dramatic untruth gives such point 
 by contrast to the plain and dignified reality. The 
 scene was the hall of Congress. The members 
 representing the sovereign power were seated and 
 covered, while all the space about was filled by the 
 governor and state officers of Maryland, by military 
 officers, and by the ladies and gentlemen of the 
 neighborhood, who stood in respectful silence with 
 uncovered heads. Washington was introduced by 
 the Secretary of Congress, and took a chair which 
 had been assigned to him. There was a brief 
 pause, and then the president said that " the United 
 States in Congress assembled were prepared to re 
 ceive his communication." Washington rose, and 
 replied as follows : 
 
 " MR. PRESIDENT : The great events, on which 
 my resignation depended, having at length taken 
 place, I have now the honor of offering my sincere 
 congratulations to Congress, and of presenting my 
 self before them, to surrender into their hands the 
 trust committed to me, and to claim the indulgence 
 of retiring from the service of my country. 
 
 " Happy in the confirmation of our independence 
 and sovereignty, and pleased with the opportunity 
 afforded the United States of becoming a respec 
 table nation, I resign with satisfaction the appoint 
 ment I accepted with diffidence ; a diffidence in my 
 abilities to accomplish so arduous a task, which, 
 however, was superseded by a confidence in the 
 rectitude of our cause, the support of the supreme 
 
340 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 
 
 power of the Union, and the patronage of Heaven. 
 The successful termination of the war has verified 
 the most sanguine expectations ; and my grati 
 tude for the interposition of Providence, and the 
 assistance I have received from my countrymen, 
 increases with every review of the momentous con 
 test." Then, after a word of gratitude to the army 
 and to his staff, he concluded as follows : " I con 
 sider it an indispensable duty to close this last sol 
 emn act of my official life by commending the in 
 terests of our dearest country to the protection of 
 Almighty God, and those who have the superinten 
 dence of them to his holy keeping. 
 
 " Having now finished the work assigned me, I 
 retire from the great theatre of action ; and bid 
 ding an affectionate farewell to this august body, 
 under whose orders I have so long acted, I here of 
 fer my commission, and take my leave of all the 
 employments of public life." 
 
 In singularly graceful and eloquent words his 
 old opponent, Thomas Mifflin, the president, replied, 
 the simple ceremony ended, and Washington left 
 the room a private citizen. 
 
 The great master of English fiction, touching this 
 scene with skilful hand, has said : " Which was the 
 most splendid spectacle ever witnessed, the opening 
 feast of Prince George in London, or the resigna 
 tion of Washington ? Which is the noble charac 
 ter for after ages to admire, yon fribble dancing 
 in lace and spangles, or yonder hero who sheathes 
 his sword after a life of spotless honor, a purity 
 
PEACE. 341 
 
 unreproached, a courage indomitable, and a con 
 summate victory? " 
 
 There is no need to say more. Comment or 
 criticism on such a farewell, from such a man, at 
 the close of a long civil war, would be not only 
 superfluous but impertinent. The contemporary 
 newspaper, in its meagre account, said that the oc 
 casion was deeply solemn and affecting, and that 
 many persons shed tears. Well indeed might 
 those then present have been thus affected. They 
 had witnessed a scene memorable forever in the 
 annals of all that is best and noblest in human na 
 ture. They had listened to a speech which was not 
 equalled in meaning and spirit in American his 
 tory until, eighty years later, Abraham Lincoln 
 stood upon the slopes of Gettysburg and uttered 
 his immortal words upon those who died that the 
 country might live. 
 
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